by Sam Farren
I let a hand fall to the side, gesturing for her to sit next to me. No matter what she'd accused me of, I needed to lean against her.
“I'm sorry. For what I said,” I murmured, burying my face in the side of her arm.
“... don't be. You were only voicing what I've thought plenty of times,” she said, tensing in a way that said she was fighting not to put her arm around me, uncertain of how much was too much. “Guess I've got to be owning up to my past now and again.”
I wanted to forgive her, but things still didn't feel right. She'd love Oak, if only she'd meet him, yet I couldn't help but say, “You still think I did something wrong, don't you?”
Kouris shuffled, fingers knitting together.
“Can't be saying I think it was the right thing to do, all things considered,” she eventually said. “But I'm not holding it against you, yrval.”
I sat back up straight and Kouris said, “Claire told me about Kidira. Told me she's still alive. I'm gonna be heading up towards the mountains, towards Kyrindval. Word is, she left a month ago, looking for another way to help. Now, I understand that you probably don't want to be tracking her down with me, but come with me, yrval. Come to Kyrindval. You'll be safe there. They're not gonna care whether you're a necromancer or not.”
She was leaving already.
She'd been in Orinhal for a matter of hours, and yet she was already moving on, off to find the woman she'd left alone for decades. She was angry at what I'd done but not at me, which likely meant that I ought to stop feeling nauseous, and as much as I longed for the warm welcome Kyrindval would doubtlessly offer me, I couldn't go with her.
“I need to stay here,” I said. “For Claire.”
“Just paid her a visit. Can't say she's in the most talkative of moods,” Kouris hummed. "That pane of hers filled in most of the gaps in the conversation."
“Sen,” I said. “And I'm not surprised. I... don't know how to help her, Kouris. I don't know how to help myself.”
Kouris placed a hand on my back, rubbing between my shoulder blades.
“It's not all up to you, yrval. Just be remembering that.”
I fell back against her side, and none dared to wander too close to a necromancer and a pane. I understood why she felt compelled to leave, but wished that she wouldn't; I wished that this was the end of our journey, but more than that, I wished that Orinhal felt like as much of a home as Mahon had.
“Are you sure you're really wanting to stay here?” Kouris asked, rising to her feet. I nodded, not forcing myself to voice the right answer, and she swooped down, hesitating before kissing me atop the head. “I'm sorry about what I said, yrval. Honestly. You know how much I love you.”
The corners of my mouth twitched into a faint smile, and I said, “... Charley's alive, too. He's over in the stables.”
Kouris grinned in earnest, fangs showing, and within a handful of seconds, she was gone, horns no longer visible over the thinning crowds.
I decided that there was nothing for it but to pick at my food. I took the tray inside, set it down on my bed, and ate a little at a time, waiting for the thoughts that rushed through my mind to give way to sleep. My head was full of flashes Claire and Kouris, and it was late out – close to midnight – when it finally occurred to me to sink beneath the covers.
I pulled them back and there was a knock at the door. I ignored it, fell down on the bed, but it sounded again, more urgent than before. I listened out for sounds within the cabin, but it seemed I was the only one around. I waited for a third knock before dragging myself down the corridor and opened it, only to be met by Sen's worried eyes.
“Rowan. You need to... need to come with me,” she said, not taking the time to apologise for coming at such a late hour. I was out of the door before she'd finished explaining. “I, ah. Made the Marshal dinner, but when I returned for the dishes, the doors were bolted from the inside. It's happened before and I tried not to worry, but... a-after today.”
I ran to the tower doors and pulled on the handles myself. The doors rattled in the frame, refusing to budge more than an inch.
“I don't know what to do,” Sen admitted, eyes stained a pale silver.
I beat my fists on the door, calling, “Claire! Claire, open up!” but there was no response.
I stepped back, kicked the door for good measure, and rushed around to the side. The windows were big enough to climb through, but shutters had been pulled across from the inside. From where I stood, I couldn't knock them off their hinges.
