Chapter 19
Once I’d ensured that Brigid would see to the Warden and Gareth had calmed enough to walk, I helped him to his room.
No one tried to stop me, though I felt the Warden’s eyes on us as we left her office.
Now that she was conscious, we had begun shifting back to our human forms. Stray feathers and fluffy bits of down littered the corridors, and the cold air raised goose bumps on my naked body.
I grabbed a long gray tunic from one of our many hallway closets—at Rosewarren, fresh clothes were never very far away—and shrugged it on.
The soldier in me felt that I should be downstairs, assessing the damage and comforting the littles, all of whom had hopefully survived.
But I couldn’t leave Gareth’s side. He walked unsteadily, and though he was no longer crying, the dead look in his eyes was somehow worse.
Shattered glass glittered among the molted feathers on the floor.
I walked carefully, guiding him through the wreckage and hoping we wouldn’t see anything worse.
Freyda joined us, hopping alongside us using any perch she could find and berating us with a constant stream of sharp chirps, clearly impatient with our progress.
But I was so happy to see her alive and well that I couldn’t bring myself to scold her.
The librarians’ rooms were on the third floor near the servants’ wing. Gareth’s was small and untidy. Books and papers covered his desk and the top of his dresser. He’d left the one small window open, and a light dusting of snow coated the floor.
I helped him to his bed and then bustled about the room, stacking all the books and papers neatly in one corner, draping clothes over the back of his desk chair, pouring a fresh glass of water from the pitcher on the washbasin.
When I brought it to him, he was still sitting in the exact same position on the edge of his unmade bed and staring at nothing.
He took the water without looking at me, sipped it quietly for a moment, and then put it on the bedside table with a small grimace of distaste.
“If I drink any more, I’ll throw up,” he announced.
“That’s fine,” I told him. “It’ll be there when you want it.”
“My room is a mess. I’m sorry.”
“Why? I’m not the one who has to live in it.”
A small smile touched the corner of his mouth. “Fair enough.”
Perhaps I should have left him then, but I was so glad to see even a hint of expression on his face that I hated the idea of walking away.
I stood there awkwardly, telling myself that it was practical to stay with him.
Though unlikely, some trace of the demon’s influence could still be inside him. Leaving would be irresponsible.
“What would be most helpful to you right now?” I asked. “Food? Solitude?”
He sat there for a long moment, hands on his knees, and then at last he said quietly, “In Mhorghast, I was a plaything. Did I tell you that?”
He said it so matter-of-factly that I felt a little sick. With a sharp look and a silent gesture toward the door, I ordered Freyda to wait outside and then sat down beside him. “Not in so many words, no.”
“One moment I was in the basement of the Citadel with Farrin and the others. The next, I was swept up in shadows, and when I came to, I was in a pen with dozens of other humans from across the continent. Oldens inspected us—fae, demons, a furiant, a titan, all loyal to Kilraith. One of them was Luthaes.” He blew out a shaky breath.
“He came for me specifically. Kilraith had sent him.”
“He wanted your mind.”
Gareth nodded. “The abductions weren’t random. He took those he found most entertaining, or those whose absence would hurt the people he wanted to hurt.”
“Like Farrin,” I said quietly.
“And Ryder. Though I never saw Alastrina while I was there. I’m sure that was intentional.
” He stood and began pacing the little room.
“Sometimes Kilraith simply wanted fodder. He took those people indiscriminately. They could have been anyone—magic, no magic, it didn’t matter as long as they were warm bodies for his followers to torment. He also took requests.”
The venom with which he spat the word gave me chills. “From his followers?”
“Whatever struck their fancy, whatever type of person they felt like hurting, whatever magic they wished to abuse and turn on others. That was their favorite pastime: turning us against each other.”
He stopped at the window, his back to me. “That’s where I came in.”
I waited for him to continue, my body so tense it ached.
“So much mind to grab on to,” murmured Gareth. “That’s what Luthaes said, remember? And he was right. The body hosting Jaetris was old and weak, which weakened Jaetris himself even further. He was trapped inside his human host, a prisoner like the rest of us. But with my help, he grew stronger.”
“Your mind amplified his power,” I said quietly.
“And steadied his grip on the world, made it easier for him and Kilraith to play.” Gareth folded his arms across his middle, still facing away from me.
