“Because of our butterflies. Mourningwings, they’re rare. Very rare, and as you know already, they need Widowsbloom to survive. But having a rare butterfly means we can travel outward, but there aren’t many people who can travel inward,” he says.
“So you could access everyone, but few could access you?”
“Exactly,” he says.
“So, you stole from other realms?” I ask, trying to understand what he was getting at.
“Stealing is subjective. We traded. Did we lie? Cheat? Sure.” He shrugs unapologetically. “But the richest societies universally build themselves on lies and corruption.”
I can’t disagree with him.
My world is full of corruption, and the ones right at the very top, they don’t get there by being kind and generous. They get there by being ruthless and selfish.
“Ok so… what does this have to do with the Blight?”
“There were rumours, whispers of a disease destroying lands. Some of them even flat-out lost their butterflies. And it completely cut them off. But the King just ignored it. He insisted we were safe.”
“Because you were so isolated from the others, harder to get to?”
“Because we were untouchable, no one could come to us.” He pauses now, as if the next part is something he’s deciding if he wants to share. “His ignorance cost him everything. Rowan guarded the gates, heard the rumours, and saw it firsthand. Tried to warn the King, but he wouldn’t hear it. Not until it was too late. He asked Rowan to travel through the gate and find out how to stop it, but Masen offered to go instead. He never returned, but his butterfly did.” I feel a tightening at Rowan’s name, the words settling between us.
“What does it mean if his butterfly came back?” I ask.
“Gate travelers used a code. If they found themselves in such danger that rescue would mean more lives lost, they would send their butterfly through. It rarely happened, but I will never forget that day.”
I think of Rowan’s silence, his guilt. The way he watches that gate during training. My heart cracks for him, this man who told me in his own words that he killed his friend. But now I know that’s a lie.
“Rowan told me he killed Masen.” I mumble. Kael shakes his head, a knowing look in his eyes.
“That’s because Rowan believes he did.” He looks down at the table now. “That man has had a sword to his own head since the day it happened.” A silence stretches between us now.
I feel the loss of this man that I never even knew.
“What was he like? Masen?” I ask.
“He was a man who always did what was right. He was a good man and an even better knight.” A lump forms in my throat.
“Anyway,” he says, changing the subject. “That’s enough of the serious talk. If Rowan asks, I didn’t tell you any of that, okay?” he pleads, giving me a stern look.
“Why did you?”
“Because, plant girl. It’s what Masen would have done.”
He goes to tear off some more bread before I stop him, placing my hand over his. I pull out the pocketknife from my overall pocket and slice a piece for him.
“Here,” placing the slice down on his plate, he freezes, his eyes fixed on the blade. “What’s wrong?” I ask.
“Where did you get that blade?”
“I’ve not been harbouring a weapon, don’t worry. It’s my friend Sam’s. It was in my pocket when I arrived.”
He doesn’t respond, his eyes fixated on the white antler handle. The worry on his face causes a panic in my stomach. “Here, you can hold on to it for me if you’d like? But don’t lose it.”
He grabs it slowly, running his hand along the sharp edge.
“Don’t tell Rowan about this, okay?” he mutters quietly. I’ve never seen Kael react so seriously about something before.
“Okay, I won’t. Is everything okay?” He shakes his head briefly before returning to his usual easy grin.
