"No, it isn't," Chara snorted. "What's that list of stuff on that page?"
Esteban blocked her view. "Nothing."
Ramora cocked an eyebrow and shoved the Cat aside, looking over the book for a moment before stepping back, her face a mask of horror. Frightened to see her looking like that, Chara stepped up to see what she had.
"I didn't think you should know," Esteban was saying. "Please, forgive me, Ramora."
"How many is this?" Chara asked past the lump in her throat.
Esteban hesitated a moment. "Sixty-eight."
"Sixty-eight," Chara echoed, going over the names, some of which she’d heard tales. "He's killed sixty-eight blessed of the High Gods. This can't be right."
"It’s an estimation, nothing more," the Were offered.
"Meaning, it could be more," Chara replied.
Esteban looked at Ramora. "It’s possible, yes."
"Gods above," Chara said slowly. "Ramora, you need to rethink this. This guy, he's on a whole different level."
Slowly, Ramora shook her head. She wouldn’t give up now. Lifting her hands, she signed to Chara, who grimly acknowledged what she said.
I will avenge them all, my brothers and sisters, to the last, with his blood.
Chara closed the book as Ramora walked away, trying to wrap her head around it. How could any one man be this dangerous? How did that happen? How could anyone hope to defeat such a monster?
"Chara," Esteban said after Ramora left the library.
"Yeah, I know," she said softly. "We're going with her. All the way."
"Indeed," Esteban nodded, wrapping his arms around her.
Falling into his embrace, Chara wondered if it would do any good.
Ramora reached her room, shutting the door behind her before the shock could fully wear off and the tears could begin. She couldn't believe what she’d seen, refused to accept it, and railed against it. Enraged beyond words, she wanted to throw something, smash everything, but could only sink to the floor, sobbing quietly.
The last name on the list. Collette Reisengard, Blessed of Ramor.
"Little Sister," Talbor said, appearing in a flash of light. "I'm so sorry. I was going to tell you."
She shook her head, refusing to hear it. Heartbroken, he knelt and reached for her. She punched him, screaming without a sound. Landing on his butt, Talbor sat there, looking away.
"Father felt it best you not know right away," he said at length. "At least, not until you returned from this place. He wanted to tell you himself."
Slowly gaining some measure of control over herself, she waved an arm out.
Talbor stared at the floor. "About a month ago. She told Weingin that she thought she'd gotten a lead on the man who had attacked your village, and that she was going to investigate. That was the last we heard of her, until Weingin felt her die."
Horrified, Ramora could only stare, tears burning their way down her cheeks. Collette had been more than a friend; she’d been almost like a second mother.
When Ramor had taken her to the High World to live as his child, he’d often struggled with how to reach her, and help her. She’d been so far gone into her sorrow and misery, he’d ultimately sought help from one of his Blessed, a warrior named Collette.
She had come to the High World, just to meet the little girl who never spoke, and cried more than she did anything. Already in her forties, Collette had been the stabilizing influence she’d craved. Human, with kind eyes like emeralds, she’d simply held the lost little girl and let her cry.
Over those first couple of years, she had come often, always drawing a smile from the silent child with her visits. Gradually drawing the girl from her shattered shell, it had been Collette's guiding hand that had turned her towards proper understanding of how much Ramor cared for her, eventually allowing her to become the daughter he’d sought to make her.
The Ascended had become her new family and Ramor her father but in her heart, she had cherished Collette as her adopted mother. As she had trained to become a warrior under Ramor's watchful eye, it was always Collette she sought to emulate. Every chance she got, she spared against the woman, always finding her far too skilled to best.
Even she hadn’t been able to defeat Draco. She had gone to her death looking to avenge the girl she watched grow into a woman, to end the nightmare she lived with. If she couldn’t best him, Ramora knew, she never would.
"I really am sorry," Talbor said softly. "I should’ve told you immediately. Please, Ramora, forgive me."
