Chapter Eleven
MERRICK - SIXTEEN YEARS AGO
Mother didn’t notice me lighting an oil lamp, even though I did most afternoons. Didn’t notice or didn’t care, I didn’t really know which. I held the handle tightly, ready to escape these walls for a few hours.
Her knees were pulled close to her chest, her glossy gaze unfocused as she stared out the window in our small living area. Her platinum hair was tied in its usual braid, shining with oil after several days without being washed.
It took me a moment to notice that she was holding a vase to her chest—the glass filled with shriveled, dead zinnias I had picked for her last summer.
She adored the bold, petal-packed flowers that bloomed in Ames in the springtime, but I always felt like their vibrant, magenta petals seemed out of place in this miserable house.
I suppose part of me hoped they’d bring her some joy, even if just for a moment.
She cherished them, I knew, because handing them over to her earned me a rare smile.
But just like the dried-out flowers she now cradled, so too did the light in her eyes wither away.
Her pain suffocated me.
“I’m going out for a bit,” I mumbled. It’s not like she’d care. I could walk out the door, and she wouldn’t notice, always lost in her mind.
Her brown eyes slowly peeled away from the window, sparkling with unreleased tears as they always did. “Okay. Have fun.” She gave me a small smile, a broken one. “I love you, Merrick.”
Yeah, right…
I gave her a tight-lipped smile and eagerly hurried out the door.
The sun was glowing, the sky crisp and cloudless, a canvas of endless blue. I never understood why Mother insisted on keeping the curtains closed every day. It was beautiful out here.
I quickly hurried through our tiny village, passing by my deadbeat father’s home.
“Hi, Mare!” My four-year-old half-sister chirped from where she played with a pile of rocks, stacking them on top of each other.
My hair brushed the tops of my lashes as I scowled at her, not offering her anything else. We may have shared blood, but she meant nothing to me. Vicsin and his perfect little family could get fucked for all I cared.
Elowen’s expression fell, and Heildee shook her head in disappointment, which made my blood boil.
She’d been screwing my father—a married man—and happily supported him abandoning his wife and son for her and their bastard child.
The fact that she believed she could cast judgment on anyone was both laughable and infuriating.
Thankfully, I was a master at keeping to myself. I wouldn’t provide them with anything other than a display of disgust, because they truly made me sick.
I gave a quick nod to one of the Mages keeping watch and made my way outside of Ames. I never went far—just a few feet into the forest, where I could be alone.
I enjoyed the earthy scent of pine as I moved between the trees, and I sighed in relief, plopping myself against my usual tree and setting my oil lamp beside me.
Being alone meant there were no other emotions bleeding into mine. Sure, reading someone had to be a conscious choice. But I found myself curious most of the time. It was exhausting.
I reached into my pocket, grasping the rolled tobacco I stole from our neighbor, and used my lamp to light it. Gregory hadn’t noticed when I’d steal a cigarette here and there.
I took a puff, the chemicals burning my throat as I inhaled. The first time I had a smoke, I almost died choking. I was surprised no one in town had heard me. But then I watched how the old man did it, and I eventually got the hang of it.
Warmth spread across my chest and cheeks, the fumes calming my mind, yet energizing me at the same time. I wasn’t happy much…ever, really. But this, this provided me the buzz of happiness I craved, even if it was artificial.
I took another drag, then lazily allowed the cloud of smoke to slip past my lips, resting my head against the trunk, closing my eyes.
Only to be interrupted with a shout.
“You’re smoking?!” Torrin hissed. My lids shot open, my cousin’s dark eyes furious as he plucked the tobacco from my hand. “What the hell are you thinking? Who even gave you that?”
“You followed me?!” I accused.
“Who. Gave. You. That,” he bit out.
I scoffed, crossing my arms. “What’s it to you?” I muttered.
“You’re eight years old, Merrick.” He stomped on the burning stick, crushing it into the dirt. What a waste. “You’re a child.”
“And, what, you’re so much wiser because you’re fourteen? You’re a child, too!”
I knew it sounded dumb. Of course he was wiser. Just a better person in general. Talented. Loved. I huffed an aggravated sigh, resting back against the tree trunk.
Torrin pried into my mind, no doubt. He lowered himself beside me, the silence drawn out for a few moments before he asked, “You okay?”
Pain crawled up my throat, the corners of my eyes stinging. “I'm fine,” I lied.
His fingers drummed along his thighs, and then he slapped them on his legs before standing. “Come with me.”
