“But I do!” Pain traced down my throat, and I flinched.
Eleos’ face broke, and he sat beside me. “I could’ve done something. Could’ve started looking for a safe way to cast, or—”
“How? Nobody knows anything about Elpis magic. Least of all the kind I have.”
“You first mentioned the pain in Red Bluff. If that’s when you realized the toll casting took, I would’ve had weeks—months—to start helping.”
I closed my eyes, remembering the torrent of guilt he’d been drowning in, after we’d fled Red Bluff. Guilt for trying to save a woman and her child, forsaking me in the process. Guilt for daring to think such selfish thoughts at all.
The depths of his compassion extended as far as his father’s. He wanted to save everyone.
“No, El. You couldn’t have done anything,” I opened my eyes. “You can’t save everyone. And, that’s okay. Nobody can.” Taking his hand, I tried to reassure him. “I made peace with this long ago. My life is a small price to pay.”
His eyebrows wavered, as though he were about to cry. Fingers tightening around mine, he leaned forward, lips parting.
I waited for him to speak, but nothing emerged. Biting his lip, he sat back. “I’ll go get you something for the pain.” Slipping his hand from mine, he left the room—left me—just as Seth had.
Had I said everything wrong? Rubbing my eyes, I pressed back tears.
One thing was certain: I couldn’t use my magic until we reached the Acheron. If I killed myself before we arrived, I’d take the rest of the world with me.
Lowering my hands, I tried to figure out where we were. The room was small, and the bed wasn’t particularly warm or comfortable. An inn? Or maybe a small house.
Nowhere I’d been before, at any rate.
Leaning back, I closed my eyes and thought of Ainwir. Of the shadow I’d kept glimpsing.
Would I see him again soon? There was so much to tell him. So many mistakes he’d chide me for, so many triumphs he would be tepidly proud of.
I wanted to believe I’d see him again—wanted to believe I could do this.
Neither was likely, but . . . I could hope.
A smile tugged at my lips, despite the burning behind my eyes.
Someone knocked on the door. I opened my eyes, waiting.
“Can I come in?” Percy sang. “Or are you sick of the comings and goings?”
“You can come in,” I called.
Gods. It sounded like someone had taken a grater to my throat.
Percy slipped inside, a feathered hat upon his head and lute in hand. “The good doctor says you’re not to move.” He glanced at me. “I’m not sure you can, either. So . . .” He spread his arms. “I’ve brought entertainment.”
Chuckling, I patted the bed beside me. Something told me my third visitor wouldn’t abandon me. “I know how you feel, now,” I said as he sat beside me. “Feeling like you’re just waiting for it to end.” Turning over a hand, I wondered how many more spells I could cast before I ripped myself apart. “I never really grasped it,until now.”
“That it’s coming?” Percy asked. “And so much sooner than you thought?”
“Mhm.”
He strummed a couple of chords. “Nobody thinks about it. I mean, we’ve all been to funerals, seen death. We all know one day it’ll be us. But . . . we don’t really think about it. We have our lives, and then suddenly . . .” He touched his fingers together, then flicked them apart. “Poof. We’re looking at our own gravestone.”
I tilted my head. “You never said. Did you decide to sing requiems because of your illness?”
“No, it was before that. Being a soldier wasn’t for me. My little mission with Seth proved that. I kept lying awake, thinking about those girls. Knowing they weren’t going to live a good life. Knowing they’d probably end up in another brothel, or dead.” He sighed. “Even the lucky ones don’t live good lives. They die early; they carry wounds that don’t heal. So many people are kicked and kicked, and they meet their end without ever knowing happiness.”
His words described the woman I’d once been, and the people I’d met in that miserable life.
