He dragged a shaking hand roughly through his hair. “And I couldn’t stop any of it,” he whispered. “I tried with everything in me. But I couldn’t break their hold on me. I wasn’t strong enough. I was the puppet of monsters.”
“That’s exactly right,” I said, trying to keep my voice calm. “You were the puppet of a weak resurrected god and his malevolent creation. What happened was not your fault.”
Gareth shook his head, laughing a little. Fresh tears coursed down his cheeks. He ripped off his glasses and rubbed his face.
“You don’t know how many times I’ve told myself that,” he said, “but it doesn’t help. Their faces are still there when I close my eyes. My hands are still the hands that hurt them.” He drew in a choked breath and struck his chest with his fist. “Ihurt them. I made them hurt each other. Kilraith and Jaetris were the puppet masters, certainly, but when those people close their eyes at night, it’s my face they see. It’s my violence they remember.”
His voice shattered around those last few words, and he sank to his knees.
“And the same thing happened today,” he whispered. “He found me. He got through your wards and found me and used me to commit more violence, and he’ll do it again.” He let out a single harsh sob. “I can’t do this anymore. I can’t, Ican’t—”
“Yes, you can,” I told him, joining him on the floor. I gripped his arms and held him up. “Look at me, Gareth. Please look at me.”
He did, a tear shivering on the tip of his nose. “I understand, you see, what drove you to Ghorlock. I would have been furious if you’d managed to kill yourself out there. But I would have understood.”
My throat tightened, but I willed myself to remain dry-eyed, steady-voiced. “Do you remember what you told me in that cave?”
“I remember something about you being brave and beautiful and me wanting to kiss you.”
That familiar twist of humor in his voice, however faint, made me smile. I ducked down to meet his eyes. “You told me Posey’s death wasn’t my fault.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
“But itis.” And I realized as I said the words that I actually believed them. Sitting here with Gareth, being his voice of reason just as he had been mine in that cave, loosened the fist of grief around my heart. It was still there, and it always would be—because of Posey, because of uncountable other losses—but with Gareth beside me, it hurt just a little less.
“No.” He pushed me gently away. “You killed Posey to save her from a crueler death. What you did was an act of mercy. What I did—”
“What you did,” I said firmly, “was violence against you just as surely as it was violence against those you were forced to hurt.”
He slumped and sat back on his heels, staring at his hands. The only sound in the room was the soft patter of snowflakes against the window.
Finally he whispered, “How have you gone on living all this time with such memories in your head?”
“I don’t know,” I said honestly. “But it’s been easier with you here.”
My answer surprised me. With a racing heart, I watched him look up at me. He was calmer, his breathing softer. Gently he touched my cheek.
“Now is perhaps not the time,” he said slowly, “to point out that you’ve tried to kill yourself twice since I’ve been here.”
He was right. One attempt, quite abbreviated, interrupted by hispage; the other, nearly successful, interrupted by him. Realizing this made me laugh. I couldn’t help it; the sound burst out of me. None of this was funny, and yet the next thing I knew, we were both slumped back against his bed, laughing deliriously through our tears.
“All right, maybe it hasn’t beeneasier,” I said after a moment, wiping my face. “But I do like that you’re here. I like it very much.”
Gently, he took my hurt hand and rubbed soft, slow circles across my wrist. “I think that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”
“It was bound to happen sooner or later.”
“You finally succumbing to my charms, you mean?”
My heart twisted.If only I could, Gareth.“I’ll allow you to say that only this once.”
“Duly noted.”
We sat in a strange, easy silence for a few moments, my hand in his and my bare legs prickling with cold. Then I said quietly, “Thank you for sharing all of that with me. You didn’t have to.”
He leaned his head back against the mattress and closed his eyes. “Maybe I shouldn’t have. You have enough violence in your memory without me piling on my own. Gods.” He rubbed his forehead, frowning. “I really shouldn’t have put all of this on you. What anassI am.”
The idea came to me quietly and brought with it the cold echoes of my first few weeks at Rosewarren: Petra’s hair, Petra’s laugh. The black lake under the full moon, and my ten-year-old hand holding a blood-soaked dagger.