“Sen. Break the shutters.”
“B-but—”
“Are you more worried about Claire being angry with you or something bad happening to Claire?”
I hadn't dared to think that something had happened, and saying it out loud caused us both to freeze for the briefest moment. Setting her jaw, Sen stepped forward and knocked the shutters clean through with a single strike. Wood clattered against the floor and Sen helped me climb through.
“Go. Go home. I'll come find you once I know everything's alright,” I said.
I didn't think I was brave enough to head up the stairs if I knew Sen was there, waiting, and she saw it in my expression. Bowing her head, Sen stepped away, and I stared at the stairs, telling myself that Claire was asleep. She'd wanted to be alone, locked herself in, drank too much and passed out; that's all that had happened.
I took the stairs slowly, gripping the banister tighter than I needed to.
“Claire,” I called out. “Claire, it's me.”
I was going to find her in bed, sleeping. I'd worried for nothing.
A single candle burnt low on the table, casting just enough light for me to make out the grain of the room.
Claire wasn't sleeping.
She was sat on the edge of the bed, grasping her dragon-bone knife between both hands.
“Claire...” I said softly, not daring to blink, lest tears spill out. “I came to see if you were alright. And I can see that you're not, but that's okay. Can I have the knife? Please?”
The blade pointed at the ceiling, no more steady than the rest of her. I stayed exactly where I was, glanced at the empty bottle rolled halfway across the table, and Claire shook her head, over and over. I took a single step forward and she clutched the knife harder, leg trembling more than ever.
I could wrestle the knife out of her hands, if I moved quickly enough. I was confident of that much, but I didn't want to have to pry it away from her. I held my breath, counted down from ten, and took another step. She didn't flinch, and I took another, and then another, until I could slowly kneel down in front of her.
“Don't,” she said, screwing her eyes shut. “Don't...”
“Don't what, Claire?” I asked softly, doing all I could to keep my eyes on her, and not the unsteady blade inches from my face.
“Don't look at me, I...” she murmured, and once those words were free, the rest clawed their way out of her. “By the time we found a healer, it was far too late. But if the scars were fresh...”
My chest ached as though everything within it was too frail to hold onto for much longer, and Claire released the knife with one hand, reaching up to touch the burns across her face. I brought my hands up, gently rested my fingers on her wrists when her hand fell back into her lap, and she said, “Please. Please, I cannot—I am trapped.”
“I can't do that, Claire. You can't do that. I want to help you, more than anything, but this isn't the way to do it. I understand, I really do, but you can't heal yourself by hurting yourself. Not properly. Do you remember what you said to me, after you'd slayed that dragon and returned to Isin? You said that sometimes, you expected the scars to still be there. You'd look in the mirror and not understand why you looked the way you did. It's not going to go away, Claire. And if you do this to yourself... you'll never get a chance to let it feel even a little bit better,” I said, brushing my thumbs across the backs of her hands.
Opening her eyes back up, Claire looked as though she wanted to laugh, but
could only grimace.
“You understand? Of course you don't, Rowan.”
“Listen to me, please,” I said, head bowed forward. I grazed my lips against the back of the hand holding the knife and said, “I told you that Katja hurt me, didn't I? She thought I could make her into a necromancer. When I wouldn't, she decided to practise on me. She hurt me Claire. She put knives in me, over and over. In my chest, in my stomach. It went on for days, and I can still feel them, as though the metal's stuck inside of me. But that's not it, that's...”
I paused, having to look away for a second. My throat was closed and my thoughts became dense, unsearchable. My chest heaved and I said what I could, what little I could, to make Claire understand that I knew something of what she felt.
“She said she was going to make me a better necromancer. She wanted to show me what I was capable of, so she... she cut off my hand. She cut off my hand and she was right. There's so much I can do. It grew back, but... But it's not my hand. I look at it and I know it's not my hand. I curl my fingers and it doesn't feel like my hand. I touch you and it's not my hand, it's not my hand, and I want to cut it off again but—”
I was breathing heavily through grit teeth, eyes stinging.
