Valor stirred in the paddock. A few of the boys glanced my way but made no move to stop me as I saddled him, trying my best to ignore the dried blood still caking the leather. We slipped from the warehouse without issue and I dug in my heels, tearing through the cobblestone streets, a streak of gray in the early morning light.
The silence of it struck me first, flames and chaos replaced by piercing quiet. I could taste the awful stillness in the air, feel the sheer nothingness of it reverberating deep within me, an echo of the crushing emptiness that filled my chest. I stood in the courtyard, my mount forgotten, and gazed upon the ruins of my life.
The stone husk smoldered and smoked, charred walls all that remained standing. The stable was an ashen heap, the horses still screaming in my memory. My feet carried me, one lurching step at a time, toward the wreckage. Just beyond the threshold, the bodies of Seth and Gabe lay charred and unrecognizable. The soldiers must have dragged them back into the house before they left.
As I picked my way slowly through the shell of my home, I spotted a few recognizable remnants among the ashes. Here, a piece of an armoire from my room. There, a shard of a teapot from the salon. The upper level had collapsed upon the lower, leaving a mountain of debris around the perimeter walls. All around me, heat radiated from the cinders, overpowering the biting chill of early winter to draw sweat from my brow. I strained my ears, listening for any signs of life. I dared not call out, but even if I’d tried, I don’t know that my mouth could have formed the words.
In what was once the common room, a handful of soldiers sprawled in the ruins, soot obscuring the crude sigil painted on their plate armor. Staked in the ribs of one, a blackened blade jutted skyward like a battle standard.
A sword. My father’s sword.
Something pulled at me, a dark and mournful whisper, a siren song hissing through my bones. My boots followed, stumbling over the wreckage toward the garden. Only the columns of the arcade remained to mark its perimeter, a ribcage of stone and cinders flanking me as I staggered past them.
The scorched grass cushioned my knees when I fell, the air snatched from my lungs. Around me, plants smoldered. The marble fountain lay still and silent.
Before me, in the place where I’d found peace and redemption and self-worth, they had driven a post into the ground. There, in the heart of my family’s home, they had set a pyre. Upon it, three figures remained, bound together and slumped among the embers, the last pieces of my shattered heart.
CHAPTER 38
I was lying curled up amid the ashes at their blackened feet when Tommy found me. I barely noticed his presence. He knelt down beside my empty shell, placing one hand on my shoulder.
“Come on, lass,” he murmured gently.
I didn’t respond, didn’t move. I wasn’t there. None of it was real.
He whistled softly and a few pairs of rough hands lifted me to my feet. I don’t remember if they carried me or if I walked out of that smoldering graveyard. I do remember Tommy’s arms holding me in the saddle as his brown mare ambled along the cobblestones. I remember the creak of the hinges as the door swung open to admit us. I remember the empty room, the cot rushing up to accept the husk of what was once me, Tommy’s shadow settling into a chair nearby, head in his hands.
To say I wept… I would laugh if the bitterness of it wouldn’t consume me.
I surrendered, body and soul, to complete and utter despair. There is no better way to explain such a chasm of unfathomable loss. I threw myself willingly into the jaws of madness and hoped never to reemerge. Anything to make the pain stop.
To my dismay, Tommy refused to leave me there. Oh, he left me alone, to be sure. Men are rarely comfortable with emotion. Better to bottle it up and tuck it away, but my bottle was full, overflowing, and the grief was drowning me.
He returned to my room as the sun was setting, the rickety chair behind me creaking when he sank into it.
“I know ye are grievin’,” he began carefully, his voice hoarse. “But the valerian isn’t helpin’ much anymore.”
Somewhere deep within that hollow shell, I stirred.
James.
“If ye stay here, lost inside yer head, and he dies alone, in pain…” A faint rasping filled the silence as he rubbed his stubbled face. “You’ll never forgive yourself, lass.”
He waited as his words pierced the fog of misery that filled my mind.
