Chapter 24 Betty
BETTY
His arm is a cage of muscle and bone, a bar of solid, living heat locking me against his chest. His breathing is a deep, slow rhythm against my ear, a rumble that has finally, given way to the silence of true sleep.
He is asleep. At last.
My heart is a cold, sick, treacherous thing in my chest. I am a liar.
For hours, he fought it. I had pretended to sleep, my body limp in our nest of furs, my breathing even, but he knew. His instincts, the ones that had kept us alive, were at war with the promise I had given him.
Every time my breathing evened out, his grip would tighten. His massive body would tense, a low, anxious growl vibrating in his chest. He would sniff my hair, a deep, rumbling inhale, a possessive, terrified check. Still here. Still mine.
But his body is a wreck. The Worg-bite in his thigh, the gash in his shoulder, the dozen other cuts from the raiders and the elves.
.. they are all weeping. The fever I had sensed in him is back, a scorching heat that radiates from his skin.
The magical warmth of this cavern, this sanctuary, is a lullaby his body cannot fight.
He had carried me for miles, his own body broken.
He lost the fight. He succumbed to a healing sleep so deep it is almost a coma. He mumbled my name as he went under, a thick, broken sound. "Betty... stay..."
And I let him. I waited for this.
My lie is a poison in the warm, humming air. "I won't do it," I had promised, my voice a trembling, false reassurance. "We rest."
And now, I must break that promise.
Joric's face flashes in my mind. Just like you did your own family.
A hot, stinging tear leaks from the corner of my eye, tracing a path through the grime on my temple.
He was right.
My whole life has been a penance. A long, cold, gray waiting. I ran from the fire that took my family. I was a coward. I brought the fire to Oakhaven. And now, I have brought him here.
I cannot run anymore.
The mural glows on the wall across the cavern, a silent, green promise. A life willingly given to restore what was lost.
This is not a tragedy. It is an answer.
I told him about Christmas. I told him it was a time for hope, for light in the darkness. A time for giving.
This is my wish for my last Christmas. This is the only gift I have left to give.
My broken, useless, guilt-ridden life... for his.
For the warrior I saw in the snow. For the man I see trapped behind those agonized, red eyes.
If we leave this place, Larda will find us. Threk's leg is too bad. He will not run. He will stand and fight for me. He will die in the snow, full of rage, a monster defending a fool. His death will be my final sin.
But this way...
He lives. He is restored. He is free.
My death saves him. My life finally means something.
It is an atonement.
I have to move.
My hand trembles as I reach up to his arm, the massive, scarred limb that cages me. It is a steel bar across my waist. I cannot lift it.
Slowly. Inch by agonizing inch.
I wriggle my body out from under his. I slide downward, like a snake, out of his heat, out of his safety.
The loss of his warmth is immediate. The humming air of the cavern feels cold against my skin, damp and lonely.
I shiver.
Threk groans in his deep sleep.
His hand, the one I just escaped, clutches the empty furs where I was.
"Betty..." he mumbles, his voice thick and broken. "Mine..."
A sob builds in my throat, burning like acid. It takes everything in me to swallow it.
I am so sorry, Threk. I am so sorry I'm a liar. I am so sorry I was not strong enough to live for you.
I cannot leave him nothing.
I crawl to my small, discarded pack. I pull out the one thing I have left in this world.
The small, wooden star.
My father's gift. My family's memory. My Christmas promise.
I creep back to his sleeping form. He is so massive, a fallen mountain.
His hand, the one that clutched the furs, is curled now, his black claws resting against his palm.
Gently, my hands trembling so hard I can barely function, I uncurl his fingers. They are so big. So warm. The hands that held me. The hands that fought for me. The hands that called me a star.
I press the small, wooden star into his palm.
A trade.
A life for a life. A gift for a gift.
I lean down. I kiss his scarred hand, the calloused skin that held my face, that saved my life.
"I love you," I say. The words are a ghost, stolen by the hum of the magic.
"Live for me, Threk. Be free."
I stand.
I turn.
And I run.
My bare feet are silent on the glowing, soft moss. I run away from the nest, away from him, toward the center of the cavern.
I run toward the murals. Toward the light.
The humming grows louder, stronger. It sinks into my bones, pulling at my very center. It welcomes me. It knows why I am here. It is hungry.
I stop. I stand directly beneath the frescoes of the Orc rising.
The light in the cavern changes. It brightens. The glowing, green moss flares, and a new light, a pearlescent, white light, begins to swirl around my feet. It rises like mist, a soft, cool vortex.
My terror is gone. My guilt is gone.
There is only peace.
This is right. This is my purpose. My penance. My end.
I clench my fists at my sides.
I close my eyes and lift my face to the swirling, growing light.
"Take me!" I shout, my voice ringing clear and strong in the humming cavern. "A life, willingly given! Restore what was lost! Take me!"