Chapter 38 Evera #2
Considering, I crooked my lips. “Cutting ties for orders for the shop, splicing plants in the garden. The handle I have used to mash dried leaves on occasion, or to loosen the seal on a stubborn jar.” In truth, I used the blade often for everyday tasks.
And although it was not well-kept in the sense of being sharpened, I kept it clean and sanitized, for the off chance I might need to use it, as I had when removing Neirin’s stitches.
Ruairc’s low laugh disturbed me. He looked out at the sea, giving me his profile, and I saw in him what I had not seen in many years.
There was a warmth to his smile, and not just that, but a familiarity.
A comfort. A pang of regret struck me for the way time and the course of aging had affected what once was a close friendship.
“To loosen the seal on a stubborn jar,” Ruairc repeated, drawing me back to the present.
“Yes,” I said, a bit defensive, if only for the unexpected shift in my feelings.
“That explains the condition of it.”
I huffed. “What is your point?”
“My point, Evera …” He took one of my hands, holding my dagger and the cloth it was loosely wrapped in at his side.
My eyes fell to where our fingers intertwined, but I did not draw back.
“You are broken,” he said.
Setting my jaw, I made a halfhearted attempt at withdrawing my hand, but he held it still.
“Let me finish,” he insisted. The subtle upturn of his smile tempered what may have otherwise seemed an imposing gesture.
I nodded.
“There are parts of your past that you revealed to me when we were young, and many parts I know of that you still have not told me, or perhaps that you keep even from yourself. My point is that we are all broken, to various degrees. I have felt for you from the time I was first old enough to yearn for a woman. I have loved you even longer.”
Swallowing, I lowered my eyes but let him continue.
“If I were to have you, though, I would press my concepts upon you, seeking to fix you. Not purposefully, but I believe I would. Just as I did with your dagger. It was only when I finished repairing it, when I held it up and viewed it as nothing more than a replica of others of its kind, that I realized I was wrong.”
“You were wrong?” I looked up to him again.
“You do not need to be fixed, Evera. Embrace your brokenness. You are distinct, extraordinary, just as you are. It would be a disservice to attempt to conform you to the mold of what others consider respectable and acceptable. This”—he held out the blade and shook his head—“it is not what is best for you.”
“Why are you saying this?” My words caught in my throat.
“Give me some credit where it is due. I am not daft. I have seen the way Lark speaks to you, how he treats you. As much as I resent the man, it is clear he does not try to change you. Does not try to fix you. That is what you deserve. That is how you will flourish.”
Keeping Ruairc’s hand in mine, I hovered over the blade with my other. Thoughts of the night of Mother’s death came back to me, and I chewed the inside of my cheek to hold down the emotions.
“Have I misjudged?” Ruairc posed.
“No,” I said, releasing a breath. “No, you have not misjudged. It is only that it is not as simple as that.”
“Is it not?”
Trailing my middle finger in a little circle where the latticed leather wrapped the blade’s handle, I considered Ruairc’s words.
It was true that Neirin had not tried to force me into the constructs or views society deemed proper.
That I had come to see already. It was the concept of brokenness that held me.
In all my life, not once had someone told me that I was broken so boldly. It was something whispered, something seen in the eyes of others on occasion, especially when I was younger, but never voiced to me. There was an overwhelming self-acceptance in what Ruairc stated.
My life had been composed of an endless cycle of attempting compliance, for Aureus’s sake, for the sake of our shop. Of holding my tongue. Of hiding my abilities, my skills, my dagger. Of concealing my past, even from myself.
“I do not want to be fixed,” I said, more to myself than to Ruairc as I took the blade and held it up to the light of the sun.
It was still my blade, but it lacked the wear of time, of use, of the scars inflicted upon it.
And it was as Ruairc said—it no longer held any importance or any value at all to me.
“Embrace the broken.” Ruairc squeezed my hand. A warm sadness shone in his eyes—the acceptance of letting go, even when it ached him deeply to do so.
Embrace the broken.
The rattle of wheels behind me shattered the stillness.
Ruairc dropped my hand to coax me to the side of the road, his touch at my waist gentle.
The moment fell away as we stood to the side, quietened as the wagon passed.
When it did, I turned the blade over in my hands.
It was still the blade of the man who had hurt me, the one responsible for Mother’s death.
“I appreciate your words, Ruairc, I truly do,” I said, holding the dagger back out to him, “but I do not want this.”
He held my gaze with a considering look. Perhaps he could see that there was more, that I was withholding, but he did not press. Instead, he rewrapped the blade and returned it to his bag. “Then I will hold it for you, as long as you need me to.”
Words held in my throat, ones I was not yet ready to put voice to.
Calix, suddenly beside me, tugged at my shirt.
The boy’s stealth, the way he so easily evaded detection, made him seem at times more ghost than child.
It would not be difficult for him to survive on the streets as a pickpocket.
Though it was more than coin that Calix needed.
If he were dependent on Neirin’s blood, would he always be with us?
A fondness settled over me at the thought.
“Evera, look, in the center,” Calix’s voice was hushed, thick with unease.
Two men stood near the well, alternating between conversing and scanning the crowd.
Both wore leather, worn but of good quality.
One rested a hand atop the pommel of his sword.
The other bore two shorter swords strapped to his back.
“Huntsmen,” I deduced. No one else would use a double-bladed sword, save for a huntsman or an assassin.
An assassin, however, would keep to the shadows, wear a cloak, not heavy leather armor.
I reflexively coaxed Calix behind me, concealing him with my skirts, grateful Neirin had had the forethought to purchase the boy simple clothes to replace his uniform of indigo and silver. He gripped the fabric of my dress.
“It is alright,” I said, placing my hand in the midnight curls atop his head.
The boy sucked in a shuddering breath. “They have Eaumond.”
Frowning, I looked back to the huntsmen, and then I saw him—the boy from the festival who’d stood beside Calix. Deep shadows created dark crescents beneath the boy’s eyes, and he stood with hunched shoulders as if a great weight wore on him. The weight of his own strain for control of his magic.
“How does he know that boy?” Ruairc asked, suspicion in his tone.
I shook my head. “If you truly care for me, you will not press this. Will not question it.”
Ruairc’s fists flexed at his sides, but he did not speak out.
“Come, Calix, let’s return to the inn.” I lowered my hand to his shoulder and encouraged him to walk with me, our backs to the huntsmen.
“Are you in danger?” Ruairc asked.
I glanced back at him. Evidently, my features answered where my words did not, for he came to my side, so close that we nearly touched. So close that when he looked down at me, I could detect flakes of gold in his irises.
“Let me help you, Evera,” he said, his tone almost pleading, despite the low hush of his voice.
“This isn’t your concern.”
“It is now,” he said. “I made an oath to Aureus that I would protect you. That does not change now, just because your heart belongs to another.”
I drew my brows together. “You made an oath to Aureus?”
“I did.” His hand went to my waist as he encouraged me on down the path. “Just as I did to you when we were only children.”
I let him guide me, Calix still holding to my skirts.
Just as I did to you when we were only children.
Remembrance came over me. Summer heat dampens the back of my neck, dirt and grass stains on my dress, and brambles in my hair.
Ruairc, his honey eyes round still with youth, his chest heaving as he caught his breath.
What had we been running from before we tumbled down that hill?
Did it matter? Was it only something we’d made up?
“I’ll always protect you, Evera.”
“Who is to say it isn’t I who will protect you?”
“That was just a game,” I said.
“I meant it all the same.”