They’re all dead. Everyone I love is gone.
Not everyone, a small voice countered in my head. He needs you.
My hand was numb from clutching the vial strung around my neck. I’d spent the day searching for a reason not to open it and down the contents.
Courage, my mother’s voice whispered in my head.
James lay awake when we entered, his face twisted in pain, skin pallid and soaked with sweat. Tommy hovered by the door as I crossed the small room and sat beside him on the bed. He squeezed my hand when I took it, forcing a smile for me that didn’t quite reach his mahogany eyes.
“I know you enjoy a good prank, but maybe sending a dead hare to the King of Alesia wasn’t such a great idea, all things considered.”
The involuntary gasp of a laugh that slipped from my lips was quickly checked by tears, and a hopeless shake of my head was all I could manage in response.
“Still,” he added. “I would have paid a few silver to see the look on his face.”
“How did you even hear about that?”
He quirked one brow at me. “Everyone heard about that.”
Ah, gods. I’ll never know how he managed to make me laugh in the midst of that crushing darkness, but he did, brief and hollow though it was. It shone a light into the endless abyss inside me, one that lingered long after the weight of our circumstances settled back over us.
“Those weren’t King’s Guard,” he murmured, all levity gone from his voice.
“Divine Origin,” I muttered back. “The High Priest’s men. Persicans in King’s Guard plate.”
“Why would they come for us?”
“…Because of me.”
“I was joking about the hare.”
I bit the inside of my cheek. “I’m not.”
His brows flicked together in confusion. After a decade of friendship, he didn’t need to voice the question aloud. I couldn’t bear to face him, my eyes darting away as I forced out a brief summary of the last six months. He deserved that much, at least, given that he was going to die for it.
He should have shouted at me. He should have raged and seethed and called me all manner of foul things. I would have deserved every bit of it and more. Instead, he gave my hand another squeeze and flashed that all-forgiving smile. No words, just a look – the same look he’d given me a thousand times before. I felt the tiny pieces of my heart cracking inside my chest.
“I’m so sorry,” I whispered.
He shook his head at me, slow and deliberate, before a wave of pain cascaded through him. Wincing, he doubled over and hissed through gritted teeth for several long minutes. I could only watch in utter helplessness as it gradually faded and his vice-like grip eased on my hand. At length, he relaxed back against the pillows once more, his eyes drifting down to the bandage around his torso. The outermost layers had begun to discolor, splotches of red seeping through.
“Hell of a way to go, huh?” he remarked, frighteningly pale with a fresh sheen of sweat on his brow.
I nodded, my shattered heart aching. “I could make it easier.” One unsteady hand drew the vial from beneath my tunic.
I didn’t need to tell him what it was. His face immediately fell, brows knitting in violent rebuke.
“No.”
“Let me help you,” I pressed, my voice cracking.
Even in his agony, James only ever thought of others. “If they catch you-”
“They won’t. Besides, I can always make another vial.”
He laughed humorlessly, wincing. “All that training and you’re sti
ll a terrible liar.”
“Please,” I begged. “Just take it.”
His eyes met mine. “I won’t let you suffer because of me.”
“Please.”
“No.”
I stood angrily and turned away from him with a colorful string of curses. Tommy caught my eye and fingered his dagger. I tried not to let my revulsion show as I gave him a subtle shake of my head. If James was going to die, it wouldn’t be the hard edge of a blade that stole his last breath from him. Grasping the last frayed threads of my calm, I returned to my seat on the edge of the bed and took his hand in mine once more, staring down at the contrast of tan and olive skin. How many times had he comforted me with those hands? How many tears had those fingers wiped from my cheeks? Too many, and not nearly enough.
It should be me who lay dying.
“What will you do now?” he asked quietly after a long moment, drawing my gaze back to his.
“There’s nothing left to do,” I gasped, my fragile composure faltering. Hot tears dropped onto my lap. “We failed. Everyone is gone.”
“Not everyone.” He gave my hand a feeble squeeze. “You are still alive.”
