Chapter 83
CHAPTER EIGHTY-THREE
R owan wasn’t sleeping like she usually did.
After last night, I resolved to be back in our bed earlier. Even if I didn’t get any more sleep, at least she would.
My mind swam with the never-ending list of things to deal with, not least of which was Iiro’s uncharacteristic and ominous silence.
Crane had sent back word that they would stand with Bear, and Wolf did as well. I had been concerned on that last front, since Nils had been fonder of my father than he was of me, but he had stood by his loyalty in the end.
Taras and Mila would be back any day with word from Arès. I suspected he would stand with us as well, since he had never signed off on Iiro’s monarchy to begin with.
Not to mention the fact that this was his daughter’s clan now.
In theory, everything was falling in line.
Then why do I have the feeling I’m missing something?
I thought that I would feel freer with my father gone, but his ghost still walked these halls, reminding me of everything I had ever done for him. Because of him.
Reminding me that no matter what the people thought or how much they were forced to submit to me, half of my clan still cowered in terror when I walked into a room.
With good reason.
Which made Rowan all the more spectacular. Not only had she never truly been afraid of me, but day by day, she was reminding the people of our humanity, as she had with her snowball fights in the villages.
The court was warming up to her, even if most of the lords still didn’t know quite what to think, and the villagers were beginning to love her. Not only because she brought them food, but because she brought them laughter, something that they sorely needed after the dark reign of my father.
Tonight, she raised her eyebrows when I slid into bed well before midnight. She was still awake, which was telling in and of itself, and the firelight illuminated a pensive expression on her perfect features.
I held out an arm, and she eagerly nestled herself into me. Gently, I trailed my hand from her shoulder down to her wrist and back again. She sighed, equal parts relief and something I couldn’t quite identify.
“Lemmikki,” I said quietly. “What is it?”
“Do you think that I’m a monster, for the way I killed Ava?” She said the words quietly, shifting until she was laying back on her pillows and staring at the canopy overhead.
A huff of air escaped me.
“Well, no,” I said dryly, wondering if she had missed my own disposal of Samu. “But you’ve watched me execute, brand, and on one notable occasion, mildly torture someone, so if you’re that concerned about it, we should probably find someone less biased to ask.”
Rowan let out a surprised laugh. We both knew the list of things that made me a monster was far more extensive than that, but there was no sense in bringing that up now.
“ Are you concerned about it?” I asked in a more serious tone.
She shook her head, not so much a denial as a confirmation. “I’ve killed before, but I’ve never wanted to kill someone...wanted to hurt someone, as badly as I did that day.” She let out a slow breath, continuing.
“It wasn’t defense,” she said. “It wasn’t even an execution. It was revenge, pure and simple. I made her beg, Evander. I made her scream. And then I killed her anyway.”
A whoosh of air escaped my lungs. “Do you think she sat up at night racked with regret for the people she hurt?”
She thought that over for a moment, but her brow was still furrowed.
“I think the worst part is that I don’t regret it... Not really. I just feel like I should. But every time I picture…” She trailed off, but I knew what she was going to say.
In some ways, I think Ava having Samu whip me that last time haunted Rowan far more than it did me.
“When I picture her hurting you,” she picked up, “I just wish I could bring her back and kill her all over again.”
I thought about my father’s death, about the strange mix of satisfaction and grief that coursed through me every time I pictured his lifeless features.
“Death is complicated when it happens to a terrible person,” I finally said. “My father was…” The sentence trailed off because there were no real words to describe him or the complex relationship we had.
“I hated him most days,” I filled in. “I spent the better part of the last decade wishing he would die so I could take care of our people without him standing in my way or outright hurting them. And then he finally did.”
She reached out her small hand and tucked it in mine, still not looking anywhere but toward the ceiling. It was easier this way, I realized, for both of us to talk. Here, in the dark, without the weight of each other’s scrutinizing gaze.
I ran my thumb along the top of her hand, feeling the same connection I always did with her.
“And now you don’t know how to feel,” she said, an observation more than a question.
“Now, I feel like I’m glad he’s dead. But what kind of person does that make me?”
“A decent one,” she said. “One who cares more about your people than anything else in the world.”
I looked at my wife, then, and at the features I had come to know as well as my own. I didn’t want to fight with her, not tonight, so I didn’t make the response out loud.
But in my head, I knew she was wrong to think I cared more about Bear than anything else in the world. And in my head, I told her the truth.
Not anything.