22. Grief
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Grief
It had taken terribly long. Much longer than it should have to sever the head from the body, and I was still not done since I had taken breaks to rest between my bouts of working. Sweat slicked my hair to my temples.
All that kept me going was the agony writhing inside me as if it were a living thing.
Exhaustion swelled forward. As did tears. A torrent of them.
They flowed while I finished chopping the head off. It should not have surprised me that sawing a Hollow’s head off would fill my mind with images of what I had survived. Sadness and rage collided into searing grief.
Piper had been murdered. They took my family, rendering me an orphan. My death had been next; all caused by the council.
An entire society stamped down those like me because redbloods were different. All in the name of power.
The councils across all the realms had planned the rewriting of civilization, and all it had caused was harm to everyone other than themselves.
I sniffled to clear my runny nose. Poor Piper never deserved such an end. I had always taken comfort in knowing I would not outlive her—that there would be no day without her.
That was what it should have been. I was never meant to outlive her. I am alive only because a Warlord held power over death. I brought down the blade over and over again, pausing in bouts to drag in harsh breaths.
Despite the pain in my limbs, my exhaustion, everything in my mind, I needed this release. Another tendon snapped, gushing dark green sludge upon my chest. Hollow innards were a deep muddy shade.
I stopped to catch my breath, staring down at the nearly severed head. Thick flesh stretched where I had stabbed it repeatedly. Leathery cords held on for dear life.
Cassiel had yet to move, lying upon the leaves.
His wounds had not knit back together yet, but there had been the slightest progress.
I turned back to the creature. It was massive.
A large, two-legged monster out of tales.
The type of Hollow that had slaughtered my parents and fed upon their innards.
There were marked differences from the four-legged ones unaffected by sunlight.
My arms screamed. If Cassiel had not been here to slice his sword into the creature’s stomach, I would have met the same fate as my family. But . . . it would be a lie if I said I wouldn’t invite a true death.
My breath formed plumes of fog with my efforts to slide the heavy blade through bone.
The council, for all its cruelty, was not stupid.
They couldn’t be with how well they fooled the realms. They’d kept Warlords for their protection, a mercenary of sorts.
Cassiel proved how well he served as such by easily sliding the blade through the thick flesh.
Self-preservation had driven them to keep Warlords.
They could control one of them . . . but many?
Multiple Cassiels running amok was the last thing they wanted.
There would be no control. More importantly, they would not be the most powerful.
I swiped my shaking hand across the bottom of my face.
My hands would not stop trembling.
I returned to slamming the blade down. Over and over. I did not want to risk it waking up and finishing the job while I was vulnerable. The tendon finally snapped and caused the head to roll away from the body.
I had finished.
Air gusted from between my lips, and my knees buckled. I dropped to the ground, landing on my side. A pinch wrenched my hip.
Another mark left on me: Cassiel had hurt me, leaving me permanently broken.
Since Awakening, it took longer for the ache to set in, but if I was on my feet too long, as I had been, it became a dull throbbing deep into my bone. Pressure compounded on my chest. The tears kept coming in a torrent.
Fortunately, Cassiel remained still, unconsciousness.
He must regain his strength for us to continue forth.
I was not strong enough to hoist him onto the horse.
My body had been depleted. I hugged my knees to my chest. The dirty robe did nothing to shield me from the chill.
I swiped the back of my hand across my face.
We could not remain out here. I smacked at an insect crawling on my arm, shivering with disgust.
I knew what I must do in order for him to regain himself.
Dragging myself onto my hands and knees, I reached for the goop coated blade laid beside the beheaded body.
Foliage crunched as I dragged it closer to me.
The blade carved a path in the dirt. The edge nicked me and I had barely touched it.
Hissing, I yanked my hand back, shaking it.
With more care, I dragged it the rest of the way so it was closer to me, a few paces from the Hollow corpse.
I tugged the bottom of my already tattered robe and slid it across the tip of the blade until it reflected moonlight.
I took care in handling it. Blood would come with ease if I cut across my wrist, so I positioned it with one hand to angle it up.
I took a deep breath and brought my wrist down gently, not needing to use much strength. A thin line welled with scarlet.
