15. A Knight Returns
A couple of days later, Nicodemus knocked shortly on Viola’s door and declared that her wound should be checked. It no longer twinged every time she moved, and she could move about freely without pain as long as she didn’t try anything too strenuous. She’d begun to pack for her departure the day before, stealing a bag from Nicodemus’ room, which looked like it had never been used, and wrapping up part of her dinner for the journey. She was mindful of taking much else, conscious that the shadows truly might have eyes.
“How’s the wound feeling?” he asked her as she dutifully stretched out on the bed—not removing her shirt this time. He’d been so awkward the last time it didn’t seem fair. Besides, it was very cold.
“Much better,” she declared. “I’m still not feeling as flexible as I usually am, but it doesn’t hurt to laugh anymore.”
“You can laugh?”
“Very funny.”
“You know,” he said, coming around to the side of the bed, “that scowl of yours almost makes up for your complete inability to pull another facial expression.”
“I could still murder you.”
“You could try.”
Nicodemus snipped away the bandage and discarded it into a bowl he’d brought with him. Viola glanced down. The stitches—made of spelled thread, she assumed, to speed up the healing—appeared to have done the job. The muscle damage would take longer to heal, but the skin was starting to scab over. Nicodemus snipped the stitches away, pulling them out with surprising gentleness.
“Tell me about this girlfriend of yours,” he asked.
“Why?”
“Because, generally speaking, people like talking about their other halves. Come now, don’t be shy. How long have you been together?”
“Six months,” Viola said shortly.
“Is it serious?”
She paused. “It might be.”
“That’s a no, then. Six months in, you know if it’s serious or not.”
“What do you know about romance?”
“I read!”
Viola bit her lip, trying to keep the words in. For some reason, this blasted shadowmancer was tugging the truth from her as easily as he was tugging out her stitches. “It’s complicated. Me and Freya.”
“Oh. How so?”
Viola hesitated again, because on the face of it, it really shouldn’t be. She liked Freya. She really liked her. She was funny and beautiful and caring. She made her laugh. They looked out for one another. Viola didn’t want anything to happen to her, and thought she’d want to hurt anyone who hurt her.
But in the same way she’d do the same thing for Heindrich. She’d never been attracted to him, of course—he was like a cousin to her—but if you took the attraction away, at the base, that’s how she felt about Freya. She wanted to be in her life, to fight alongside her, to eat with her and laugh with her.
But she didn’t want to move in with her. She didn’t want to build a future with her.
She couldn’t imagine herself wanting to do that with anyone.
“Freya is wonderful,” she said eventually, not wanting to admit to much more than that. “It’s me who’s the problem. Me who isn’t right.”
“For her, or in general?”
Viola shifted upright, too shocked at the question to even glare. Her side yelped in protest, but she paid it no heed.
“Forgive me,” Nicodemus said, holding up his hands. “I didn’t mean to—That was too personal.”
It was, but the answer thumped in her chest. I’m not right. I’m not right for anyone, not anymore. Any chance she had to be right, any chance she had to be truly happy… she’d lost that over three years ago. It wasn’t coming back. A part of her thought that life would be easier the sooner she accepted that .
But there was a tiny sliver that refused to give in. That refused to accept defeat.
“You are such a stubborn child,” her mother had told her once, doctoring another scraped knee that Viola really didn’t want doctored. The comment didn’t help. It made her want to lash out.
“What’s wrong?” her mother asked, sensing a change in her mood. “Stubborn isn’t an insult. Stubborn can be a gift. It all depends on what you let go, and what you hold onto.”
You, you, you, she wanted to scream out now. I want to hold onto you!
Stubbornness wasn’t always a gift. It could be a curse.
Viola lay back down, measuring her breath. She rubbed the tattoo on her wrist. “It’s nothing.”
“It’s clearly something, but I won’t pry,” said Nicodemus, standing up. “I don’t think you need a bandage anymore. You’re probably well enough for me to kill you in the morning.”
She snorted. “Duly noted.”
Her gaze turned towards the window while Nicodemus cleared up. Snow still dusted the boughs of the trees, but much of it had sloughed away. No icicles remained. It wouldn’t be easy to traverse, but it would be possible. “The snow is letting up,” she remarked.
Nicodemus glanced in her direction. “So it is.” His tone sounded almost regretful, but she must have imagined that. He finished up gathering the supplies and headed to the door. “Rest well. See you in the morning, Windbright.”
No, she thought, with the same measure of regret she thought she might have imagined in his voice. You won’t.
Nicodemus watched Viola leave from his bedroom window. He’d suspected she would leave this morning, with her injuries mostly healed and the weather letting up. He’d noticed a bag had gone missing from his belongings, along with a few bits of food. Despite her dislike of thievery, it transpired that she had absolutely no problem with stealing from him.
He wasn’t annoyed, of course. It was the outcome he’d been expecting. He’d even slipped her a little something into her bag during the night. A gift, perhaps. Or a loan .
He hoped it would be a loan. He didn’t really want to go back to trying to kill her again. It was far more fun winding her up.