I glowered at him. “Come where?”
He grasped the band wrapping around his torso, securing his bow. “To teach you how to shoot.”
“Hold the bow like this,” Torrin instructed, lifting the bow and aiming it at the target he made from his blood. I’d gasped as he made a gash on his arm but said nothing as he created targets, then healed his wound with his magic.
And I thought I was grim.
Torrin fetched an arrow out of his quiver, positioning it with the bow string. And then he released it, hitting the border of his bullseye.
I'd never been allowed to train with Torrin. Not that Mother would care one way or another. But Uncle Toby and Aunt Josie felt I was too little. “After he gets his magic,” they’d said. I guess my gift of absorbing others’ feelings didn’t count.
I was surprised to see Torrin going against his parents' wishes.
“Why is it you’re good at everything?” I complained as he handed me the bow.
He scoffed. “I’m not.”
“You are.” I held the weapon up as he handed me an arrow. “You’re the golden child. Skilled in weaponry. Skilled in magic. You have parents that love you…that love each other.”
The springtime wind rustled the leaves above us as I aimed. “Do you resent me for that?” he asked softly.
I released the arrow, missing again. Like I had for the past twenty minutes. “No. I just…” I sighed, lowering the weapon. “I feel everything she feels. Those negative feelings get to me sometimes.”
Torrin shook his head, crossing his arms. “I know you like being alone, but you have to get out of that house.”
I picked at the fabric of my shirt. “And go where? We’re all trapped in this hidden settlement. We’ll never leave,” I muttered. “Mother knows that, too. That’s probably why she’s so miserable.” My eyes lifted to his. “Has Uncle Toby talked to her?”
“He’s tried...he isn’t sure how to help.”
I nodded to myself, reaching my hand out for another arrow.
“You are always welcome at our home,” he said just as I pulled back the string.
“I know I am. I like coming over.”
I released the arrow, and a rush of excitement spread through my body as the arrow hit perfectly in the center of his bullseye.
Torrin’s eyes widened, his mouth falling open a little. “Damn, Merrick. You’re better at this than I am.”
I grinned. I doubted that was true, but for my first time, that was impressive. It was even more impressive as I hit it again. And again. And again.
We practiced for what felt like hours, and between the bonding with my cousin and my newfound skill, I felt a weight lifting off my chest.
“Okay,” I joked. “Maybe I am better than you at this.” I sighed happily. “Thank you, Torrin.”
He returned the smile, one full of pride. I offered him the weapon, but Torrin shook his head.
“It’s yours.”
I blinked, my gaze darting between the bow and my cousin. “What?”
“I was already planning on giving it to you.” He winked. “Plus, I’m better with a sword anyway.”
My jaw dropped. “Are you sure your parents are okay with this?” I whispered, glancing down at the wooden weapon.
“Of course.” He shrugged. “And if not, I don’t care.”
My vision became blurry, and I wrapped my arms around his waist, hugging him tightly. He’d grown so much over the past year—I was tiny next to him.
I hoped I’d get that tall when I was older.
The sun was beginning to set as we took the trail home, the cerulean sky now painted gold and orange. We were steps from the entrance when a flash of pink caught my eye. A rare smile formed as I observed what bloomed in the distance.
“Zinnias,” I breathed. My grin grew, and I ran toward them. I knew these flowers wouldn’t fix my mother’s broken heart, but even a smile from her would be worth it.
Perhaps all of this was a sign. That better days were ahead.
When we’d made it back, stopping just outside my house, Torrin grasped my arm. “Hey. When you’re feeling down, you come get me, okay?” He squeezed my shoulder. “I’m always here for you.”
I swallowed the lump in my throat. “Okay.”
He gave me a gentle smile, then nodded before walking away.
I took a deep breath, shook off my emotions, and went inside, wearing a grin for the first time in a while.
“Ma, you’ll never guess what happened today!” I said excitedly as I entered the house, my cheery gaze locked on the flowers in my grasp. “I can shoot a bow. Well, I might add.”
She wasn’t sitting in the chair anymore.
She must be in bed.
My footsteps caused our wooden floors to creak as I hurried to her room. I twisted the knob, pushing the door open. “Also, I found you some—”
My words caught in my throat, my entire body going rigid at the sight before me. The air stilled, as did time, as my gaze locked on my mother’s lifeless corpse hanging from her bedpost.
…
No…
My mother…
My beautiful mother…