Chapter 45 Harkin
Chapter forty-five
Harkin
The thin stretch of forest separating Acsilla and Villaz Silven to the east was darker, more ominous than I remembered.
Boughs from great, hulking trees blocked the sky from view.
The winding dirt road was abandoned, and the shadows stretched long—washing the undergrowth along each side of my path in an unsettling gloom—though the sun had not yet sunk below the horizon.
The heaviness of my surroundings reflected my mood. I felt weighed down with my decision to leave, even if I knew it was likely temporary. I hated to be parted from Seren, but I knew it was what I needed if I ever had a hope of letting her go.
It was also true that I needed to have an honest conversation with my family.
I owed them that, and so much more, but I dreaded it.
I did not know how my mother would react to the things I had done.
Would she understand that it had been for them?
To protect them? Or would she look upon me differently?
As the liar, thief, and murderer that I was.
I stroked Equinox’s warm neck and tried to think of what Seren would say to me—as someone who had forgiven me of these things—but I knew it was not the same. Seren understood why I had become a mercenary. She, too, had chosen a life of violence not knowing there was another option.
Villaz Silven opened up around me, woods and hills giving way to a spill of stonework.
The village was small, merely a few dozen shops and homes surrounding a cobblestoned town square.
Children played by the fountain, breath fogging in the frigid air around them.
Water flowed steadily, despite the freezing temperatures.
It was laced with mágik, ensuring it would never freeze or falter.
My eyes caught on Mr. Carmentis’ shop, the one I had broken into that fateful night—when I had first met Prince Claudian. It had different owners now, but I always felt that sweep of bone-deep guilt whenever I laid eyes upon it.
Bile turned my mouth sour.
Hooves clicked across the uneven stone as we passed, and I let it soothe me. My eyes drifted shut. I trusted my mare to deliver me home. She knew the way as well as I did. With a whicker and a toss of her head, Equinox alerted me that we had arrived at our destination.
I opened my eyes, taking in my home for the first time in so very long.
It looked the same as it always had. The shutters were a bright blue-green, reminiscent of the sea my mother loved but so rarely visited.
Soft light poured through the windows, half drawn with gauzy curtains.
Smoke curled from the chimney, carrying the scent of a freshly cooked meal and burning oak.
The barn rose to the right of the house. Inside, I knew I would find two stories. The lower one held Equinox and the other animals. We had renovated the upper level into a flat, which was mine any time I visited. I knew all of my old things would still be there, waiting for me as they always were.
I dragged my feet to the front door of the small house. My heart sped, and my stomach turned. I had to remind myself to breathe—to hope. I lifted my fist and knocked, the sound hollow like the pit within me.
My mother answered the door.
Yvett Aranti looked much the same. Perhaps a few more smile lines crinkled aside her sparkling eyes. They glimmered with tears the moment she laid eyes on me.
“Harkin,” she breathed, throwing the door open fully and crushing me in a firm embrace. I sank into it with a heavy sigh.
“Who is it?” Adina called from the kitchen. She did not turn around, focused intently on the supper dishes as she scrubbed them in the basin.
“Come see, my love,” Yvett replied, her voice a flood of soothing warmth.
Adina looked over her shoulder, and the dishes slipped from her soapy hands. We cringed at the sound of ceramic crashing to the bottom of the basin, then laughed.
“Harkin!” Adina screamed, running across the room and launching herself into my arms. She reached my shoulder now, and my heart squeezed at the time I had missed. How many of her milestones had passed me by.
“Hello, little sister,” I rumbled happily, holding her close and pinching her side.
Adina let out a screeching laugh as she danced away. She lit up at my presence, and though I felt poorly about the time I had missed, I had never felt so grateful for my decision to be here, now.
“I’ve missed you both,” I said, letting my family pull me inside. The crackling hearth fire was a balm to my cold limbs.
“And we have missed you,” my mother replied fondly. “We were not expecting you this evening. I would have kept the stew on the fire for you.”
“I’ll heat it up later,” I assured her with a shrug.
I was not sure I could have eaten with the way my gut churned.
“The visit was a last minute decision,” I continued.
“There have been some changes in my life recently. I had the time to spare and thought it only right that I pay my family a visit.”
My mother gave me a peculiar look, as if she already knew my visit came with both good and bad news. “Changes?”
