25. Chapter 25
Chapter 25
Zeph
T he four journals are spread in front of me on the weathered table, my head reeling with all of the information I've consumed. While most of it is written plainly and is very straightforward in terms of language, several strange passages stick out to me in each journal, and I keep going back to them time and time again.
There is so much history in these pages, and it makes me wonder how much of our history books are true and what parts are exaggerated. If these journals are to be believed, Krillium was very different in the time of the Gods than our books state.
I suppose that can be expected when our history has been twisted to make everyone believe the Gods have been reclusive instead of gone.
Each journal contains what seems to be a riddle. Their placement in the journal, right at the end, with no entries behind them, leads me to believe these riddles are the key to ending the banishment that the Gods are under. I just have to figure them out.
I'm trying not to let the pressure of being the Shadowweaver's high priest overwhelm me, but I would be lying if I said it wasn't weighing on me. I'm sure she'd say it isn't my responsibility alone to figure these things out, but it feels like it is. Like I am the only person who can do this.
What good am I if I cannot be the priest she needs me to be?
The dining hall is empty, the cook banging around the galley as he begins to prepare dinner. A throat clearing in front of me has me looking up into the clear blue eyes of Tulip Goldtide. She looks tired, the corners of her eyes downturned. I know she's been tending to Morrow, who is no doubt struggling with his loss of limb, but I wonder if she is taking care of herself as well.
"Can I sit?" she asks. I nod, stacking up the journals as she slides onto the bench across from me. "Find anything good?"
"I think so," I say, stretching my arms above my head and shaking out my rigid muscles. "I think I found the riddles they've hidden the rituals in."
She nods her head too quickly. "Good, good." Tulip looks around nervously, wringing her hands. "Look, Zeph, about my secrets…" Nerves drip off of her in a way that makes her appear every bit her eighteen years.
I hold up my hand, cutting off her worry. "I have no intention of sharing them."
Her shoulders slump, relief trickling down her spine as it relaxes. "Really?"
"Really. Sharing them with anyone with the intent of showing your devotion is enough." I push my still-full mug of ale to Tulip, and she drains it. Kira gave it to me, and I didn't have the heart to tell her I don't drink anymore. The woman is kind, but I do worry that if I cross her, she'll throw me overboard. I steel myself with a deep breath for what I know I need to say next. "But you should tell him."
She shakes her head rapidly, hair flying around wildly. "I cannot and will not, thank you very much."
I reach across the table for her hands, then think better of it and pull mine back to my side of the table. "I'm not sure why it needs to be a secret, Tulip. Morrow clearly cares for you. Is it not a good thing that you care for him too?"
"Zeph," she says sadly, "you know as well as I do loving someone in this world right now is asking for hurt. I cannot put either of us through that. He is looking for his partner, his equal, and that is not me." The defeat that lines her face breaks my heart. She is so young, yet so jaded. I know that her experience in this world has not been great so far, and I certainly play a part in that, but I had hoped she could maintain her sunny disposition.
"He thinks you could be," I remind her. "You don't want to discount how he feels."
"A fae and a human will not work, Zeph."
"Viola and Mace ha-"
She slaps her hand on the table, interrupting me. "I am not Viola, Zeph! I cannot put him through that. He will live for five of my lifetimes. He will see me grow old while he stays exactly as he is now." Tulip stands up, wrapping her arms around her waist. For one fleeting moment, her face breaks, and I can see the sad, scared young woman who has been shoved beneath this hardened exterior. "I'm not telling him. I just needed to make sure you wouldn't either."
The warm orange glow of the sconces in the square room provides just enough light for me to read. These journals are tying my brain up in knots, and I need to be able to present something to everyone tomorrow before we reach the Cliffs. Perched on the end of the lumpy, threadbare bed with my legs crossed, I balance the journal of the Spring high priest on my knee, willing the letters to swirl around on the page and give me the answer to a question that has yet to reveal itself to me.
Morrow opens the door and stands in front of me, body vibrating and his attitude demanding my attention.
"Stand up, Zeph."
I put the book aside and groan as I stand up, face to face with Morrow. "What do you need, Morrow?"
His fist connects with my eye and sends me back onto the bed. He stumbles, not accounting for how his balance may differ without his left arm, and then stares me down.
"What the fuck, Morrow?" I say, gingerly touching my eye. It's already feeling puffy and warm, the ache throbbing with my heartbeat.
"Tell me why Tulip came back from seeing you with tears in her eyes, Zeph?"
Taking a few deep breaths, I try to calm myself down. "I cannot tell you something said to me in confidence. "
He leans down, crowding me, his posture urging me to scuttle away from him on the bed. His voice is measured as he spits his vitriol. "You've been here acting like nothing happened. Like you weren't a drunk willing to kill an innocent human just to get what you want. You're blaming it all on the draw."
"Where is this coming from, Morrow? Why do you suddenly have a problem with me now, Morrow?" I ask, pushing myself off the bed and moving chest to chest with him. "You've shown no outward sign of dislike since I've returned."
