Chapter 26 #2
His brother sighed. “Fine,” he said, glancing over his shoulder toward Eden’s center.
Searching the crowd gathered near the new home, bright eyes watching while bundles of thatch were gathered into strong arms and dragged up a ladder.
Looking for a glimmer of azure not unlike his own. Though, not quite the same either.
Brennan’s stare was colder. Etched with a frost so frigid, it burned as surely as the press of an iron blade.
The man loved his secrets, careful and selective with every word he spoke. Cillian knew better than to share his father’s musings without permission.
Knowing better and doing better, however, were two different things.
When he saw no sign of Brennan, Cillian cleared his throat.
“Father finally let me wear his ring, and...” He shook his head in disbelief.
“I could see it all, Zadriel. Wisps of magic, sprinkled with gold and twisting around nearly everything. I can hardly explain it. It showed what was and what could be; how everything’s connected. I knew exactly what I needed to do.”
Cillian clasped his hands together, absentmindedly running his thumb over his right pointer finger. Like he could still feel the ring there.
Shivers clung to Zadriel’s spine, seeping into his bones—he was too familiar with the endless pit of darkness staring up at him from its perch on Brennan’s hand. “I don’t understand,” he said, throat suddenly dry. Unsure if he wanted a drink from Cillian’s flask.
Cillian gave him a pitying look. “You aren’t meant to understand.”
With a bitter smile, Zadriel nodded, his gaze dropping to his wet feet. Mud slipped between his toes, the earthy aroma somehow both a comfort and a painful reminder of all he’d lost.
“This was supposed to make you happy,” Cillian muttered.
Zadriel’s lips twitched, the shadow of a sad smile attempting to rise on his face.
He looked at the flask once more, water sloshing inside when he adjusted his grip, before his attention moved back to Arcadia’s wall of trees.
His heart beating in tune with their endless call.
Pain gleamed in his glimmering black eyes, but he said nothing.
Cillian moved to Zadriel’s side and placed a hand on his shoulder. “I’ll get you home someday.”
A lightness rose in Zadriel’s chest, the feeling expanding too quickly for him to push it back. Hope was foolish, he’d learned that well over the last six years, and yet... “Do you promise?”
“Of course.” Cillian chewed on his left cheek. “Promise I can come with you?”
For the first time in Mother knew how long, Zadriel truly smiled, sharp canines gleaming. “I can’t promise you Arcadia, Cill, but we’ll always be brothers. I would visit you.”
A muscle feathered in Cillian’s jaw, a splash of red coloring his cheeks while something gleamed in his eyes.
Like frost-coated branches in the dead of winter.
Zadriel swallowed, inching away until his back pressed against the oak’s rough bark.
Then, Cillian’s face softened, the change so swift and severe, Zadriel wondered if he’d imagined things.
Pushing his hands in his pockets, Cillian nodded toward the flask in Zadriel’s grip. “Keep it. I made it for you.”
“Truly?” Zadriel clutched the flask tighter. It had been ages since Cillian snuck him a gift.
With a nod, his brother turned on his heels and made his way toward Eden’s center, pausing for a moment, looking back. “Oh, and Zadriel?”
“Yes?”
“Hide it from my father. I don’t want him to know I gave it to you.”
Zadriel’s free hand pressed against the oak’s trunk—the tree was a keeper of Zadriel’s secrets, and the final resting place of what little Cillian had helped him salvage of his mother. A rootlet slid through the mud to brush against his foot. A quiet comfort.
There was no joy in his eyes when he nodded to Cillian. “I know exactly where I’ll put it.”
The flask felt heavy in his hands as he tipped it over and spilled water onto the cobblestones. With the corner of his cloak, Zadriel scrubbed the walkway until he was certain the Little Witch’s blood was gone and no one could steal a drop to use against her.
Though, perhaps it was too late for that—without Cillian, anyone who found her flask could use her.
Do not think the worst of me. Cillian’s voice was quiet in his mind, full of pleading.
Rubbing a hand over his face, Zadriel hated himself for salivating at the scent of her blood.
For craving it. Visions of her writhing beneath him while he sank his canines into her throat, solidifying the tether connecting their souls, flashed in his mind.
He could almost smell a sweet floral aroma. Almost imagine their tree house, and...
Why did he think of gilded daisies?
Zadriel looked down at the blood staining his black cloak, the viscous liquid glinting with streaks of gold. Of the Mother’s sap.
What had Cillian done?
What had Zadriel helped him do...?
He would never have answers. And, with Cillian dead, he and Mora would never be free. Gods be damned, he didn’t deserve her.
Neither of them did.
With a sigh, Zadriel stood and looked off into the distance where he’d last seen the Little Witch. Perhaps, one day, she’d find someone worthy, and he’d forget the warmth that weaved around his heart in her presence. Maybe they could both move on with their lives.
Yet, he couldn’t stop staring at her footprints, gripping the sullied corner of his cloak, thumb sweeping over her blood in slow circles. Did she feel his presence? Did she look back?
Would he ever see her again?
“Goodbye, Little Witch,” he whispered, praying the winds would carry the song of his voice until it found her.