Reaching out for him, she felt his strong arms close around her and hold her as she mourned the death of her second mother.
Somehow, she vowed amidst her tears and voiceless screams, she would find a way. She would avenge Collette, and all those whom Draco had taken from the world.
Somehow, she would make him pay.
Chapter Nineteen
CHARA STARED out the window as a light snowfall drifted across the world outside. It seemed so far away, like none of it was even real anymore. As if she was trapped inside a snow globe, everything unreachable to her. Then again, she supposed, she'd always felt that way. At least this was familiar ground.
Somewhere, out there, was the man who’d ruined Ramora's life. Just knowing his name, though, had made him more mysterious, deadlier, and farther away. It seemed more than unfair. It seemed cruel. She couldn't help but wonder if that was how the world really was. Cruel and unfair.
In her experience, it felt that way. She’d wanted to leave Rheumer, see the larger world outside of what she knew; part of her thinking that there was a kinder side than she'd known. That hadn't turned out to be the case. The opposite, really. Her little corner of the world had been fairer than she'd known.
Something about that irritated her even more. So many wondrous places, so much adventure, excitement, and beauty to see, and Rheumer was the one place where fairness was found in abundance. She couldn't imagine how the Blessed did it, facing that kind of thing and not losing hope. It was all she could do to hang on to her own in light of it.
Her thoughts turned to Ramora with that, bringing shame with them. She’d been beyond unfair to the woman, letting her own emotions get the better of her and pushing away someone who had been nothing but a friend to her. Someone she knew wanted to be more than that. She couldn't reconcile the chaotic nature of her heart, the way it twisted and turned, or even figure out anymore what she herself wanted.
Resting her head against the glass, she wondered if this was what it meant to be mature. Not knowing what to do, what you want, how to deal with the thousand things that went wrong in life, or even be able to find the right way to say what you felt. She’d always believed that as she grew older, life would become clearer, but instead, it had gotten murkier, stranger, and more daunting.
She knew what she wanted, though, and that was the problem. She wanted Ramora, to hold her and be held by her, to love and be loved, to stand by the woman through everything, as not just a friend, but a lover, and be the rock that helped her stay strong in a world that only wanted to tear her down. In that, she knew, she would find her own strength and purpose. It felt like the reason she’d been born.
To be the thing that a Blessed of the High Gods held onto when the world grew too cruel. What greater thing could there be in this world to aspire to? What more noble purpose was there? To hold up one of those who held the darkness at bay, and be the light for the light of the world.
It was the dream of a foolish girl, though, from a nowhere town. She wasn't that special, and never would be. She was nobody, and what Ramora needed wasn't her. It hurt to admit that, but she knew, for the Blessed, she had to. It was all she could give her now. The gift of stepping away, and letting her be free of trying to protect a silly child who dreamed too big.
It broke her heart, but for the woman she loved, she would find the strength to do it. She had to. There was no other choice now.
Reflected in the glass, she saw Esteban as he prepared them a light me
al. Neither of them was really hungry, but she knew, same as he did, that they had to eat something. Ramora had found what she came to the tower seeking, and now, they would wait, as Imicot left this world, hopefully bound for a better one.
Chara wanted to smile for the Werecat, but couldn't. The way he busied himself, keeping his hands moving as if it would keep the inevitable at bay. He was too kind and gentle for the world outside. Too sweet to face the horrors she knew now waited beyond these walls. Yet, she would take him from here, stand by him, and be whatever he needed of her. It was what she was. It was who she was.
Looking back out at the snow, she wondered why it had to be that way. She cared for him, loved him in a way, and maybe, could even be in love with him. He wasn't what she wanted, though. That was out of reach, and always had been. Was it fair to him that she do this? Was it wrong to lead him down this road, knowing that her own heart was a traitor? She honestly didn't know.