“It still wouldn't be my hand. It's never going to be my hand, it's never going to feel like it should. It's like... like it weighs too much, or too little, and when I grip it, it's almost like it's her hand. I don't...” I lowered my voice to a whisper. “I wish it had never grown back.”
Claire was looking at me, seeing me through the haze that had enveloped her. She freed a hand from my gentle grasp and brought it to my cheek. My heart quickened with everything I wasn't feeling. I'd said all of that and nothing like shame ran through me; I didn't feel as though I was worth less because the words had finally left me.
I placed both of my hands around the one clasping the knife and Claire's grip loosened. The knife passed into my hands and I rose shakily to my feet, stepping back to place it on the table.
When I returned to Claire, I didn't crouch down again. I pulled her close and she slumped against me, face buried in my chest. I clasped her shoulder with one hand and carefully ran the tips of my fingers through her hair, feeling the unsteady rise and fall of her chest as she let herself be anything but still.
“I'm sorry. I don't know what to say, Rowan. I want so much to be of comfort to you, and yet...” She bit down on her lower lip and I held her closer. “I expect everyone says that they're sorry, or that... that it was awful, or. Or, I could say that I would've protected you, but that feels selfish. I think I have spent so much time thinking of how I could've avoided all this that my thoughts have been poisoned against the present. I hope you know that I...”
She stopped short, and I leant forward, kissing the top of her head.
“I wish I knew why you – why you – tolerated any of this. You ought not to suffer for my vices.”
“Because...” I began, but I couldn't say it. Not while Claire was like this. Not while we were like this. “I'm here, okay? I'm here because I want to be.”
“I think,” Claire murmured, “That this is how it should be. If I had not failed Kastelir so, all this death, this war, it wouldn't...”
“You can't blame yourself for this, Claire. You did what you could to help Kastelir, what no one else was willing to. You gave up so much – your status, your wealth, your home – and you gave Kastelir enough to fight back,” I said, “And look at all you sacrificed to protect Isin, at the very end. This isn't a punishment. It just... isn't fair.”
Claire said nothing more, and I could only hope that my words had reached her. I sat next to her on the bed and kept my arms around her, and colourless exhaustion took her all at once. She didn't sleep peacefully, but she did sleep, heavy in my arms. The whole night through, into morning, my eyes didn't once grow heavy. I shuffled back, leant against the wall, and she barely stirred enough to move with me.
I kept my hand – my new hand – on the back of her head, fingers trailing through her hair. If I was to convince Claire there was a way to live in what her body had been twisted into, I had to do the same for myself. I had to believe that the hand was part of me, and that it was Katja who caused my thoughts to wind back with little rhyme or reason; I was merely trying to place the blame upon myself.
When Claire began to wake, she did so groggily, groaning under her breath. I prepared myself for how she might act, now that the alcohol had been given time to seep out of her system, and placed my hands on her shoulders to help her sit up straight.
“Morning,” I said, and her sole reply was to lean forward, face buried in her hands. “... I'll get you some water.”
I poured a glass from the pitcher, tasting a drop for myself to ensure that it was water. I stood in front of her, glass held out, and one hand remained plastered against her face as she reached for it.
“How are you feeling?” I asked as she downed half of the glass in one go, and then looked nauseous for it.
“I am still...” she said in a hoarse voice, “I believe I shall not feel it quite so keenly once I have eaten.”
I pressed my fingertips to her temple, certain her head must be pounding, but she took hold of my wrist and pulled my hand away.
“No. No easy way out,” she said.
She didn't have to suffer to prove herself to me and enduring a headache would hardly teach the longest lasting lesson – it wouldn't even be the first time she'd learnt it – but I let her be.
“Shall I get Sen? She'll probably make a better breakfast than I can,” I said, and Claire stared down at the glass she was now clutching between both hands and nodded shallowly. “... I should just go, shouldn't I?”
