Page 24 of The Hollow King

I was here because he left it in his old bedchamber. I paused in my pacing.

Yes, this was all his fault. He did this. Varga did it.

Or did he put Borin up to it?

I began to pace again.

A door opened.

I swivelled around to see Varga standing with his brow furrowed.

“Are you ill?”

Anger made me snap.

“Yes, I bloody well am.”

His jaw dropped and he stepped into the hallway.

“What is it? Are you hurt?” His voice grew louder with each word.

I strode across the hallway and shoved the balm at his chest. His hands came up to grab it before it fell.

“What—?”

I sighed and walked into his bedchamber.

He still stood out there holding the small jar.

I grabbed his sleeve and pulled him into the room.

“Can you not take a hint?”

He stared at me for a moment. It was the same blank stare that Borin had at times. He lifted the jar and stared at it.

“Oh.”

I smiled and even before I leaned in, he pulled me in and wrapped his arms around me.

“Are you sure?” he whispered.

“Oh, yes. Very sure.”

“I am begging you, please do not change your mind,” he groaned.

I began to laugh.

Carefree laughter that had long eluded me.

Epilogue

Iona

The room no longer smelled of dust.

I had asked Borin to air it months ago, and he had thrown the windows wide without a single word of protest, without once glancing toward the door the way he used to, flinching at his own shadow crossing the threshold.

Now sunlight touched things that had not felt it in three centuries. The tattered curtains were gone. The crates had been cleared, sorted, some kept and some burned. Only the painting remained above the mantel, and the cradle beneath the window, exactly where he had left them both the night everything changed.