Perhaps, in the end, it didn't even matter what a single girl from a tiny village did. In the greater view of the world she’d glimpsed in that book, heard in Imicot's confession, a world where Blessed fought and died against monsters, the actions of an insignificant human hardly mattered at all.
All of which meant, a betrayal of her own heart could only serve to bring another happiness, and that, she supposed, was what really mattered. Her life could serve some purpose at least. For Esteban, if not herself.
"Chara?" he asked.
"Hmm?"
"Dinner is ready."
Pushing off from the wall, she turned, accepting the plate he offered. "Sorry. My mind was elsewhere."
He nodded slowly, picking at the food on his plate. "I know. Today has brought nothing but ill news."
"I thought it best if I, if we, didn't stay with her… But now…” She shook her head.
"If for no other reason than to be there, as friends," he nodded.
Chara mulled that for a moment. As friends. She thought of the way Ramora had touched her, held her, the first day they had arrived at the keep. The word “friends” felt bitter in her mind. Where had it all gone wrong? How had it managed to spin so horribly away from her?
"Yeah," she said. "As friends."
Esteban considered her for a moment. "You disagree."
Chara shook her head, feeling exhausted. "No, not at all. I know we need to go with her, as far as we can, anyway. It's just, I don't know what good we can possibly do. A guy like this, to beat him, she'll need an army, and in case you haven't noticed, we aren't one."
"I suppose we aren’t," he agreed. "Though, everyone needs people to be there for them. We may not be able to help her fight, but we can support her in other ways."
"Is that what you want to do?" she asked. "I mean, really, is that what you want to do?"
The big Cat pushed his plate aside, the meal not appetizing to him. "What I want is to make my life count for something. All of it I’ve spent here, helping father, and it’s been good enough for me. Now, though, I face an uncertain future, one I’m not well-prepared for. If I’m to continue living in a way I can be proud of, then I see no other choice but to do it aiding those who serve as the hand of the High Gods on this world."
"When you put it like that," Chara muttered, stabbing at her carrots in a savage manner they didn't entirely deserve.
"Is this not what you want?" he asked, tugging her plate away before she could mutilate the vegetables any further.
Chara groaned, burying her face in her hands. "I don't know what I want anymore. Every time I think I do, things get all crazy, and I lose sight of it, or feel like I can't reach it."
"I see," he said, ears twitching. "Perhaps it’s not the obtaining of your desires that matter, but the reaching for them in the first place."
Chara gave him a tired look. "Is that something Imicot told you?"
"It may be," he admitted.
"Figures," she sighed. "Smartest person in the room, that guy, all the time."
"Age has its benefits, it seems," the Cat replied with a soft smile. "Though, it’s something worthy of thinking on."
She nodded, making a sour face. "Me and thinking don't usually lead to good things, ya know."
"Only because you overthink them," he replied as he gathered their plates. "When you played Masters with father, you didn't over think, and you nearly bested him."
"I got lucky."
"Luck isn’t the same thing as natural talent, Chara," he chided. "Perhaps you sell yourself short."
She sank down on the counter, staring at him morosely. "You think so?"
"I’m certain of it," he told her, resting his elbows on the counter as well. "I’ve come to believe that you are far greater than you allow yourself to believe. You limit yourself, thinking that where you come from marks how high you can reach. If you allowed it, you would be able to do far more than you suspect."
She returned his smile, her own tinged with sadness. "Maybe. I guess we're going to find out, aren't we?"
"I think we should," he said.
"How can you always know just the right thing to say?" she asked, reaching out to toy with his ear.
"I speak from the heart, nothing more," he chuckled, purring softly at her touch.
Standing, she walked around the island and nestled against him, savoring the feel of his fur against her, the strength and smell of him soothing her troubled mind and heart. Maybe, she felt, there really were worse things in life than letting herself be loved by someone she wasn't sure she loved fully in return.
Or maybe, she thought, I just don't know how I really feel.
