She wouldn’t want me to fall apart over her death. She’d loom over me with a stiff upper lip and tell me to carry on with it. I think that’s the only reason I kept moving forward… because I knew she’d require it of me. Fae were tough soldiers, and if I was going to survive what had become the worst time of my life, that’s what I would have to be, too. I was fighting a war, body, soul and mind, and if I allowed myself to slip like I had before, I’d lose.
That wasn’t an option. Hemlock would demand I forge onward, so onward I went.
Not like it was easy. I’d done my best to search for Alistair after he’d run off on my own, but without help, and with Cameron getting in my way, I’d lost my window. He was long gone by now, and any chance I had at figuring out where he had gone was impeded by Cameron’s incompetent guards screwing up the investigation. Any clues he’d left behind were compromised, and I wasn’t allowed access to any information.
Alistair had gotten away with it, and I would never forgive Cameron for that.
Hemlock had been given a funeral by the fae of the city, but I’d been too heartbroken to go. I’d tried. I’d gotten ready, and had such a violent panic attack once I met the door that Kallie had forced me to stay behind. She’d laid in bed with me and held me all night as I struggled to accept that the woman who’d protected me in my darkest moments was gone.
I couldn’t stand burying one more person I loved. I’d been to more funerals in my life than I’d been to parties, weddings, and everything in between. At the thought of attending one more, I just broke. My body couldn’t handle any more grief, so it didn’t allow me to attend.
The day after Hemlock’s funeral, I heard the bumbling buffoon who ran this place whine from down the hall.
“Who dares disturb my afternoon nap!?” Cameron blustered, whiny and obscene.
If Cassiel was still in charge when Alistair’s betrayal had been revealed, the warlock would’ve been arrested within the hour. With Cameron leading the hunt, the Elves would be lucky to dig up Alistair’s bones a hundred years from now long after he’d died and lived a full life on the run. He didn’t take anything seriously. Cameron was convinced the war with the Warden was already over and there was nothing we could do to win, so he busied himself with packing his days with as much leisure as possible before Ophio Taurus broke my shield and burst in here to kill us all.
The former weeks had been full of nothing but doom from my perspective, but that sadness was lifting to be replaced with rage. I was a person who functioned on anger. I could live off of nothing but spite, and Cameron was really pissing me off.
I woke up on Christmas Day alone, cold and in the dark. Before my eyes opened, a singular thought rattled my bones.
Happy Birthday. You’re twenty-two and have already gone through a failed marriage. Look at what a success you are.
My eyes creaked open, already wishing I could go back to sleep and just forget this holiday altogether. But I slowly sat up when I saw there was a present next to my bed. It was a wheelchair, but it wasn’t like the custom-built one I used every day. This wheelchair had a seat that conformed to the body. Instead of wheels, there were tracks, like those on tanks that were run on loops driven by a tooth sprocket to distribute the chair’s weight over a wide area.
This was an all-terrain wheelchair, meant for moving over sand, rocks, mud, and other rough landscapes. With this chair, I didn’t need to stick to flat surfaces. I could go anywhere I wanted.
The thought of being able to roam in nature again, without having to be confined to a path, sent a thrill of freedom rushing through me.
The chair was positioned toward the bed, so I was able to hoist myself into it. There were a bunch of buttons on the armrest, along with straps to buckle my legs, middle, and chest.
Curious, I snapped myself in and started pushing buttons. I gasped when I felt the chair begin to adjust, rising and straightening until the chair itself had become a long board to brace my body against.
Holy shit, I was upright. I was basically standing. I’d forgotten what the world was like from up here. I moved the lever and found that the chair could go forward, backward, and spin in place, all while holding my upright position.
With this chair, I could be at my full height again. I wouldn’t have to ask for as much help, because I could reach things by myself.
Sitting was still more comfortable, so I adjusted the chair back down and unbuckled the straps. I checked the all-terrain wheelchair for clues, wondering who’d left it here.
I spotted a marking etched into one of the bars on the wheelchair’s armbar. If I looked very closely, there was a tiny engraving of an owl with his wings spread in flight. That confirmed my suspicions.
I would drive this chair around today to show it off, but my other custom-built chair was more comfortable. That was for every day, but if I wanted to go exploring, I could take the all-terrain wheelchair and just go.
Exploring. I marveled at the thought. When I got hurt, I figured my days of roaming around ruins and being an explorer were over with. I’d been convinced my life as an anthropologist would be reduced to studying books behind a desk, but this… this meant everything. The person who’d gifted me this chair had given me my dreams back.
I rolled into my parents’ penthouse to celebrate the holidays, noticing my entire family was running around like lunatics trying to cook dinner and organize all the gifts. Auntie Imogen and Uncle Jonah were arguing over the decorations on the tree, complaining it didn’t look avant garde, while their spouses toppled under stacks of presents. Daddy threatened to throw them all out of his house so he could get some peace, which he insisted he’d never had a moment of since he’d met them.
“Wow! That’s a cool chair, Ava!” Ez burst as he looked it over, impressed.
“Thanks,” I said. “It was a thoughtful gift from you guys.”
“Uh, we didn’t get it,” Ez said, glancing at Mama.
She shook her head. “No. We’ve never seen it before.”
Hm. That didn’t seem right. I rolled over to the only calm person in the house— my youngest brother Maverick, who was ignoring the chaos by huddling in the corner of the living room. He tinkered with a couple of gears and a mess of metal on the coffee table. There was a permanent scowl on his face that reminded me of our dad. Now that he was thirteen and officially a teenager, his middle name was broody.
“You did a good job,” I said. “It functions perfectly.”