Cordelia found him when he didn’t emerge for breakfast. He was still staring out at the forest, even though Viola had vanished long ago.
“So, she’s gone then,” she remarked.
“Yes.”
“Forever.”
“Maybe. I left her a little something she may wish to return.”
“What was it?”
“The sequel to the book she’s been reading all week.”
“You gave her a book?”
“Yes.”
“You said you were going to kill her, and you gave her a book. ”
“It was the second in the series,” Nico remarked offhandedly. “It would be rude not to.”
“You realise how strange it is to give your enemies books? ”
“It’s a terrible book, really. She’s got awful taste.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
“You’re not at all annoyed that there’s a missing gap on your bookshelf?”
Nicodemus twitched. He did mind. If she didn’t return it, he would have to replace it. And it wasn’t a particularly popular book. It might take him a while.
Cordelia narrowed her eyes, her mouth thinning. “You want her to bring it back.”
“Nonsense. I hope I never have to see her face again.”
“You’re such a liar.”
“I’m a villain, I’m supposed to be.”
“You like her.”
“Go to your room!”
Cordelia threw up her hands. “I shall go,” she said, “but only because I like being in my room, not because I’m conceding. I still think you are being idiotic.”
Nicodemus grumbled something under his breath, waiting until she’d departed before heading along to his study. His leg wasn’t bothering him today, which was a small mercy. He stretched it out under his desk, hoping to keep it that way, and sorted through the papers on his desk. He needed a good heist to cheer himself up, maybe an assassination. There had to be someone in Auro with a good price on their head still worth killing. Maybe he’d head into Florenwall later and see.
His gaze fell upon the sketch he’d done of her watching the sunset. He’d coloured the sky—sunsets were easy with a little practise—but he hadn’t had the nerve to colour in her. He wasn’t sure he’d get the shade of her hair right, or could do justice to the way it looked in the light of the dying sun.
He shoved it away in a nearby book. It was no use to dwell on such things.
Cordelia was absolutely right. This could only ever end badly.
It was a long walk through the Feywood in the snow, and Viola was relieved when she was spotted on the bridge that connected the Knights’ Island to the mainland and given a lift the rest of the way. Her reappearance caused quite the stir.
It was the Captain who raced out to greet her first, her usually solemn face breaking into a wide smile. “Windbright!” she roared. “I’ve seldom been so glad to see anyone in my life. We were almost certain you were dead. Where have you been?”
“I got wounded fighting the wendigo,” she reported. “Crawled off into a cave. A civilian helped me. She went to get further assistance but must have been lost in the storm. I hunkered down and waited it out.”
“Auriel’s light, you’re a lucky one. Someone escort Ser Windbright to her chambers and fetch the healer—”
Viola had expected this. She decided to play dumb, saying that the civilian had tended to her wounds and she’d been too out of it for so long that she didn’t remember much else. If her wounds appeared particularly well-healed for someone who was gored by a wendigo, everyone would assume she’d been assisted by a healer. No one would suspect the Shadowmancer of having helped her.
She had no idea what her excuse was going to be if she’d been seen being taken by the Shadowmancer. Maybe fake a collapse and plan a story of daring escape while she ‘recovered’.
“Viola!”
Viola turned just in time to see Heindrich barrel towards her, wrapping his arms around her back and lifting her clean off her feet. Viola hissed with pain, making him drop her.
“Stars, did I hurt you?”
“No, a wendigo hurt me. That was just a reminder.”
He grabbed her face. “I really thought—”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
He brought her in for another, much more gentle hug. “I know any pleas not to worry me like that again will fall upon deaf ears,” he whispered into her hair. “But maybe try to limit the missing-in-action occurrences to once a year?”
Viola hugged him right back. Henry gave the best of hugs. “I’ll try.”
“I was about to write to your grandparents,” he admitted. “The Captain wanted to notify them right away. I asked to be the one to tell them if you weren’t back by the end of the week—”
“But you didn’t?”
He shook his head. Viola breathed a sigh of relief. Though they hadn’t seen each other since they buried the rest of their family, Viola didn’t want them to think they’d have to bury her, too.
At least now she wouldn’t have to write to them herself.
Another scream broke through the air, and Freya appeared, grabbing Viola in her arms and sobbing into her shoulder. Viola clutched her, guilt gnawing at her insides. “I’m sorry,” she whispered through Freya’s wails. “I really am.”
The Captain gave the two of them a moment before clearing her throat. “Take Windbright back to her quarters, Whiterain,” she instructed. “Someone’s already run for the healer. Heindrich, perhaps you can get her some food? She must be famished.”
There was no way to explain why she wouldn’t be, and in any case, she’d skipped breakfast. Viola consented to be dragged away by Freya, repeating the story she’d told everyone else.
“I hope the woman who helped you is all right,” said Freya, helping her undress. She paused for a moment, tugging at her shirt. “Did she give you this?”
“She must have.”
“It looks like a man’s.” She gave it a sniff. “Smells like a man’s, too.”