She helped him tidy the kitchen before they headed back upstairs, the night growing late. Outside the door to the room she’d meant to share with Ramora, she paused, knowing the Blessed was inside. Her hand felt too heavy to reach for the knob, leaving her standing there, staring at it in sorrow and loss.
"Are you all right?" Esteban asked, having hesitated a few feet from her as he made his way to his own rooms.
"No," she said softly. "I can't face her. I just can't. I can't explain it, but I know I can't."
Moving back to her, he rested a hand on her shoulder. "I can make up another room for you downstairs, if you like."
"Can I stay with you?" she asked, surprising even herself.
Esteban fumbled for a response. "I guess, I mean, if you want, that is, to be there, and uh... um..."
"I didn't mean stay with you for uh um," Chara told him. "I just don't think I can look her in the eye right now and be the friend she needs, after the way I've acted. So, no uh um. Unless you want uh um."
Closing her eyes, she counted to ten as she flushed furiously, unable to believe she’d just said that. And they say men think with their crotch, she admonished herself. Look at me, doing no better!
Esteban struggled for words for a bit. "It does sound really great, but I don't want you to feel like you have to."
"Oh, I almost always feel like I have to," she said, and then wanted to turn and slam her face into a wall.
"Ah, um," the big Cat stammered.
"What I mean to say," she managed without humiliating herself any further. "Is that I want to not be alone right now. If all we do is hold each other, fine. If more happens, that's fine, too. I just know that I can't be in there, with her, while she's hurting, after the things I've said, and the way I've acted. Does that make sense?"
"It does, yes," Esteban said, reaching down to take her hand.
"Good, cause I've not been managing that well lately."
"I've noticed."
"Shut up."
She wished she could’ve explained it better, but somehow, she couldn't get what she felt to come out as words. When she thought of Ramora, alone in that room, no doubt suffering under the reality of what she faced, Chara felt a wave of shame that undid her completely. She’d been so cruel to her, said such hurtful things, for the stupidest of reasons. She felt like she couldn't go to her, comfort her, and be the friend she needed. She wasn't worthy
of it.
More than that, she felt small against what they’d learned, the monster Ramora hunted. She felt so very tiny, and wanted to feel safe, for at least a little while. It was selfish, but she couldn't ask Ramora to give her that, not at the moment. With Esteban, she could have at least the illusion of it, and that she would take, while she could.
Soon, she wouldn't even have that, she knew. When they left the tower, there would be no safety. Just a cruel world full of evil. For tonight, she wanted that as far from her as possible.
She looked back as she followed the Were to his room, the door to Ramora's growing smaller. She hated herself for not being the person she wanted to be. She was weak, she knew, and small. She was frail, and human. She wasn't enough for a Blessed, a warrior, and a hero. She couldn't possibly be.
Esteban's room was similar to the one she’d been staying in for weeks, with only minor touches showing it as his own. Small things, possessions he treasured, were scattered around, a life lived in solitude. She looked at them, committing herself to the only path forward she could find.
Shrugging off her boots, she eased herself down on the bed, staring at nothing as the Were picked up some scattered clothes. It felt normal, a scene she’d played out before, more times than she wanted to admit. Scooting back on the bed, she laid down, wondering why it always came back to this.
She’d wanted to be more, only to find she had no more to give. She would’ve cried, but she didn't have the tears. She could only wish she’d done things differently, from the very start.
"Are you sure you're okay with this?" he asked.
She nodded. "I am."
Why was it so easy to lie? When had she become that kind of person? Was it too late to change course, and set her eye on a different horizon? Would it offer a port any different than the one she found herself in now?
As he tugged off his shirt and sat next to her, she knew the answer. It had been too late long ago. She had made herself what she was. There was no other road, and hadn’t been for a long time.
Rakiss left the room, stepping through the wall with ease. He’d done it. She would commit herself to the Cat. Everything he’d fought so hard for was coming to fruition.
Rise (War Witch Book 1) Page 24