“It is not that I object to your company,” Claire said, looking up at me. “But I am ashamed of myself. Embarrassed beyond all reason. It is difficult enough to be alone with myself, let alone with you here. I need time to sort my thoughts out. To find a way to better myself.”
“Alright,” I said, pointedly taking the dragon-bone knife from the table and slipping it into the waistband of my trousers. Claire grit her teeth together and said nothing. “I'm going to keep coming over, though. To make sure you're alright. You don't have to let me in, if you don't want to. I just need to know that you're safe.”
“That may be wise,” Claire said darkly, and looked away from me.
Her cane was at the far side of the room, thrown there, more likely than not, and I picked it up before I left and laid it across the bed. Claire said nothing to me, and I told myself I understood why she wanted to be alone; what she said must've been coming back to her word by word, and she needed time for her own voice to stop resounding quite so loudly within her head.
I was almost afraid to leave her alone, but watching over her every minute of the day wouldn't have been good for either of us.
I unbolted the tower door, feeling the full weight of my exhaustion when I stepped out into the early morning light. I wanted nothing more than to bury my face in a pillow or my hands and sob until my body had no choice but to sleep for a week, but I had to fetch Sen first.
I walked with my head down, but keeping to myself wasn't an option for me anymore. A handful of those going about their business around the tower recognised me, and word spread quickly. Someone observed that I'd been in the tower all night, but I knew better than to engage them. I didn't stop until I was at Sen's cabin, and knocked half a dozen times.
She answered the door within seconds, having no doubt waited up all night for news, and once again, Akela was with her. I smiled weakly at them both, relieved that Sen hadn't been alone and said, “Sorry it took so long. Claire fell asleep and I didn't want to disturb her.”
Sen covered her hearts with her hand and Akela patted her on the back, saying, “See, what am I saying? If Ightham is in trouble, then Northwood, she is coming to find us right away.”
Akela's usual booming confidence didn't reach her voice. She was almost as relieved as Sen was to se
e me there, having spent all night being positive enough for the two of them.
“She wants breakfast,” was the only thing I could bring myself to say, and seeing my shoulders hunched up by my ears, Akela hurried to excuse herself.
“Well, now that I am knowing Ightham is fine, it is time for work. Yes, yes, the fun, it is never ending! We are going on a scouting mission. Rylan, he is heading somewhere to do something, that is what the rumours are saying. He is getting to a town and just in time, he is saving it from dragons, it is being most convenient,” she said, shaking her head. “I am returning in four days. You are not allowing Sen to work too hard, yes?”
“I'll try my best,” I assured her, and she left us with an exaggerated bow.
The counters in Sen's kitchen were too high for me to offer much help. I had enough trouble climbing onto one of the chairs around the table. Sen continued to frown as she set about preparing a meal, ears low and trembling, and I looked anywhere but at her. Wooden birds lined the windowsill and the backs of the counters, all of them meticulously well carved, and I managed to smile, thinking that Reis would like them.
Birds chirped and clucked from the tiny garden Sen had to call her own, and she peered out of the window, concerned, already having far too much to attend to.
“How long has Claire been drinking like that?” I heard myself ask.
Sen stopped scrapping butter onto toast and said, “Since I've known her. I-I've tried to stop it. I never t-take anything to her and I always make sure there's... there's nothing her room, but, s-s—still, s-she...”
“It's alright,” I rushed to assure her, and she took a deep breath, stuttering stilling her tongue. “It's been a problem for a long time. Before I knew her. We just have to look after her as best we can. Even if she gets angry at us, even if it feels like we're taking away her privacy. She won't get any better, otherwise.”
It was as much as Sen could do to nod in agreement. Her nerves were all but frayed, and she went about finishing up breakfast with unsteady hands.
“Claire's lucky to have you,” I said. “I can see how much you do for her, Sen. She couldn't ask for anyone better.”
