Chapter 22
Wolfe
Niamh walked down the hill after our latest training session.
She’d improved so much since I started training her a month ago.
I’d worried that after the dragon wasp attack last week, I’d ruined whatever friendship we had, but Niamh had been her usual chatty self, and what’s more, I liked it.
I liked her daily visits. I liked sparring with her.
I liked talking to her, and I didn’t want to do anything to jeopardize that, but I also didn’t want to cross any lines.
I ignored the voice that whispered I’d already crossed a line. That hadn’t been my fault. I wasn’t in my right mind that day in the library. I’d been back in the place I ended up after Lor was taken, and I hadn’t been thinking clearly. Obviously.
That was why I’d told Niamh the story afterward, hoping she would understand that I never meant to make her uncomfortable.
She was betrothed to my brother, and I had no fanciful notions that she’d ever prefer me.
Not that I wanted her to prefer me—I didn’t.
I wasn’t fit for any kind of relationship.
I looked down to see the green scarf she’d worn today lying in the grass and picked it up, bringing it to my nose and inhaling the familiar scent of rose. Fuck. She’d left it, and she was always cold here, with the brisk wind and chilly temperatures.
She probably had other scarves, but what if she didn’t? What if she needed this one for later? I arched my neck, looking for her figure, but she’d already disappeared, was probably back in her room by now.
I shoved a hand through my hair and swore under my breath. I’d take it to her, and then I’d check on Cillian. He’d mentioned wanting to make a trip to the Ceri’s shop today, so I needed to get to the castle anyway to accompany him.
I’d stop by Niamh’s room on the way there and return the damn scarf.
I marched down the hill and toward the castle, scarf clutched in my hand, the fabric so soft against my skin.
I was itching to smell it again, inhale that fresh rose scent that made me dizzy every damn time.
I got to the bottom of the hill and wove my way through town.
It was a quick walk since no one had any interest in talking to me.
I arrived at the front of the castle quickly enough, still holding the scarf.
“Hey! That’s Niamh’s scarf.” Barty pointed to it.
Most couldn’t tell the difference between the gargoyles, but Barty had a small chunk of his earlobe missing, not that I’d ever reveal that, since it would just cause more bickering between the twin statues.
“She gets cold without it,” Tal added.
“That’s what I just said.” Barty turned his head toward Tal.
Here we went. I glared at the overhang, willing it to fall on top of the damn statues.
“No, you said it was Niamh’s scarf.”
“Yes, and that’s literally the entire point of a scarf,” Barty said. “What you said was redundant.”
“Can you two just open the fucking doors before I yank them off their hinges?” I barked.
Barty put his hand up over his mouth, speaking behind it like I couldn’t hear him. “He’s testy.”
Tal nodded. “Very. Then again, he’s always testy. I don’t think we should open the doors for him after how rude he’s been.”
“I agree.”
Both gargoyles crossed their arms, and I rolled my eyes and wrenched the doors open myself, heading up the stairs and toward Niamh’s tower.
“Wolfe!” a feminine voice said. “I haven’t seen you in such a long time. Oh, I feel like we have so much to catch up on!” I grimaced, turning to the painting of Margaret.
She beamed at me from behind the frame, just as I remembered, with her sleek black hair plaited in a braid, her golden skin dewy, and those angular eyes full of constant secrets she couldn’t wait to spill.
“You’re here,” I said.
“Niamh found me! I was stuck in that hallway near the library. I bet you all were so worried when I disappeared, but now I’m back and better than ever. I overhear a lot, too, so if you ever need any news, you come to me.”
I arched a brow. “You mean gossip.”
She put her hand to her chest. “Oh no. I don’t gossip.
I just stay informed and seek to make sure everyone else is informed as well.
” She gasped. “Speaking of staying informed, two of the servants are currently in a fight because one of them told the other that her hairstyle was ugly. I’m of two minds about this.
On the one hand, what a callous thing to say to say friend.
On the other, her hairstyle really was so dreadful, with all those tight ringlets that made her look like some sort of—”
“Margaret.” I pinched the bridge of my nose. “I’m a little busy.”
Margaret was one of the more annoying quirks of the castle. Leave it to Niamh to find her.
“Are you smiling?” Margaret said as my lips twitched, thinking about the bothersome woman.
I cleared my throat and scowled. “No.” The last thing I needed was Margaret thinking I was any friendlier now than I was the last time I’d seen her.
Her gaze dipped down to the scarf in my hands, and her eyes widened. “Are you taking that to Niamh? That girl is always cold. Especially after she gave away that fire godwitch statue in her hearth.”