His mouth opens as he tries to speak, but he looks more like a fish, jaw opening and closing as his brain tries to catch up to his body. But then he deflates, his body sagging onto the bed. It's then that I realize this truly isn't about me. "I can't protect her." His voice is quiet and broken, his eyes downcast, hidden behind his veil of braids. "When I first saw her, after that bullshit you pulled, she was so broken, so scared. I promised myself immediately that she would never feel that way again."
I don't need to ask who 'she' is. It's clear. And there is no doubt what brought on this show of aggression that he just performed for me.
Morrow believes that without his arm, he is an inadequate protector.
"You can protect her just fine. Your magic is not reliant on your hands," I remind him, sinking to the bed next to him.
"I can't wrap her in my arms," he says sadly. "Every step forward I've taken with her has been through mud. It's been slow and arduous, and don't get me wrong, it is so worth it, but this? How do I come back from this?" He holds his residual limb up in the air and glares at it.
I wish I could tell Morrow how Tulip feels, but I cannot betray her confidence. These two dancing around one another is already painful, and now, with both of them feeling so hurt and broken about the situation, it's nearly more than I can stand.
In Ytopie, I knew Morrow better than the others. Though he kept to himself, as the presiding Summer Seasonale, I was the one who all others came to, the one who oversaw the education of newly revealed Summer fae. Morrow is several decades younger than me, and I remember vividly when he revealed. There were talks of his power being enough to be the presiding Summer, but he never wanted to be in any sort of spotlight, so he never challenged me for my position.
Instead, Morrow learned what he needed to and then went back to his home, never venturing out for drinks, never making questionable mistakes after a night of drunken revelry. Once, he came to me and asked me for help locating an older text from a relative of his, and I pointed him to the Patrician's library. That was the last time I saw him before he was marched by Stone into the garrison. I barely had my wits about me, restrained in a tunnel, but it was hard not to be shocked when I saw him come in.
What business did he have with Stone, anyway?
Imagine my shock when I reunite and find him pining for Tulip Goldtide. She's pure sunshine, loudly asserting her presence no matter where she goes. And it seems Morrow has been ensnared within her rays, hopeless to resist her.
His muscular shoulders bunch, and he is hunched over with dejection and worry. Since losing his arm, he has put on a good face. I cannot imagine anyone else would have taken it in such stride. But even the strongest of us have doubts, fears, and concerns, and Morrow is no different. His life has been upended, and he now has to learn how to exist without a part of him that was there from birth. A part that has always felt so incredibly necessary that he may not know how to adapt to being without it.
"I truly don't think there is anything that you need to come back from," I finally say, placing my hand between his shoulders on the dark linen shirt he wears. "This changes nothing about who you are as a man."
"It changes everything!" he roars, throwing my hand off of him. "Don't you get it? I cannot pull her to my chest and pin her there when she has a nightmare. I can't braid her hair. I will never be able to grab her face in both hands and kiss her until her knees give out." He spins to look at me, eyes shimmering with tears that he's battling to keep from falling. "I can't hold our future kids. I can't love her the way she deserves."
I pull him into my arms despite his protests and rub his back as his shoulders shake. With his face buried in my shirt, I can barely hear the words, "It's over before it even had a chance to begin."
Losing track of time is easy with Morrow in my arms, all of his grief, fear, and pain from the loss of his limb spilling onto my shirt, moistening it with all the emotions he can't put words to. It's curious that Morrow has come to me to divulge these secret feelings and hurt when it's not as if I am particularly close to him.
I could wax poetic about why when I have never been the person that others confide in. Instead, I'll embrace this role that I have been thrust into and perform it to the best of my abilities. ,
When Morrow's cries slow, his body going slack as the pressure of all of his emotions drifts from his shoulders, I softly say, "This is not an ending, Morrow."
He looks up at me, eyes red-rimmed, and snorts. "I didn't much take you for a liar, Zeph. Shady drunk, but not a liar."
I wince at his brutal, if accurate, depiction of my flaws. "I'm not lying," I implore. "I need you to trust me on this. This has not changed at all the good you could be for her. Do not let your injury ruin your chance for love."
He pushes to his feet, shaking his head. Every trace of the man who sobbed on my shirt is gone, and in his place is the stoic, strong warrior that I've glimpsed as we fought.
"Zeph, I admire your positivity, but come the fuck on. A woman like that has so many options. You weren't with us when we visited Pran, but she had men tripping over themselves to be near her. Even in Feria, Quade had his eyes on her." He looks down at the stub where his forearm used to attach to his elbow. "The odds were already stacked against me."
"That is not-"
He cuts me off. "I profess my dedication and devotion to the Shadowweaver, Viola Mistflow, God of all Seasons." He walks across the room to the door and wrenches it open. "There. Now all of this is a sacrifice for devotion. Keep your fucking mouth shut."