You know why. You know who your father is to Shaw.
I shove the thoughts away. I refuse to name, refuse to acknowledge what threatens to overtake me, until I hear the words come from Shaw’s mouth. Until I hear him tell me himself that my father left his life in Similis to come find a new one in the Dark World. He left his children to find replacements here. That the man who saved Shaw is the same man who damned me to a life of ostracism. Who damned Easton’s life.
A wave of nausea roils in my stomach and for a moment, I think it might overtake me. Swallowing, I push my feet faster.
As I clear the thick foliage and reach the lantern that marks the beginning of the drive, I hesitate. The Bay of Reflection sparkles in the morning sun and small boats tied to the dock clink together on the soft waves. I have no idea how to handle a boat, so I turn down the path we took yesterday that leads around the bay.
My breathing is labored as I run toward the city center, the rainbow of houses coming into view. I am debating how in Covinus’ name I’m possibly going to find that stubborn ass when a horribly familiar noise draws my attention down one of the quiet streets.
The sound of flesh on flesh.
All thoughts of my father dissipate as unease settles over me.
Shaw, usually the depiction of self-containment, is unbridled chaos. His hair is wild and sweat gleams on his forehead. Blood spatters his face and coats his hands like morbid crimson gloves. With horror, I realize he’s crouched above a man. His movements are frenzied as he repeatedly brings his fist down. The man’s head lolls listlessly; he’s obviously lost consciousness.
My feet are moving before I can consider that the man before me is not the Shaw I know. This is not my friend who teases me about books and protects me from the whims of the world. This is someone to be feared—uncontained madness and violent fury. Shaw has always fought with fervor, but he is also sparing. He never unleashes more of himself than required to temper a situation, never renders more force than necessary. But this—this is whatever burns in his eyes, released and unfettered.
I hold out my hand, approaching him as I would a feral animal. If there was anyone else on the street when this began, they’ve wisely scattered. It’s only Shaw, the unconscious man, and me. “Shaw?”
As if he doesn’t hear me, Shaw brings his fist down again. The man’s head snaps to the side and then grotesquely rolls back, as if connected to a marionette’s string. I know nothing of human anatomy, but my gut tells me he can’t take much more. And whatever this man has done, I can’t let Shaw kill him. “Shaw!” I yell, louder now. I curl my hand around his shoulder slowly, feeling the muscles pull taut beneath my fingers. “Shaw, you’re going to kill him!”
At last, he turns to me. Blood, not his own, speckles his brown skin. Every line of his face is hard and sharp, and his eyes—oh Covinus, his eyes. They are otherworldly in the way they burn, a tempest of fire, so hot that for a moment, I feel frozen by them. I swallow roughly, running my hand across his shoulder and down his arm, touching my skin to his.
I don’t consider the action, desperation fueling me. Shaw only regards me coldly. If he refuses to relent, what then? Am I prepared to tackle him? Stab him once more? The last time I stabbed him, it only spurred him further and that was when he was fully present. Now…Now, I know I won’t be the one to walk away victorious. But I can’t leave.
“Shaw, we need to go,” I say, my voice steady but gentle.
Another tense moment passes with bated breath, before Shaw’s shoulders finally sag. As if whatever raged inside him burned everything away, leaving him empty. His eyes hollow out and his skin is sallow as I weave my fingers through his. He allows me to lead him to Dahiitii, who mills about a few feet away. I consider how I’m possibly going to get him atop the horse, but he swings himself up without argument and waits silently for me to do the same.
I hoist myself up, settling myself between Shaw’s legs. His arms come around me, but the movement feels robotic. I take the reins, leading Dahiitii back toward the manor. When the house comes into view, it occurs to me that walking shell shocked and bloody through Rhonwen’s sparkling foyer probably isn’t the best idea, so I steer the mare around the house. From up here, the sea sparkles and the air is sweet and fresh.
The path is shaded by thick green trees and climbing vines and the thick foliage provides a welcome relief from the growing heat of the morning. Dahiitii slows to a trot, seeming to know where she’s headed. After a few moments, the path opens to a large copse of trees. Ancient and gnarled, they lean over a small pond that hangs out over the cliff edge. The sparkling water looks as if it reaches infinitely into the sky, but really, it pours over a hidden edge, the soft sound calming.
Dahiitii stops and I hop down, a little proud of the fact that I keep to my feet. Shaw leaps to the ground nimbly, immediately turning his back. He curls forward, his hand on a tree trunk in support, and heaves. I look away, certain he doesn’t wish me to witness his private shame once more. The sound is heart wrenching, like he seeks to physically expel everything he finds unworthy in himself.
I remember the way I ran a hand over his skin, of the way it seemed to calm him and bring him back to himself. I want to do it again.
But I keep my hands at my sides, walking to the pond’s edge instead. The morning has grown warm and damp, the air cloying next to the pond. I carefully roll up my leggings and toss my boots aside. Making my way gingerly down the slick obsidian edge, I sit carefully and prod the cool water with my toes. It feels so heavenly that I wish I could submerge my entire body in its brisk depths and feel it’s soft waves lap at my hot scalp.
After a few moments, Shaw sits next to me, plunging his legs into the water without bothering to roll up his pants. The color has returned to his face, his brown skin like warm honey once more. He dunks his hands into the pond and scrubs at his face, the other man’s blood washing away in spiraling streams. He seems no more inclined to offer answers than usual, a fact that is vastly irritating and oddly comforting. In this, at least, he’s back to normal.
“Who was that?”
Shaw doesn’t look at me, instead, studying the ripples of the pond water as if they’re intensely interesting. “I wondered how long you’d be able to keep your questions at bay. I’m impressed you lasted this long.”
I roll my eyes as a grin tugs at the corner of my lips. He knows me too well already and I’m uncertain whether or not I like it. After the display in town, it should probably terrify me. “Shaw, who was that? I’ve seen you fight before, but that looked…” I search for the word, something to encompass the primal craze I just witnessed, “different. It looked more…personal.” The word comes suddenly, and I know it to be true. That kind of emotion, positive or negative, is intimate. “Did you know him? Has he done something to you?”
He’s quiet for a moment. “I don’t know him, but it was personal.”
I wait for him to continue. I’ll wait as long as I have to for him to gather his thoughts, to explain what overtook him.
“He had kids.”
I look to him uncertainly and he shakes his head. “He was a slaver. He was trafficking kids.”
A surprised breath escapes my lips. It’s horrible, what the man was doing, but it doesn’t explain Shaw’s otherworldly rage. “So did the Praeceptor.”
“Cullen is a different beast altogether,” he mutters, “and deserves more than a beating in an alley. That man in Nadjaa, he targets children. Grooms them to be what his clients want. To be what he needs,” Shaw breathes in sharply. “It’s all horrible, I know that. But some things are easier to compartmentalize. To put in a box until you can deal with them. But other things…well, other things rear up and attack. Refuse to be ignored. I saw that little boy and I just…I just lost it.”