For what? I thought bitterly.
To suffer, the cruel voices hissed inside my head.
To survive, my mother’s voice countered.
I shoved them all down deep, wiping my cheeks determinedly on the filthy sleeves of my tunic.
“Do you have a message for Leanne? And your parents?”
His face fell as he considered the fact that he’d never meet his child. “That I love them very much,” he finally said quietly. “And that I’ll be waiting for them on the far shore.”
“I’ll tell them,” I promised.
The words were barely out of my mouth when his face twisted, another wave of spasms gripping him. I stood while he grunted in pain and clutched at his stomach, moving to the small table near the door. The bottle of valerian was all but gone, the stopper creaking as I worked it free.
“Might as well finish it off while it still helps.”
I brought him the bottle and tipped it to his lips, his throat working to swallow the last of it with an eagerness that revealed just how much pain he was in.
We sat and talked of old times, then, until he drifted back into a valerian sleep. I held his hand, watching his chest rise and fall. My James. The freckle-faced boy who taught me to charm horses. My first love. I wept in silence when his breath stilled and his hand fell slack in mine. Tommy never made a sound as he watched from the doorway, his presence the only comfort he dared to offer. It was a long time before I stood, settling James’ cold hand on his stomach in peaceful repose.
Goodbye.
I shuffled toward the door, grasping the tiny vial in one hand. A sharp tug snapped the cord at my neck and I tossed the empty glass container onto the table beside Tommy, who just stared at me with those guarded hazel eyes.
“Will you help me bury him?”
I couldn’t bring myself to look into his scarred face, couldn’t bear to see the judgement or the pity or whatever else I might have found there.
“Aye, lass…I’ll help ye.”
We slipped from the city under cover of night, Valor bearing his solemn burden. Tommy and two of his boys led the way to a hidden passage, a smuggler’s channel along the riverside, barely tall enough to permit a horse to pass. Once outside the walls, the stifling air opened up around me, moonlight scattering across the dry grass, painting the vast plain silver.
I chose a tree well away from the walls and the roads. There, we dug, navigating around roots until we managed a hole large enough to accept him. The lads helped me haul the canvas bundle that contained him into the grave, all three of us grunting and filthy. It was graceless and bitter and I hated every second of it, but it was the best I could do for him.
You deserved better.
Once the dirt had been replaced, Tommy and his boys retreated to wait at a discreet distance, Valor hanging his head at the lead. I could feel every one of their eyes on my back as I crouched over the lackluster resting place, loose dirt grating beneath my boots.
No words, no bits of poetry or earnest farewells offered themselves to me in that moment. I was utterly hollow, nothing but self-loathing whispering within as I thought of all the ways he should have been honored – remembered. His mother should be here, to lay him in the earth. His father and brothers should have dug this grave, broad and deep and filled with wildflowers. Instead it was me, coated in soot and blood when he deserved attendants in silk and satin to send him on his way. I had nothing to offer, for all he had done, all he had been to me.
His face swam in my memory; his patient voice, his quick smile, his lips and his earnest eyes. Straw and steel and laughter. Countless scraps and pranks. Whether it was real or some figment of my exhausted mind, I smelled the lilies one last time, tears streaming down my cheeks, streaking through the grit and dust on my skin.
A flash of gold caught my eye when I stood to take my leave, a cluster of wild wheat growing nearby. The tiniest hint of light peeked through the dark abyss within. Cutting a handful of it with my knife, I used a strand of grass to bind it into a tiny sheaf and laid it upon the dirt mound at the foot of the tree. Above my head, moonlight shimmered on the few leaves that still clung to the branches on the cusp of winter.
“Take care of him,” I whispered, pressing one hand to her trunk.
I marked well the location of the tree, standing proud and solitary in the midst of the open field. There were many like it, and I feared I’d not be able to find it again, so I tore a strip from the hem of my tunic and knotted it tightly around a low-hanging branch. If I was ever able to return, it would serve as confirmation that I’d found him again. There was nothing more I could do.