My head snapped to the painting. “She what?”
Margaret nodded enthusiastically. “Oh yes. I told her it was sweet, but that she really should keep it so she doesn’t get cold. I know how she hates—hey, where are you going?”
I stomped past the painting and up the narrow stairwell that led to her room.
I was just about to bang on the door when it swung open, and I came face-to-face with Niamh.
A blanket was thrown around her shoulders, and I peeked inside, Margaret’s piece of gossip confirmed. The damn fire godwitch was gone.
“Why did you get rid of the statue?” I pointed at the hearth.
Niamh’s eyes widened. “I thought Ceri’s father could use it. He’s always complaining about being cold and getting sick from it, even though that’s not really how it works, but no matter how many times Ceri has tried to explain it to him, he won’t—”
I gritted my teeth together, shoving past Niamh and striding toward the window.
“Hey! What has gotten into you?”
I leaned down to inspect the gap between the stained glass and the frame where cold air was entering her room. “But you needed it too.” I stood and turned. “And it’s not like I can just find another one.”
Niamh’s mouth dropped open. “I’m sorry . . . what did you just say?”
I scratched the back of my neck, the tips of my ears reddening as I realized what I’d just revealed. “Nothing.”
A slow smile spread across Niamh’s face. “I was right. You really are my sunshine. You’re the one who put that statue in my hearth? It worked amazingly well, by the way. What a wondrous piece of magic. No fire needed, and it warmed the room spectacularly.”
“You said you couldn’t handle fires, and I didn’t want you to be cold,” I grumbled, hating myself for letting that slip. I’d been secretive about it for a reason—because I knew she’d overreact.
“And now you’re cold again.” I nodded toward the blanket over her shoulders.
“It’s fine. I just use extra blankets.”
“It’s not even winter yet,” I said. “This is our summer season, Niamh.”
Her face paled, freckles stark against her skin. “Oh.”
“That’s it. You’re going to have to face your fears.”
Her face paled even more. “Wh-what does that mean?”
I marched over to the empty hearth.
“Oh no. I’m not like you. I’m not brave,” she protested.
I sighed and turned. “Do you know why I told you to get to safety when the dragon wasps attacked?”
Niamh shot me a curious look. “Why?”
“Because I knew you could. I knew you were capable of taking care of yourself. I didn’t realize it at the time because I was distracted, but .
. .” I hesitated. “Niamh, you’re not a coward because you saved yourself from the brotherhood’s attack on Bergenay.
And you’re not a coward because you can’t stand the sight of fire after it killed everyone you love. ”
She swallowed thickly. “Then what am I?”
“Traumatized,” I said in a gentler tone than I was used to.
She tightened the blanket around her. “How would you know that?”
I thought of Lor, of the way I’d pushed everyone in my life away because of what had happened. “Because I’m traumatized, too, and I guess I see some of myself in you.”
Tears spilled down her cheeks, and I reached out to wipe one away, my thumb lingering against her soft skin until she met my gaze, and I snatched my hand away.
“So how do I fix it?” she asked, voice wobbly.
“I don’t know if you can,” I said honestly.
I sure as fuck hadn’t figured out how to fix mine.
“But you can change the way you think about it. Associate the fire with good thoughts: safety, warmth, comfort. When the fire is lit, remind yourself that you aren’t in danger, that no one is coming after you. ”
She stared at the hearth, chewing the inside of her cheek. “I could try.”
“Good,” I said, then held out her scarf. “You left this at my cabin.”
“Oh.” She blinked a few times and reached out, her hand brushing mine as she grabbed the scarf. “I didn’t even realize it.”
“That’s why I’m here.”
“Of course.” She laughed, and it sounded unusually high-pitched. Great, I’d probably just made her uncomfortable again.
Suddenly I was all too aware of how alone we were, how intimate a setting this was, standing in her bedroom with her, and my gaze flicked to her bed before resting back on her face.
For once, I missed the damn bookwyrm.
“If you’re afraid to start a fire by yourself, you can come to my cabin. I can help you. I can be by your side.”
“Okay,” she said in a quiet voice. “I’d like that.” She cleared her throat. “You can let go, you know.”
I glanced down, the scarf still clutched in my hand, her own hand grabbing the other end.
“Yes.” I let go. “Well, I should be going. I’ll see you for training tomorrow.” I turned. “And there’s no rush on the fire, but when you’re ready, let me know.”
She gave me a soft smile as I walked out of the door, hearing her say, “See you around, sunshine,” floating after me as I left the room.