64. The Darkness of Good
~ VOSKI ~
“Grace, can you walk? I’ll take you in the back way. So, we won’t meet anyone.”
She took a deep breath and bit her lip, but nodded. I let her feet drop, then held her by the shoulders until she was steady.
She looked up at me and I understood the haunted shadows in her eyes. ‘Kham, can you make a bit of a ruckus when you go into the stable? Nothing worrisome. Maybe chase Koa around? Just enough that the stableboys will be distracted and I can sneak Grace in the back way?’
Kham and Koa trotted away as I led Grace, trembling like a leaf, from the launch hollow, to the trees, to circle the stable and approach Kham’s wing from the cleaning yards.
There was no one in the trees, and I knew moving would help Grace steady for a time. Yet, the Keep never truly slept. We were forced to pause and wait in a small thicket, while a squad wandered past, laughing and bantering, on their way to the launch hollow.
As the shadows of the men passed, Grace shivered. I held her hand, pulling her into my side, nervously watching until I was confident they wouldn’t hear us if she couldn’t stay silent. Then I drew her forward, whispering encouragement.
“I’ll get you to your loft. No one will bother us there.”
Grace nodded, but her eyes, now dry, darted left and right. I tugged her with me, and she didn’t drag, keeping pace. But her breath hitched every few paces, and I knew if I didn’t get her alone soon, she’d hit her limit and all hell would break loose.
She couldn’t be forced to face this. A Furyknight killing a man in battle was admired.
And if I’d been on patrol and saved a citizen from a thief, his death would be regarded as the price paid for the overall good.
But for a Flameborne—not even Furyknight—to disappear, drunk, from a tavern, then knife a man in the throat?
The questions would hang in the air like a bad smell.
No one could know.
We had a close call as we entered the stable wing.
Kham had chased Koa into the main aisle, trailing half a dozen stableboys, all laughing or shouting at him to stop and let them remove the harnesses.
I kept us to the shadows at the edges of the aisles, but just as we reached Koa’s doorway, one of them came racing back and saw me.
“Sir! Mister Voski, sir! Kham is—”
I slung Grace into Koa’s stable, hissing at her to get up the ladder if she could, and turned on the kid.
“Did I hear you laughing?” I snapped.
He slid to a halt, eyes wide. “No. I mean, yes, but—”
“This isn’t a laughing matter! Kham needs his harness removed, and it’s late. This isn’t a game!”
“I know, sir, it’s only he won’t stop chasing Koa, and I thought—”
“Stop finding excuses and get to work!” I snapped, pointing back the way he’d come. The poor kid yelped and ran after the others.
I felt terrible for scaring him, but reached for Kham and told him to let the boys catch him now.
‘Bring Koa back to stand guard.’ The moment he acknowledged the plan, I ran into the stable and up the ladder.
“Grace, it’s okay. They won’t come up—” I froze at the top of the ladder.
She stood, frozen in horror, arms held out, staring at the blood crusting the front of her leathers.
“Grace.” I raised one hand, palm up as I stepped slowly closer. “Grace, breathe.”
She didn’t move, just kept staring, until I reached her. Then, she startled, but still she stared at her leathers. Her entire body shook.
I slid a knuckle under her chin, urging her to lift her head, to take her eyes off those awful stains. But she fought me.
“I’ll get you some clean clothes,” I murmured. “You have a washbasin here,” I whispered. But she didn’t respond. A shudder rocked through her. “Grace. Grace, look at me.”
I forced her chin up to find her eyes screwed tightly closed, but her hands slapped to my chest and she clung to my lapels like a lifeline. Her breath choked out of her.
Oh, God. Help us.
I cleared my throat. “I know how this feels. I do. That’s why the Creator made sure I was there when it happened,” I whispered hoarsely.
She grimaced and shook her head again, her eyes still tightly shut. My chest panged, but I didn’t give up.
“I understand. Do you hear me, Grace? You did the right thing. You saved me. God, you saved my life. And probably your own as well.”
She sucked in. “You don’t know that—”
“Yes, I do. He had a knife.”
The question was only which of us had been the target—and to what gain?
Grace pushed away from me, stumbling back a step. That dark gleam of the blood on her leathers taunted her. I needed to get her clean.
“Let me help you.” But she just took another step back, shaking her head, then another. I followed her, never breaking eye contact. “Grace, listen to me.”
“He’s dead—”
I hushed her and broke, closing the gap between us, cupping her face in my hands, not letting her look away, holding her there and locking eyes with her so she’d see that I was telling the truth. She gripped my wrists and her nails dug in, but I didn’t let go.
“Sometimes there’s no good answer,” I whispered through numb lips, and the words rose, unbidden. “Sometimes, there’s only bad choices. But you did the right thing. You did well. You helped.”
Somewhere, deep in my chest, a version of me that had lain, curled in the dark, and mostly dead for a decade, jerked back to life, panting.
Her tears welled again and she shook her head, but she didn’t back away further, and her clinging to my forearms was less protest, and more desperation.
“Listen to me, Grace. I’m telling you the truth.”
She went very still, her eyes flickering back and forth, searching mine for the lie. She wouldn’t find it.
I swallowed hard. “Sometimes the only choice is them or you. Them or someone you love. And when that happens, when you’re the one who’s there, and you win… it isn’t wrong. God put you there. You won. You won for me.”
“He’s dead!” she said in the tiniest, ragged voice.
I nodded. “But you’re not. And neither am I.”
Her chin trembled and her brows pinched over her nose. “I’m scared,” she whispered.
“Me too.” The thought made me dizzy. Had a truer word ever been spoken? “But I’m here,” I said through numb lips. “You can rest. I’ll watch.”
She sucked in a desperate breath. Tears spilled over her lashes again. “Maybe he didn’t die? Maybe he had friends and—”
I shook my head. Her face crumpled and she tried to step away, but I held her.
“He’s dead, Grace. But you’re not. And neither am I. I’ve got you. You can let it go. I’ll watch. I won’t go anywhere. I’ll watch for you. I promise.”
The wail that poured out of her made me shiver. Below us, our dragons raised their voices, singing and calling, to cover her cries as I hushed her.
Her knees gave, but I caught her, swept her up and carried her to the narrow bed. I sat on it so my back was against the wall, and cradled her to me, tucked her head under my chin, and held her against my chest as she sobbed.
It was surreal. So, fucking surreal.
Because, as she fell apart, I said all the words that had haunted me since I was fifteen years old. The words I’d fought. The words I’d become convinced were nothing but honey-flavored lies.
When God puts you in that place, and you have to make the choice for someone else, you aren’t to blame when it’s your life or theirs.
He made you this way for a reason. You don’t have to be afraid of yourself.
Even though you know the shadows better now, you’ll still see the sun again.
Sleep.
I’ll watch out for you.
It will all feel better in the morning…
I said them. And I meant them.
But, did that mean they’d always been true?