Chapter 28
Chapter twenty-eight
Seren
The shadow of the sundial crept forward, mágik flowing unfettered. The last weeks of autumn were little more than ash on the wind. A memory of all that had come to pass. Everything progressed, but I stood still.
I could not forget the words I had uttered. The way I had accused Harkin of making me feel things I did not want to feel. The red hot embarrassment that flooded my body at his denial.
I had embraced my mágik in a way I had never thought possible and confronted the painful memories that I’d carried with me, sorting through them and weighing their truths.
I had taken the first step toward healing and acceptance.
But for each step forward, I felt an irrefutable tug—some dark hold over my mind—trying to pull me back.
I wanted, desperately, to accept the possibility that I deserved more than a closed off and untrusting existence. Yet the moment I felt the kindling of warmth in my chest, I had hidden behind the hot lick of anger. It was an old friend, a confidant. A thing I knew far more intimately than softness.
Harkin spared me further embarrassment by remaining silent on my outburst. He didn't question the meaning of my words. Perhaps he did not have to. My meaning had been clear enough: he had done me the unfortunate disservice of making me care for him.
Instead, he told me stories of his childhood in Acsilla.
The mischief he got up to with his friends in adolescence.
All the wonderful sights and foods and mágik that I would have in abundance in my new life.
It was as if—now that the faucet had been unstuck—the flow of his words could not be turned off.
Those weeks ago, Harkin had expressed to me that he did not know how to be true to himself, but he had simply forgotten how.
The real Harkin had been buried beneath the surface all along. He only needed someone to trust. Someone to share the soft bits of himself with in the quiet of the night.
That evening, he painted a picture of an older brother and a little sister.
They had many imagined adventures together in the eastern reaches of the Acsillan kingdom.
Pretend ponies to ride and illusions of monsters to slay.
Harkin had been too old for such games—a young man already—but he played along for her sake.
He spoke of this girl so reverently. It reminded me of the way I used to speak of my brother.
“Her name is Adina,” Harkin told me. His voice was hushed, hardly louder than the crackle of the fireplace. “She is everything I hoped she would be and more. Fierce and brave and honorable. She is everything I hoped that I would be. I wish I had more time with her.
“She was only five years old when I started working for Prince Claudian. I have not visited home more than a handful of times each year. I miss her and my mother, but this job keeps them fed and clothed and safe…” A shadow passed over him as his expression darkened.
“How old is she now?” I asked, breaking the silence. I could not bear to let him sit in his pain alone, not when I understood it so keenly.
“Adina is thirteen now, and a pain in my ass.” He smiled wistfully. “If circumstances had been different, I would have stayed. I would have been by her side through every high and low for the past eight years. She deserves a far better brother.”
“You have dedicated your life to caring for her and your mother. What better brother could there be?” I countered.
“One who shows up. One who is present. I should have been there to bandage her scraped knees and threaten her bullies. The little things are important. I have always known that, yet I missed them, time and again.” Harkin turned away, as if he did not want me to see whatever emotion crossed his features.
“She is young, still. It’s not too late to make a different choice.” I reached for him involuntarily, my hand squeezing his tightly before releasing.
He turned to me again, something like wry acceptance in his solemn gaze. “My cards have already been dealt, Ren. There is no other choice.”
“There could be,” I said, but he was already rising from the settee.
“Maybe in another life, Seren Corso.” He looked so young then, so deeply sad. “I’m going to check on Equinox… Goodnight.”
“Goodnight, Harkin.”
I parted from him that night with an ache in my chest. I understood the deep love he felt for his family. The pain of feeling like they were so close yet just out of reach.
Though I was often loath to admit it, Harkin had done much to help me. I resolved to return the favor. When we returned to Acsilla, I would help Harkin find his way back to his family. They deserved more than holidays together. They deserved the quiet days in between.
Scented oils—fresh rosemary and sweet lavender—filled the air as I drew myself a bath, heating the water in batches and stirring in a collection of bathing oils.
Every muscle in my body relaxed as I sank beneath the steam, and I took my time scrubbing my skin clean.
I washed my hair gently, scratching at my scalp and detangling the short ends as I went.
I had taken to wearing my hair unbound since that night at the spring when Harkin had braided it as I fell asleep. I half hoped it would help me forget the memory. In equal measure, I wished he might plait it again, but I shook off the thought as best as I was able.
Every sound rang loud in the quiet cottage. The drip of water as it ran off my stretching limbs and fell back into the basin. The crackle of the burning fire and the crinkle of parchment.
I sank lower into the tub, hyperaware of my shadow against the white curtain bathed in firelight. The surface of the water caressed my jaw, lapping and soft.
“Damn it,” Harkin muttered, his frustration punctuated by the tearing of parchment between his clenched fingers.
I peered around the edge of the curtain, watching the two halves flutter spent to the floorboards. Harkin had already turned away, his shoulders tense as he strode through the door and out into the cold. It jolted closed behind him, rattling against the frame.
Knocking sounded, sharp against glass, and I pushed the curtain back. The soft fabric of my robe dragged against my wet skin as I searched for the sound. My eyes caught on a raven, tapping its beak against the window—waiting for an answer it would not receive.
Of course, I will write him back. I’ll tell him that everything is going according to plan, Harkin had said. But weeks had passed, and the raven's talons remained empty.
I climbed out of the tub, water dripping down my legs and settling in the grooves of the hardwood. My fingers twitched, mágik jumping at my summons—it was almost second nature now. The water floated into the air and settled into the basin once more.
Torn pieces of parchment called to me, the discarded letter beckoning with its curling script. The pages were fire warmed, dry and smooth beneath my fingertips.
I sank into the settee, arranging the two halves side by side on my lap. My hands shook, and I fought to line up the frayed edges.
My breathing sped before I had even read the first line. No good could come of reading this, but I had to know. I wanted to trust Harkin, but I still couldn't, and I had to understand what the prince wanted with me—where Harkin was really taking me.
Water dripped from my hair, and ink burst across the page. I smoothed my fingers over it, staining them blue-black.
I drew in a shaky breath and began to read, unable to delay any longer.
Aranti,
My patience wears thinner by the hour. Every minute that ticks by reminds me of your insubordination, and draws me closer to your punishment.
How are your mother and sister these days?
Well? Fed and happy on the coin I provide?
Let us hope they stay that way. Bring me the girl.
Now. In case I was not clear enough, I need her here before the solstice so I can suck every ounce of mágik from her useless body, and when she is dead, I will celebrate atop her ashes.
Do not see yourself on the pyre with her.
Finish this job, or I will finish the Aranti line.
Prince Claudian
I tore the parchment again, shredding it into smaller and smaller pieces. I fed them to the fire and watched them curl into smoke.
The prince wanted me dead. He wanted to steal my mágik and then my life. It wasn’t a surprise, not really. I had never believed the story that I would be given a better life in Acsilla, but fear rose in me anyway.
Fear and resolve.
I wanted to survive. I wanted a chance at the life Harkin had promised, even if it had been a pretty lie.
Harkin might not have known, I reminded myself—pleading in my own mind. He told me he did not know.
He might not have betrayed me. But he would. He had no other option. If the decision was between his family and me, there was no choice at all. He had already told me he would do anything to protect Adina.
I could not fault him for this choice, but neither could I trust him.
Whatever the feeling clutching at my heart had been, it would have no choice but to end.
I would convince it to beat to another rhythm.
If only I could convince the fickle organ to release the breaking, fissuring pressure in my chest.