Page 71 of The Mortal Trials

Fuming, he glances over at August for help.

August leans against the door frame and lifts a shoulder as if to ask Niall what he’s waiting for.

It’s my decision. My oikos.

Niall finally turns to leave.

My hair falls when I bend to pick up some ceramic shards. When I straighten again and look around, I press a hand to my forehead, completely overwhelmed.

August pushes off the frame. “Let’s work our way to one another, one thing at a time. Put whatever’s broken and can’t be fixed in a pile between us, and we’ll carry it outside when we’re finished. Anything salvaged or repairable can go along the walls, so we don’t accidentally toss out what’s good.”

“Okay.” One thing at a time.

Piece by piece, we clear the destruction.

The wooden bed frame is broken. The mattress has been sliced multiple times down the middle, much of its down scattered by the sea breeze blowing in through the windows and door.

There’s broken glass; the carafe and water glasses lay in thick shards. The table is buckled, having been smashed down the center. Even the top of the trunk that held my clothes was ripped off and is now lying upside down on the floor. The sides of the box look like they were kicked in.

A spear is too long to fit in or under most of this. Torsten just wanted to rip my things apart.

In the end, we salvage an armful of clothes and the bathing room towels.

He ruined the duffel I brought from home and the uniforms I wore into battle for Morrigan. He even tore the tongue from my boot.

August mutters something when he takes in the massive hill of debris we build and the small lump we’ve saved, then flings a hand at the wall. “He even cracked your window.”

Indeed, he did. I’m not surprised August noticed it. He likes to stand and look out of them.

My second feather remains missing, but I don’t mention it to August. I don’t want him to worry about something so inconsequential when he’s helped with so much. But August is observant.

He pauses, hands on his hips. “Did you find the quetzal feather?”

I shake my head. “It might have blown away.”

Down is scattered across the sand outside my oikos, but nothing vibrant green stands out. It could’ve blown into the water by now.

“I’ll go through the pile again,” he offers.

“There’s no point.” It’s a bright green needle in a proverbial haystack.

Without arguing, August sifts through the debris before carrying it outside, armload by armload. Eventually, he finds the little green feather. My heart feels lighter the moment I hold it between my fingers.

“Thanks for not giving up.”

He nods once, holding my eyes, his hand reaching out to tug the end of one of my dark waves. “They look pretty in your hair.”

Butterflies dare to flutter in my stomach. “Thank you.”

Cleaning goes much faster after that. I put the feather in my bathing room for safekeeping and steal glances at August as we carry everything that’s ruined outside. What’s left when we’re through is a hollow house so empty that our voices echo when we speak.

I scrub Torsten’s blood from the floor, tossing the bloody rags out when I’m done.

August leans against the door frame. “Come home with me.”

I snort. “I can’t just live at your place.”

He shrugs. “Why not?”