“Perhaps we should sit.” I moved toward the cozy sitting room, eager to warm myself by the fire and wrap up in one of my mother’s handmade blankets. I removed my cloak as I went, hanging it on the hook with practiced ease.
“No time for sitting, Harkin, we have to spar!” Adina clung to my arm, batting her eyelashes. Adina’s favorite pastime was to practice her swordsmanship with the little wooden blade I had once gifted her.
I tapped my finger on her upturned nose. She looked so much like our father. “I know you have evening chores to do, Dina, and it will be time for bed after that. We will spar tomorrow, I promise.”
Adina pouted, but I could tell it was in jest.
“Fine,” she drawled, dragging out the word exaggeratedly. Then, in a mocking voice, “I’ll leave the grown ups to talk privately.”
My mother and I both laughed at that, then shooed her on her way.
“What lays heavy on your heart, my love?” Yvett asked, brushing my hair back from my brow with motherly concern.
“I have many things to share with you… I would ask that you let me explain before you make any judgments.” I looked down, forcing her hand to fall away.
Yvett flicked me on the shoulder with mild annoyance. “You think I would judge you? You are my son, always.”
I nodded, hoping that her words held true. “These past years, I was under the employ of Prince Claudian. That much you know, but I have not told you the type of jobs I performed for him or why.”
To paint the full picture, I knew I must start at the beginning, so I told my mother about that terrible night when Adina had been so sick.
How I had felt the burden of manhood too young, in the aftermath of my father’s death.
I told her of the night my life had changed forever, the way my life had been pinned—ground down—beneath the boot of a crooked man.
Silent tears ran down her face, and she opened her mouth to speak, but I held up a hand. I needed to tell her the rest before my nerve crumbled into dust.
I drew in a steadying breath before continuing.
“I am not proud of this, but I acted as a mercenary for the prince. The assignments he dealt to me were not honorable. I have done many things that I regret, but I did it to provide for you and for Dina. I did it because Claudian threatened to harm you both if I did not comply. I felt as if I did not have any other choice.”
She nodded, sniffling through her tears.
I did not say the words which would label myself as a killer—a monster—but I knew that she heard them in the gaps between the silence.
“What changed?” she asked, rubbing my shoulder comfortingly as she had when I was a young child in the throes of a nightmare.
“I met a woman who was so strong and brave and beautiful that I could not complete the job assigned to me. I risked everything to protect her. We decided together to try to change Acsilla for the better. And now, King Tarquin is dead and Prince Claudian is imprisoned in the palace dungeon.” I did not know how to speak the next words without it hurting—tearing at my lungs.
My mother emitted a surprised sound, her eyes widening at the news. “Princess Ayla will be crowned queen?”
“Seren—the woman who changed my path—will be queen. She is Tarquin’s daughter, raised in Ordelés without any knowledge of her ancestry. Now that she has returned, Ayla has forfeited the crown to her.” My knuckles turned white as I squeezed my fingers into fists.
My mother eyed me keenly. She had always been so good at reading my every expression.
“This hurts you,” she observed, “because you love her.”
“It does not matter how I feel. The council knows who I am and the things I have done. They will never approve of the match. Her life is no longer just her own, and I will support her always, but that is all it will ever be.” A tear rolled over the curve of my cheek, and she caught it, brushing it aside.
“Does she feel the same?” Yvett’s voice was quiet and solemn.
“I don’t know. It doesn’t matter,” I repeated, refusing to let her lead me down this path. Down it lay only heartbreak far worse than the fissures I felt already. I changed the subject, rubbing at my reddened eyes. “Can you possibly forgive me for all that I have done?”
She laughed, but it was a sad sound. “Harkin, my love, there is nothing to forgive. I will be honest, I have heard whispers of the things you have done. Perhaps not the full extent, but I am not daft. I know that it is your sister and me that have been in the forefront of your mind, even as you were away. I only regret not having seen how difficult this has been for you. Can you forgive me?”
I shook my head, but I could not help the relieved laugh which slipped from my upturned lips. I pulled her into an embrace, breathing in her familiar scent. Her words fell from my mouth, “There is nothing to forgive. I love you.”
“I love you, my son.” Her voice was warm and welcoming, and soon she was bustling through the room, heating my dinner though I assured her I would handle it.
In the sitting room, before the dwindling fire, we shared a meal, and I felt lighter than I had in years. The weight was still there, but it was lessened—pieces of it carried upon the shoulders of those I confided in.