Viola hadn’t given much thought to it. It did smell a little like Nicodemus, she supposed—or one of his rich oils. Jasmine and mint, she suspected.
She shrugged. “I was really out of it, I don’t remember much at all.”
“Of course.” Freya touched her face, fingertips brushing her cheeks. “Gods, Viola. I was so worried. I really thought—”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
Freya leaned across to kiss her, but the healer arrived before she could to check Viola over, approving of the job the mysterious civilian had done. Heindrich came in with food, along with a trail of other guests that wanted to confirm her survival or wish her well. Flameborn exchanged money with Josef .
“Did you place bets on my survival?” Viola asked, affronted.
“Hey, I bet on you coming back. Josef here bet against you.”
“Sorry, Ser Windbright. I figured if you didn’t survive, I’d be richer, and at least I’d feel slightly better about your death.”
“That’s… that’s quite all right, Josef. Did Blackberry—”
“Oh, he flew home safe enough. He’s fine.”
“I’m glad to hear it.”
More people came in throughout the day. Her sword had been recovered in the woods, along with her bloodied cloak which had been miraculously restored. Even Mage Arcaneborn sauntered in at one point, although he apparently came in merely to ensure that the healing runes she’d been bestowed with were sufficient. Heindrich seemed determined to stay by her side forever, as if she’d vanish into smoke if he took his eyes off her for a single second. The Captain had to order him away, assuming—wrongly or otherwise—that Viola would want some time alone with Freya.
It was a long, long time before they were finally alone together, and Viola realised she really, really didn’t want to be.
“Can I get you anything?” Freya asked.
Just a way to do this simply without hurting you. “No. No, I’m fine.”
Freya took her hands in hers and kissed them. “I’m so glad you’re alive,” she whispered. “These past few days without you, I’ve been going out of my mind.” She caught her gaze, but the look made Viola feel like a worm on a hook. She didn’t want to be here. She didn’t want to do this. “I love you,” Freya whispered.
Viola swallowed. “I know you do,” she whispered back, her throat feeling tight. Don’t cry. Don’t you dare. This doesn’t get to be the thing that breaks you again.
And then her insides twisted even more. Perhaps Freya was worth her tears. Perhaps it would help to cry.
But she couldn’t. She wouldn’t.
Freya frowned. “Vi? What’s wrong?”
Vi. Viola knew it was the natural abbreviation of her name, but she hated the sound of it. She pressed the tattoo on her wrist.
“I had a lot of time to think in the cave,” Viola began. “I realised some things.”
“Oh?” A spark of hope flashed across Freya’s face.
You could lie to her, a voice told her. You don’t have to hurt her.
But Viola suspected that the hurt was inevitable. It was only a matter of when, of how much of Freya’s time Viola was willing to waste . “Freya,” she continued, “you are amazing. You are everything I should want. But I…”
The spark vanished. “But? ”
“I don’t want to do this anymore. You and me. It isn’t… it isn’t working. I’m not in the same place you are and—”
Freya leapt off the bed, moving towards the window, her back towards Viola. She took a couple of short, sharp breaths, like she was running from something.
“You spent four days dying in a cave, and your big revelation was I want to break up with my girlfriend? ”
“I… I wasn’t dying,” Viola said shortly. “After the first day or so, I was clear headed, and I had a lot of time to think—”
“And you realised you wanted to break up?”
“I… I realised that I’m holding you back, that you deserve more—”
“I don’t care! I don’t want more. I want you .”
Viola swallowed, her throat tightening. “I want to want you as much as you want me,” she told her. “And if I could, I would. If I could make myself love you—”
Tears flowed freely down Freya’s cheeks. There it was, in black and white. Viola didn’t love her. Despite how long they’d been together, despite what Freya felt for her, Viola didn’t feel it back.
And she never would.
“I’m sorry,” Viola whispered, wondering when the word would start to lose its meaning, having been uttered so many times today. “Really, Freya. But I just… I can’t. I can’t be the person I need to be to be with you.”
“You haven’t even tried!” Freya objected. “You’re so closed-up! You won’t tell me anything about your past—”
“It’s not that simple!”
“I know about your family, Viola!”
Viola froze as if someone had just kicked her in the chest. “What?”
“Heindrich told me. Not all of it, of course. But enough. I picked up the rest myself. I know what happened to them. I know now why you don’t celebrate your birthday—I just don’t know why you couldn’t tell me.”
“It’s… it’s not you. It’s me. I can’t talk about it. I can’t talk about them. ”
“Why not—”
Because if I don’t talk about them, I can pretend they’re all still at home. Because if I speak about it, it’s real. They’re gone. It’s over.
“I just… I can’t!”
“Why not?”
“Because I’m broken, Freya! I’m broken, and you’re not, and we just… we don’t work together.”
Freya moved towards the door, her cheeks stained with tears. “I could have helped you, you know. If you’d been honest. If you’d been open. I could have helped fix you.”
That only works if a person wants to be fixed. “I know.”
A few seconds later, Freya was gone, and Viola was just as she wanted to be.
Completely alone.