12. Blindly Trusting a Survivor #3
She cocked her head to the side. “Wren, just because something is powerful doesn’t make it dangerous to us. Or our enemy. Or evil. After all, is violence not justifiable in the name of protection?”
I thought about the scaffolding. Did hurting those men, so they didn’t hurt Griffon, make it okay? Just because I valued him more than a bunch of men I’d never met? The philosophy was becoming complicated. I preferred chemistry. At least molecules behaved predictably.
Her voice grew soft, but still held conviction. “Should we condemn those with power when they use the power they possess…in order to protect those they hold dear?”
The sea serpent didn’t seem very dangerous when she tapped the glass with her snout.
But she killed people. Lots of them. But according to Gannet, she was justified.
It’s okay for the sea serpent, but not Griffon?
It’s as if it’s not the actual act of killing that’s right or wrong—but the reasoning behind it.
And if protection is justified, does that mean that some lives are more valuable than others only because we hold an emotional attachment to them?
Would Charis kill for Gannet? Considering the way he looked at her across the table, I suspected he would. I wonder what it would be like to feel that way about someone. Probably terrifying, if I were being honest.
Right and wrong. Justified and unjustified. Those that we value and those that we don’t. I shook my head in confusion. This was too much moral philosophy for one evening.
“I don’t know if I have an answer for that,” I finally replied.
“Unfortunately, life has a way of eventually putting those types of answers in our path.” She gave me a sad smile that broadened with her next question. “And what of your ember?”
I cringed. It would not be the last time I had to answer this question. Would it ever get easier? Probably not. “I don’t have one.”
Her eyebrows scrunched in confusion, “You have to have one.”
“I don’t. Never have.” And believe me, it’s been tested. Extensively and painfully.
“How are you so sure?”
“Oh, I’m sure.” And so was the evil man who tried to force my ember to make itself known two years ago.
I could still feel the pain from the beatings, the burns from the fire, the slices from his blade and, worst of all, the panic as my lungs screamed for air as he held me underwater. But sure, let’s keep questioning it.
“It’s in there somewhere.”
I surfaced from that dark place and shook my head. “Wish it were.” The deep breath I meant to take turned into a yawn.
“I’ll let you get some rest. Here is a nightgown you can use,” she said as she handed me the clothing.
“Thank you. For everything.”
She was Sideri. I couldn’t live with myself if I left tomorrow morning and said nothing.
“Gannet, if there was a place where there were more of our kind—a safe place where we’re free—would you want to go there?”
She tilted her head, reading into the question as I figured she would. “I hope you find that place, Wren. I truly do. But my home is with Charis. And I’m happy here.”
“But you could be free.”
“I am free.” She had intensity in her gaze. “Hopefully, one day, you’ll find what I found with Charis. And when that happens, you’ll understand why I feel the way I do.”
I nodded, but I didn’t really understand. She wouldn’t have to hide any longer. She would be with her people. A place she could belong. Wasn’t that worth more than one person?
“If you ever need anything,” she hesitated for a second, “you know where to find us.”
“I’ll remember that.”
She looked at me again as if wanting to say something else, but didn’t. “Peaceful owl-light, Wren.”
“Peaceful owl-light,” I replied.
Sighing, I rubbed my hands down my face after Gannet shut the door behind her.
I barely knew Griffon, but I chose to trust him, to let my guard down.
Did I just choose to ignore all the clues?
I’ll admit—that stung a bit, like a sharp slap to my sense of judgement.
I was fumbling around out here in the real world.
The confidence I once had in myself has been wavering since I left the Citadel.
But it wasn’t just about him. There was a nagging thought that wouldn’t leave me.
The knowledge that I was a bad person, too.
That when it came to my wrongs, I knew without a doubt the answers to the questions I was just pondering.
Right and wrong. Justified and unjustified.
Those that we value and those that we don’t.
My answer was easy: I was undeniably wrong and unjustified to cause the death of someone I valued more than anyone else in the world. So what did that make me? A hypocrite? A murderer? Both?
And if I didn’t want to answer that question about myself, how could I answer it for anyone else? Who was I to judge?
Since I met Griffon, I had been doubting my self-preservation, my basic ability to survive in the world, my understanding of reality after being lied to—and now my judgement. I suddenly missed the days of only questioning why I was a defective Sideri. At least that was a simpler existential crisis.