“I’ll tell them,” I promised.
His face twisted and he grunted in pain, clutching at his stomach. I stood, moving to the small table near the door. The bottle of valerian was all but gone. I pulled the stopper. “Might as well finish it off while it still helps.” I brought him the bottle and tipped it to his lips. He swallowed the last of it and I set the empty flask aside.
We sat and talked of old times, then, until he drifted off. I held his hand, watching his chest rise and fall, my James, my freckle-faced boy who taught me to charm horses, my first love. I wept in silence as his breath stilled and his hand fell slack in mine. I sat there a long time before I stood, settling his hand on his stomach in peaceful repose.
Goodbye.
I turned and stumbled toward the door, grasping the tiny vial in one hand. A sharp tug snapped the cord and I tossed the empty glass container onto the table. Tommy hesitated a moment before stepping aside to let me pass.
My voice, barely a whisper, belonged to someone else. “Can you help me bury him?”
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 air seemed to open up around me. Moonlight scattered 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. 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. I crouched over his lackluster resting place, hating myself. His face swam in my memory, that first encounter in the courtyard as he watched me struggling for the stirrup. I thought of his patient voice, his quick smile, his lips and his earnest eyes. It may have been merely a memory, but I smelled the lilies one last time as more tears streamed down my cheeks. I wished I had something to leave there, to mark the place where he lay. I’d not thought to bring anything. My arms, I needed. I’d nothing else.
I stood to take my leave and spotted 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 doorway before stomping back down the hall. I closed my eyes and willed myself 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. He sank heavily onto the mattress behind me, and I heard 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.
I heard him exhale heavily. “Did your mother ever tell ye why I owed her such a debt?”
“Brigid.”
“What?”
I licked my cracked lips, 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.” I rolled slowly onto my back to see his face. If he was lying, I couldn’t tell. Tommy looked 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 in 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 an 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.” I remembered her telling me as much. 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 determinedly 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.” His eyes narrowed. “He wasn’t in the house….”
“He’s not here,” I snapped. Madness nipped at the fringes of my mind.
“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.
Tommy fidgeted uncomfortably across from me.
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. Pausing a moment to make sure my stew wouldn’t be making a reappearance, I reached across the table for his mug. He placed one hand firmly atop it, scowling at me.
“That won’t solve anythin’, lass.”
I sneered at him. “No, but it’ll make me feel better.”
He refused to budge. It didn’t matter. After that night, I spent the next two weeks drowning myself at the bottom of a barrel. Eleanor recognized me and took little convincing to let me run up a tab at Adrian’s eventual expense. Tommy kept an eye on me but thankfully didn’t interfere as long as I stayed in my hidden corner under the stairs. I didn’t write to Adrian, despite finding paper and ink delivered to my room. He was already on his way, most likely, and if he wasn’t, it was for a good reason.
The mead didn’t make me feel any better, but it did help me feel less. I drank until I slept, and when I woke, I drank some more. In between, I obsessed over every loss, every face, every shard of my shattered heart. I tormented myself with all the things I might have done, the ways I might have
saved them. My parents’ faces, skin charred and split, haunted my dreams, and Shera beside them, taking my place on the pyre. I wondered if they genuinely thought she was me. With her hair dyed, to an unfamiliar eye, we looked similar enough.
James’ face, too, followed me. His, I buried deep, unable to confront the truth that I had killed him with my own hands.
Tommy joined me at the table once in a while, attempting to draw me from my torrent of self-destruction. My response to him was always the same.
“Go away, Tommy.”
Days and nights blurred together, the passage of time measured by intermittent stretches of unconsciousness. One not particularly remarkable afternoon, he slumped down once again into the chair opposite me. I had my knife out, balancing it on its tip on the table and spinning it. The point carved a slow divot in the wood.
“Go away, Tommy,” I murmured automatically, not bothering to look at him.
He leaned forward, arms resting crossed on the tabletop. “No.”
“Please go away?” Sarcasm dripped from the words.
“No.”
