Stillness hung between us.
“My father was a good man,” Calix said. “I killed him, along with my mother and my baby sister. I did not mean to.”
“Unforgivable truths,” I stated. A breeze ruffled my hair.
“Unforgivable truths?”
Letting my head fall back and rest against the trunk, I watched the leaves rustling in the canopy overhead. “I killed my brother, Thatcher.” The admission stung my throat. Yet as I spoke, a freedom accompanied the pain, like a weight lifted.
“The first time I shifted we were sparring, just boys playing with toy swords. The middle shift took me, and I did not know what it was, did not expect it. The creature within me, it was horrid, and Thatch, he—” I shut my eyes, and the nightmare returned to me. Not a nightmare, a reminder of what happened all those years ago. I swallowed. “He called me a monster.”
“Your fox killed him?”
Wetting my lips, I let the images come to me. “The full shift took me, and Thatcher, he was a fighter. As young as we were, he bore his wooden sword and advanced upon the creature, spitting out the worst words he knew, tears welling in his eyes as he believed it somehow possessed, perhaps. ‘Monster, monster, monster,’he kept saying.” I swallowed. “He cornered the fox. There was no escape and … and I watched it all, unable to restrain the monster as he lunged at Thatch’s leg.” Thatch’s screams flooded my ears. “Thatcher struck him again and againwith the wooden sword, and the fox, he … he went for his neck, and then it was over. To watch a life leave someone—”
“The absence of a soul.”
“Yes.”
How long had I kept the story of Thatch’s death to myself? Only Astraea knew, for she had witnessed it, sitting overlooking the gardens. The gardens Thatcher and I were not even meant to be in. We were so foolish. Had we been in the castle, somewhere else, perhaps things would have been different.
“There are some truths, some events, that are unforgivable. Yet we must live with them. Living with them is our punishment.”
“The deaths I have caused—”
“You must live with,” I said, my tone stern. “Do you remember what you told me about Evera? You said she was good, do you recall that?”
Calix sighed. “I do.”
“We live on for those who are good. To protect them, to cherish them. It is why I must save my brother. And once I have rid the castle of the bastard that killed Kaius and I know that Harlan is safe, I can make a life for Evera and I. And for you, Calix. I am not your father; I will not try to take that role. But I care for you. Evera and I both do.”
The boy sniffled, and when I turned my head, resting my cheek against the bark, he looked away and drew his knees to his chest. My heart ached, but again I did not know the correct words to say or how to comfort him. Calix muffled his cries. On my inhale, I detected the coming of rain.
For now, all we could do was wait for our magic to return. More waiting. More helplessness. It was one thing to speak to another, especially a child, and offer words of comfort. But the future I spoke of felt so unreachable, every possible outcome bleak.
If our magic did return, we stood a chance. But without it, Calix could not fight, and I was one man against three. Huntsmen, at that. Known for their tricks, they do not fight fairly.
What did Nox poison us with? Will our magic return at all?
Evera would know. But she was back in Elrune, likely believing I’d abandoned her. Was she held up in her room? Was she hurting? Or would she seek me out for leaving her behind? That seemed more likely. That realization brought with it a new fear. If she were to come after me, thinking I’d merely left her and not knowing of my capture, she would put herself in danger. Capable as she was, she could not fight these men off, and it was not in her disposition to do so even if she could. She was a healer. Not a killer.
Beside me, Calix’s sobs softened until they ebbed to the occasional shudder or gasp for breath. It was easy sometimes to forget that he was only a boy. I had to protect him. Had to ensure he was safe, as was Evera. I would not give up. I would fight the three men if I had to, my fists against their swords. It would be futile, yet what else could I do? My exhale fogged in the night air. What had I done putting Calix and Evera in such a situation? Would I lose them, too? Was I cursed to watch those I loved die because of me?
46
EVERA
As we nearedthe mountain pass, the light of the moons filtered through the sparse trees we passed along the main road. Stillness lurked in the shadows, which were devoid even of the chirp of insects. No sound but the distant hoot of an owl and the hoofbeats of Ruairc’s mount and my own.
I carried my satchel, heavy with the weight of traveling goods, in addition to a small bottle of concentrated alcohol for cleansing wounds, a ball of wound bandage cloths, and an assortment of medicinal plants for fever and fighting infection. They were items I’d gathered on my second trip into our shop before departing, grateful that my brother was out with Farren. The healer in me felt better being prepared.
“What if the huntsmen are not drinking?” I whispered, my throat dry.
“They will be drinking.”
Ruairc’s confidence eased my worries, if only slightly. If he were wrong and the men weren’t drinking, there would be nothing for us to fall back on aside from his rudimentary swordsmanship skills and perhaps Calix’s magic, if the boy was conscious.
The distant hum of voices carried to us, and ahead, I caught the warm light of a fire flickering a short distance off the path. Ruairc drew back on his mount’s reins, and the stallion stilled, snorting a cloud of mist into the chilled air.