We made our silent way back to the hidden passage and down the darkened streets to the Greyshor. Once I’d seen Valor secured in the warehouse, I dragged myself up the stairs and locked my hollow shell in the dim room where I’d spent most of the day. I’d no more strength to grieve, so I curled up on the cot and threw myself into the unfeeling abyss of sleep.
Tommy checked on me in the morning but eventually left when I didn’t respond. Around mid-afternoon, he took the time to fling some curses at me from the other side of the door before stomping back down the hall. I closed my eyes and willed myself back to sleep. At least there, in the darkness, I didn’t have to feel it all.
The world outside my window was dark again the next time he returned. I woke to the creak of the door hinges, the lock having been quietly picked before I ever stirred. The lumpy mattress sagged as he sank heavily onto it behind me, followed by the familiar scratch of him rubbing the stubble on his chin.
“Ye need to eat, lass,” he scolded softly.
I stared at the dingy streaks on the windowpane and said nothing.
“Ye can’t stay in here forever.”
I could. If I just waited long enough, I could die too. “Go away, Tommy.” My whispered words were dry leaves on stone.
A sigh hissed through his nostrils. “Did your mother ever tell ye why I owed her such a debt?”
My cracked lips answered of their own accord. “Brigid.”
“…What?”
I swallowed, forcing my raspy voice to a more discernible volume. “Brigid. Your girl. Your father took her, so you killed him for it, and my mother took the blame.”
I’m proud to be your daughter.
He looked over his shoulder at me. “Wasn’t no girl. It was Ana.”
A long silence stretched before I rolled slowly onto my back to see his face. If he was lying, I couldn’t tell, even with all my hard-won skill. Tommy’s hazel eyes darted away.
“I’d always loved her, from the moment she showed up at our miserable hole by the docks.” He pulled the short-brimmed hat from his head and squeezed it between his hands. “When my father found out about her side jobs….” He trailed off a moment,
running one hand through his hair. “I killed every man who touched her. It wasn’t enough.”
I propped my arms under me with effort, pulling myself to sit upright behind him. He glanced over his shoulder at me again.
“She wanted to die, ye know. She begged me to end it.” He shook his head. “I couldn’t.” The hat in his hand twisted and he stood, turning to me, his eyes filled with immense sorrow and unbending resolve. “I couldn’t watch her die, and I’ll be damned if I let you.”
I’d nothing to say, even if I’d wanted to. Tommy took that as acquiescence and hauled me by the arm downstairs and into a chair at a table tucked into the alcove under the stairs, shadowed and discreet. He deposited a steaming bowl of stew before me, along with a mug. I hadn’t eaten in more than two days. My stomach churned uncomfortably at the smell, but when Tommy sank into the seat opposite me, I knew I wouldn’t be able to refuse.
“Take it slow,” he warned as I found my appetite.
I made a point to measure each spoonful, washing it down with what I regretted to discover was just water.
“She was glad, ye know, in the end.” He eyed me. “Glad I didn’t let her die.”
“I’m not sure you’ll get the same gratitude from me,” I grumbled into my bowl.
“You’ve got things to live for, like that pretty lad you’re always out an’ about with.” Tommy paused. “He wasn’t in the house….”
“He’s not here,” I snapped. Madness nipped at the fringes of my mind, anger creeping in to offer a respite from my endless sorrow.
“Then ye should send for him,” he said steadily. “I’ll bring some paper to your room. One of my boys can run it.”
I didn’t reply, scraping at the remnants with my spoon. When I finished, I nudged my mug. “Anything stronger?”
He hesitated, but went to the bar and fetched two mugs of mead. I took mine before it touched the table and emptied it. After pausing a moment to make sure my stew wouldn’t be making a reappearance, I reached across the table for his tankard. He placed one hand firmly atop it, frowning at me.
Traitor (A Crown of Lilies Book 1) Page 44