I did look at him, then.
His cold gaze dug into me. “Ye can’t spend the rest of your life like this, lass.”
Why couldn’t he just leave me alone? I gripped the handle and stabbed the dagger into the wood. “My father gave me this knife. Did you know that?” Anger burned in my chest, overtaking the grief.
He didn’t respond, just stared at me, unimpressed.
I leaned forward and pointed at him, my lip curling with disdain. “And you are not him. So don’t tell me what I can and can’t do with my life.”
“I didn’t know yer father,” he admitted calmly. “But I’m bettin’ he didn’t give ye that knife for bein’ good at embroidery.”
That shut me up fast. I leaned back in my chair, crossing my arms over my chest.
Tommy tilted his head at me. “I spent the better part of my youth trying to save your mother, and when I finally managed to, she hated me for it. I couldn’t fix what broke Aileana, but she found a man who could.”
I swallowed the lump in my throat. It hurt to talk about them. Tommy didn’t care.
“I knew her better than most,” he pressed on. “She lived n’ breathed her web. It was more than just survival to her, it was in her blood. Ana never left a job unfinished.”
“And that’s what I’m doing, is it?” I snarled at him.
“Whatever you lot were about, she died for it. So did a lot of others.”
“I am not my mother.”
He shook his head slowly. “No, lass, ye certainly aren’t.” He watched me and waited for the shame of that barb to sink in. I chewed the inside of my cheek, willing my anger to stay with me. It shielded me from the rest of my misery, numbing it as effectively as the mead did. Despite my best efforts, it bled from me, a wave of guilt taking its place. I dropped my eyes to my dagger, grasping the hilt and wresting it from the wood.
His point made, Tommy pressed on. “Whatever this is, your parents saw to it that ye had the tools to see it through. Ye can’t bring back the dead, lass, but ye can make sure they didn’t die for nothin’.”
At that, he left me. I stared at the dagger in my hand for a long time. I remembered the day he gave it to me, standing in the courtyard in my borrowed breeches.
Return with honor, he’d said to me.
Where was the honor in my pit of despair and self-loathing? There was none, there, in the abyss where I lay. I wondered if I could ever find my way out. A glint of silver caught my eye and I fidgeted with my sapphire ring.
Adrian.
He was somewhere, trying to get back to me. I pictured our reunion, him finding me in the alcove under the stairs, wallowing in my grief. Was I waiting to be rescued? That was not the woman he wanted to marry, nor was it the woman I wanted to be. The thought alone made me furious, all my years playing at bravery, only to be proven a farce when the true test came.
It hurts too much.
My mother had suffered worse, far worse, and come out the other side.
I can’t do it alone.
She had been, nearly from the start of her brutal life.
I am not her.
No, but I was her flesh and blood, and she had taught me everything she could; years spent learning at her knee. I might not have her network, but that didn’t matter. I knew the plan. I could see it through if I could find the fortitude to do so.
You are what you choose to be – what you mold yourself into.
I stood from the table, leaving my half-full mug behind, and shut myself in my dingy room.
Chapter 17
Tommy found me the next morning, spooning porridge slowly into my mouth in the alcove under the stairs. After two weeks subsisting on mead alone, my stomach somersaulted angrily at the threat of real food. He snatched my mug and gave it a sniff. Water. My head pounded and I yearned for one of Greta’s disgusting concoctions. He waited silently for me to speak, his unreadable face staring at me across the table.
“What day is it?” I asked quietly.
“The King’s public announcement is tomorrow, if that’s what yer gettin’ at.” His tone was dispassionate and curt.
“At the temple?”
“Where else?” he growled.
I finished my gruel in silence. He shifted in his chair, struggling to maintain his dour demeanor. Eventually, my reticence got to him and he volunteered what news he had from the last two weeks.
Amenon had declared three days of mourning for my family, myself included. The tragic fire, it was said, was the result of common arson. Two dock workers had been arrested, interrogated, confessed, and hung for it. For his part, the King seemed genuinely grieved at the loss, despite having exiled us rather publicly the day before. Our House was to be turned over to the next closest kin in our bloodline, my father’s cousin Elliot.