I turned my wrist upward. Droplets trailed down, leaving streaks. Carefully, I held it up and limped to Cassiel’s side, falling to my knees. I hooked my arm around the back of his head and pulled him up just a bit, then pressed my wrist to his mouth.
He didn’t move or drink.
“Come, Cassiel,” I encouraged, keeping my wrist to his mouth. With care, I lowered his head back down and reached to rub his throat.
He finally swallowed.
I hovered over him, waiting for another gulp from him. Angling my wrist, I eyed the edge of the cut. I had sliced closer to a small mole on my wrist, but the cut seemed to begin further from it. Frowning, I massaged Cassiel’s throat until his throat moved.
The cut had shrunk?
Blood dripped down toward my elbow. The edges were undoubtedly smaller. It had shrunk. An aspect of my Awakening—I had fundamentally changed.
The council had caused this all.
I should crack open the Lore of Old. All my answers were there, but pushing myself after everything I put my body through would end poorly for me. A yawn climbed free. I would rest my head for a moment. I arranged myself beside Cassiel, laying my head on his chest.
A touch kissed my cheek, jolting me awake. I frantically looked about.
Woodland was illuminated by dawnlight. Cassiel’s face came into view, hovering over me. I squinted, and his features rippled. He grunted, head falling forward. Breaths sawed from his throat.
Was he well? “Cassiel?”
I reached a shaking hand toward his shoulder. In a movement so fast I could not follow, he had me flattened on the floor. His eerie gaze swept over me. He swiped the back of his hand across his mouth. Red flaked off.
“Did you feed me?” he croaked, slowly pushing himself upright.
“Yes,” I said, tone even.
“Are you well?” He continued looking me over. I nodded, my head rubbing against the crunchy leaves beneath me.
“Good.” He sat back and groaned, rolling his shoulders. “I have never ached this way.” Cassiel gripped his knee and tugged it up, bringing his broken ankle closer to him. He rolled the limb, a wince on his face.
My stomach growled. I pressed my palm to it.
“Are you hungry?” He released his knee.
“I healed and did not scar,” I said, holding up my wrist instead of answering his inquiry. The slice that had been there was completely gone now. My body had changed despite feeling the same. Cassiel rolled to his knees, closer to me.
He cupped my face and lifted. I craned my neck to stare into his eyes.
“Your eyes . . .” he murmured. “Were you crying?”
I avoided his gaze, instead focusing on the thin line of his mouth. “I am fine.”
He sighed and rubbed his thumb against the swell of my cheek.
“I have to get you to a safe place.”
He released me and clicked his tongue. Leaves crunched under Abrax’s hooves as he neared. Cassiel’s strides ate the ground, and he reached the same pack that I had taken the hoof pick from.
“There is nowhere to go that you will not be recognized.” I lifted my fingertips to my throat. “Or me.”
Cassiel’s hand scooped something out from the bottom of the pack. He came out with a slim parchment. I approached as he carefully unrolled it. Across it were scrawled images of rivers and mountain ranges. This was what he had on his desk the first time I had walked into his library.
“Did you ever find what you needed in the Creation Scripture after I translated it?”
“No, I only added this mountain range.” He tapped a finger over the carefully drawn mountains near the edge of the parchment. “It was the only piece of information of use.”
A passage in the Scripture had mentioned the river that cut through two mountains. He sounded disgruntled.
“Wait a moment, you had said you sought answers for your waning gifts.”
His eyes slightly widened. He’d let out another truth. Another thing he had hidden.
“I was . . . but not only that.”
“And what were you searching for?”
“Any hidden nature-created structures the Resistance could be hiding in.”
I slowly turned my head toward him. For awful reasons. “That’s why you had me translating it. You were always searching for the unregistered redbloods,” I breathed.
He did not deny it.
“You are unbelievable,” I spat. If he had found it, I knew he would have dragged every single redblood and aiding blueblood back to the council. Or worse, killed them.
“You sought to end the Resistance."
He inclined his head, features rigid as if he knew I was about to lay into him.
“For the last century, I sought to end the Resistance. Their attacks on imports and travelers had grown. The complaints from villagers had grown to a point where I could not sit by and allow it.”
“They were trying to survive.”
“They were nothing more than pirates—”
“You are unbelievable! Spouting all this when you know what the council has done. How their lies have made redbloods the villains mffp—” His palm covered my mouth.