His voice was tired, thin. “I don’t blame Jaetris.
From what I gathered, he’d only recently been reborn.
He hadn’t had years to orient himself, as your mother had.
He was vulnerable. Easy prey for Kilraith. ”
Gareth was quiet for a long time. His breathing quickened, and his whole body stiffened with tension.
I wanted so badly to go to him, but I stayed where I was. “Gareth, you don’t have to tell me any more if—”
“But I do. I haven’t told anyone, and it’s killing me. I can’t look at you, though. I’m sorry, I just can’t bear it.”
“That’s fine. There’s nothing to be sorry for.”
He laughed. “Oh, but you’re wrong. There’s so much for me to be sorry for, but so many of the people who deserve to hear that the most are dead.
And those who still live…” He shuddered.
“I can’t even be sure they remember what happened.
Maybe hearing my apology would help them, but I won’t risk unearthing memories that should stay deeply buried just for the sake of my own peace. ”
Finally he turned back to me. Tears ran silently down his face.
“I remember each and every one of them,” he said.
“Of course I do. My fucking brain. I remember every single person who screamed and cried and begged me for mercy. There were dozens. I cut them and made them cut each other. I beat them, I strangled them, I even forced myself on them while his followers watched and applauded.”
As he spoke, my blood burned with fury. I was a soldier; I was no stranger to violence. But seeing Gareth like this, hearing his confession and trying not to imagine the terrible things he’d witnessed—that he’d done—was a new kind of horror.
“Sometimes Kilraith wanted me to be their tormentor,” he said.
“Other times he preferred to simply use me as a conduit. An amplifier, as you put it. I would sit there, held immobile, watching situations unfold as my mind gave Jaetris strength and his tendrils invaded the minds of everyone around me. I was part of the audience. I’d be at Jaetris’s feet while he sat on his throne, just as frozen as I was, both of us caught in the same mental prison.
Sometimes Kilraith was there, and sometimes he wasn’t.
But thanks to the ytheliad, his will was just as present either way, just as irresistible. ”
He dragged a shaking hand roughly through his hair. “And I couldn’t stop any of it,” he whispered. “I tried with everything in me. But I couldn’t break their hold on me. I wasn’t strong enough. I was the puppet of monsters.”
“That’s exactly right,” I said, trying to keep my voice calm. “You were the puppet of a weak resurrected god and his malevolent creation. What happened was not your fault.”
Gareth shook his head, laughing a little. Fresh tears coursed down his cheeks. He ripped off his glasses and rubbed his face.
“You don’t know how many times I’ve told myself that,” he said, “but it doesn’t help.
Their faces are still there when I close my eyes.
My hands are still the hands that hurt them.
” He drew in a choked breath and struck his chest with his fist. “I hurt them. I made them hurt each other. Kilraith and Jaetris were the puppet masters, certainly, but when those people close their eyes at night, it’s my face they see. It’s my violence they remember.”
His voice shattered around those last few words, and he sank to his knees.
“And the same thing happened today,” he whispered. “He found me. He got through your wards and found me and used me to commit more violence, and he’ll do it again.” He let out a single harsh sob. “I can’t do this anymore. I can’t, I can’t—”
“Yes, you can,” I told him, joining him on the floor. I gripped his arms and held him up. “Look at me, Gareth. Please look at me.”
He did, a tear shivering on the tip of his nose. “I understand, you see, what drove you to Ghorlock. I would have been furious if you’d managed to kill yourself out there. But I would have understood.”
My throat tightened, but I willed myself to remain dry-eyed, steady-voiced. “Do you remember what you told me in that cave?”
“I remember something about you being brave and beautiful and me wanting to kiss you.”
That familiar twist of humor in his voice, however faint, made me smile. I ducked down to meet his eyes. “You told me Posey’s death wasn’t my fault.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
“But it is.” And I realized as I said the words that I actually believed them.
Sitting here with Gareth, being his voice of reason just as he had been mine in that cave, loosened the fist of grief around my heart.
It was still there, and it always would be—because of Posey, because of uncountable other losses—but with Gareth beside me, it hurt just a little less.
“No.” He pushed me gently away. “You killed Posey to save her from a crueler death. What you did was an act of mercy. What I did—”