House Briad had fled the city, along with two others from our fragile coalition. With the extermination of my House, that left only six in Litheria to stand against the High Priest. I considered reaching out to them but didn’t dare. One of them had betrayed us to the King, and I still had no clue which one. In the end, a few extra soldiers wouldn’t make any difference and it was too late to call in reinforcements from outside the city, so I left it and focused on my own part. Tommy didn’t ask what I intended to do. He didn’t need to. Instead, he simply asked me what I needed.
I wrote letters for Adrian, Aubrey, and Quintin, should he ever return to the city. I told Tommy what little I knew of my mother’s connections, and gave him the names of the few people I knew he could trust. I left a letter for Lord Reyus, to be delivered if things went badly. In it, I told him what had happened, and begged him to take my parents’ place leading the effort to secure Selice on the throne. Our assassin was already in place, and could not be recalled. That much, we had set in motion long before we had been summoned to the palace. If I failed, there would be one last chance to move against the High Priest. A vague warning was all I could give him. I couldn’t risk putting the assassin’s existence into writing.
Hardest of all was the letter for Leanne, and I battled over every word. She deserved to know how much he loved her, and that he thought of her at the end. I wanted her to know he died bravely, doing his duty, but the words felt hollow. Dead was dead. Her child would never know his father. Duty be damned.
I was loath to ask for anything more, but I did entreat Tommy to place a discreet man in the crowd to see Valor safely away. I needed my proud stallion for this, but I wouldn’t risk him falling into the hands of some Persican brute for the rest of his life.
“Anythin’ else?” Tommy asked me when I handed him the letters later that evening.
“A bath wouldn’t go amiss.” I reeked of two weeks’ stale mead and misery.
Eleanor saw to it, sending a few of the lads to haul hot water to the small shared privy. The wooden tub was barely large enough to sit in, but I made the most of it. A shabby lump of lye-soap se
rved well enough to scrub myself clean. There was no oil for my hair, but I had time and a comb. I was working through a particularly stubborn mat when a discreet knock sounded at the door.
“I’m sending one of Eleanor’s gals in,” Tommy’s muffled voice sounded through the door. One of the barmaids slipped inside and set a neatly folded pile of clean clothes on the small table before darting back out.
“Thank you,” I called to him, and heard him shuffle away down the hall.
Winter’s chill seeped into the damp room, and I was grateful for the scratchy towel to scrub myself dry. Donning the borrowed breeches and tunic, I made my way back up to my room to finish untangling my long locks. It took the better part of an hour and a few bits had to be cut out with my knife, but eventually, I managed to get it into reasonable order. After that, there was nothing left to do but sleep, but my mind was whirring and I knew it would be a futile endeavor. I considered heading downstairs to pass what was likely to be my last night on this earth in company, but the thought of mead turned my stomach.
Instead, I sat on the lumpy cot and stared out the window at the night sky. The moon hung at half her glory, stars keeping their quiet vigil. Many, I imagine, would pass the eve of their death in prayer, but that was not my way. To be sure, I spent a bit of time entreating my gods, but mostly I talked to the dead. Whispering into the darkness, I chatted with my parents, with Shera, with James, as if they stood before me in that dim room. I thanked Gabe for his patient company, Seth for his bravery, Emmett and Preston for their unwavering loyalty. I told Ellen and Poppy I was sorry they’d not had the chance to become wives and mothers. I fingered the scar on my ribcage and apologized to Greta for causing her so much consternation. I imagined their ghosts there with me in the darkness and felt a little less alone.
In the morning, I rose with the dawn and wrapped my sword belt and arms into a careful bundle, my Freyjan shield binding it together. My hair, I combed and plaited tightly. Pulling on my boots, I made my way downstairs. Tommy was already seated in the alcove, two bowls of porridge before him on the table. He eyed me as he dug into one.
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