Ezra joined me and looked up at the sky. A few stars peeked out between clouds, reflecting light from the half-moon. It reminded me of being in the forest, alone, dancing to my imaginary music. Only this time, everything had been the exact opposite.
I slipped my hand into Ezra’s, needing the anchor.
“I grew up on a farm in the highlands. Sheep, a few crops. Hard work, but good. My family laughed more than we cried. My brothers and I fought and got each other into trouble. My mother had patience for all of us, and my father, he had a belt, but even that was love.”
I squeezed his hand, soaking in the rare softness in his voice.
He swallowed. “We’d meet with neighbors a few times a year for a ceilidh. Dancing, music, food. I was twelve the last time. I thought they came for another dance. I smiled when I opened the door.”
My chest pinched, the warmth of his memories colliding with dread.
“But they didn’t come to dance this time.” His jaw worked. “They took who they could. Killed the rest.”
I pressed myself against his side, his arm falling heavy and protective over me.
“I spent four years on their farm, serving the same people who murdered my family. When we tried to escape, they slit my oldest brother’s throat. Right in front of us.” His voice cracked. “I could kill pigs and sheep, but watching my brother bleed out—someone I loved—something inside me broke.”
I clung tighter. “It would’ve broken anyone.”
He drew a ragged breath. “Xan’s the only one I’ve told. He says I’m not broken.”
“You’re not,” I whispered, feeling every tear of my tattered existence. “Everyone’s cracked. It’s the pieces we carry that make us who we are.” Rachel, my old therapist, would be soproud of me for repeating her words. Not just repeating them, but believing them.
His gaze met mine, eyes dark with grief. “Two years later, I was the only one left. I didn’t run again. My Majekah had bloomed. I walked into their shadows and slit their throats, one by one. Like they did to us.”
I swallowed hard. He said it so flatly, so calmly, but the weight of it crushed me. I pressed closer anyway.
“I couldn’t go back to farming. Anger was all I had. Dead bodies, freed slaves who feared me. The gangs in the tunnels took me in, because anger fit there.” His mouth twisted. “Until I met Xan. And the rest, you know.”
I brushed my hand down his thigh, grounding us both. “Tonight you cut your hair, remembered ceilidh steps, and relived blood and loss. No wonder you feel like a leaf in the wind.”
Ezra gave a low, pained grunt. “Yes. I prefer a blank future. The past is a bog I can’t escape.”
“You can’t change it,” I said. “But you chose what you remember. My dad actually did a lot of things very wrong, but he wasn’t trying to hurt me. I love my memories of him. You don’t need to erase everything, right?”
Ezra drew me close. “Maybe. Or maybe I need your light if I’m ever going to make new memories. Teaching you to dance tonight mattered more than I thought it would.”
I giggled. “I’m not sure if I actually learned much, but I enjoyed it too.”
Someone walked past us and stumbled. Ezra put his arm out to keep the body from hitting me.
“Sorry.” The woman turned to me, and her cream eyes lit. “You’re Quinn, right?”
“Ah, yeah, great party,” I said.
She tried to take a step closer, but Ezra didn’t budge. She ended up resting her hands on Ezra’s strong arm like it was a wall.
“Dalila said you are the reason she cycled. Can, you, um.” She looked around and lowered her voice. “Can you fix me too?”
My heart sank. In the dark, I couldn’t tell how old the woman was or anything about her. “You’re not broken.”
She jerked back.
“Go have another drink,” Ezra pushed her away from me.
The woman mumbled something and stumbled back the way she had come.
The world faded into the background as the reality of why this impromptu party was even happening settled onto my shoulders.
