Chapter 27
Twenty-Seven
Roman
The pungent scent of smoke circles around us as we walk the horses down the road of the small village. Stone framed cottages line the street, their roofs destroyed and burnt to ash. Deep, black scars mark the trees on either side of us. The semblance of a town lies etched into the forest, its buildings crumpled and scorched. I cover my mouth as we move past remnants of people, buried in the rubble.
Dozens of hunters and guards filter through the town behind us, caravans squeaking and horses chomping on their bits, interrupting the chirping birds and swaying branches.
“What are we doing here, Galen?”
He glances quickly over his shoulder but doesn’t stop his horse until we get to the end of the street. I catch a small glimpse of his amulet under his shirt, the purple hue radiant in the pale light of morning.
“The men will get restless if we don’t break soon.” It’s been a nonstop trek since Valebridge and I’m getting tired with this continuous pursuit.
Burnt bones of a wood cabin sit in a smoldering pile just at the end of what once was a road. I grimace at the smell. Sour and rotted. Galen gets off his horse, his fingers going to the chain around his neck.
“Galen?” I slide off my horse and don’t bother tying her off as I join Galen’s side.
I wave the rest of the men off, none of them argue with being told to take a break. Galen’s always been a difficult person to read, but after the prisoners escaped, he’s become so cold I wonder how his blood still runs through him.
My spine straightens. I’m the cause of this mess yet again. I gave her the knife. Silently daring her to use it. It’s been days of near silence between us and my patience is beginning to wear. “Are you going to tell me what we’re doing here?”
“We’re making sure the message was sent.” Galen turns to me, his hands in his pockets. The hood of his cloak, drawn over his head far enough that only his lips and chin peek from under it. “It seems as though I can’t trust anyone anymore, so I needed to see for myself the job was done. The Stones were not here and Sorin was not here, either. Which means he knows exactly where they are.” He nods to the crumbled building before us. “He could have stopped this. She could have stopped this, but they didn’t. I am not to blame for their lack of cooperation.”
I glance again to the burnt down homes and shops of this quaint village. My head spins, and I wish I’d stayed on my horse so I’d at least have something to hold onto. “But the people that didn’t make it out?—”
“Like I said.” Galen holds up his hand. “I gave Elora many chances to tell me where the Stones might be. She knew the consequences.”
“But what good is it!” I push forward so that I’m by his side. My eyes snag on broken limbs half buried under a fallen tree before glancing back to Galen.
He shrugs as if he’s not seeing the same destruction I am.
“This accomplishes nothing.” I gesture to the rubble. The ash and soot and lives and hopes that have all been squashed by this madness.
Galen grips my hand, his nails biting slightly into my skin. “There are only so many places for them to hide, Roman. Only so many places to run.” He looks back to the rubble. “All I’ve done is eliminate one possible place.” He drops my hand, my stomach sinking along with it. “One by one, Roman, I’ll burn all of the Trinity Forest until I find them.”
Wickersham is just as unimpressive as the previous town we passed on our travels here. Small and dainty, the only good thing it has going for it is the pub.
And even that is grim.
Galen orders us a round of drinks as I settle into a booth in the corner. The seat is worn, the tabletop not much better. My fingers land in something sticky and I cringe.
I’ve kept my hood on, attempting to conceal most of my face. I dismissed the guards for the night, not sensing a threat in this decrepit little town.
Galen joins me with two bowls and two tankards of ale. He sets the bowl in front of me, and I’m thankful for the hood to hide my grimace. The soup is thin and briny, the vegetables meager, and I doubt there’s even any meat. Maybe that’s a good thing.
Nothing like our meals in Valebridge.
My stomach rumbles just thinking about home.
“You just going to stare at it?” I glance at Galen as he takes a slow sip of his drink. His face puckers, and it’s almost enough to make me smile. Almost enough to make me remember the man I fell in love with. The man who loves books and mathematics and art. The man who hates ale and crowds and too many days of sun in a row. “Eat your meal, my heart, it’s been a long day.” He casts me a rare smile and I let it be enough for now. A quiet olive branch cast my way.
“Can you call this a meal?” I nudge his side and he smiles again, wide enough to cast a shadow over all the moments leading up to tonight that I’ve been angry about.
“I can fetch you some bread if you’d like?” A woman approaches our table, her hair is the color of rust. Her face, round and soft. She’s lovely and my cheeks warm under her vibrant, attentive gaze.
“I know it isn’t much.” She gestures to my bowl. “But with the blight, we’re on strict rations from the king.” She lingers a moment, and my skin begins to crawl.
Does she recognize me?
Galen clears his throat, his boot nudging mine under the table. It’s then I remember she asked me a question. “Yes, on the bread. Thank you.”
A moment later she sets down a plate of hard bread, but I don’t make any more complaints before diving in.
The blight hasn’t been unnoticed in Valebridge, our crops drying up or some not growing at all. But at the woman’s mention of it, I scan the pub and notice how emaciated the patrons look. How pale and pallid their skin is. How loosely their clothes fit.
They’re starving while I’ve feasted.
“You haven’t spoken to Sorin, have you?” The woman’s question makes me choke on my dry bread. I hadn’t realized she was still standing here. I cough several times before downing a few gulps of the bitter ale.
“Afraid not,” Galen says in a tone as smooth as butter.
The woman’s face falls. Her bright eyes casting down as she bites her bottom lip.
“Something troubling you, Jeanette?” I’m perplexed when Galen addresses this woman by her name then am immediately reminded of how he lived a life outside of Valebridge. A life so very different from my own.
She glances over either shoulder before leaning in close. Her dusty pink dress and brown vest fit snugly over her chest, and out of instinct, I recline backward as she gets closer. “It’s just that we haven’t heard from him since he killed that hunter the last time he was here. He scared us half to death actin’ that way. Was so unlike him.” She shakes her head. “Nothing’s been quite the same around here since. Hunters and guards stopping by. I mean just look.” She glances around the pub full of my men.
My stomach knots.
“Just be safe, Galen. And your companion too.” She smiles at me, and I fight the urge to pull my hood tighter. She tilts her head and squints. “I didn’t catch your name.”
“Thank you for the meal, Jeanette,” Galen says. “Hurry now, darling. You heard the lady. Best if we call it a night.”
Galen leaves his barely touched ale at the table and leads me outside to the inn across the street. Neither of us speak of Jeannette or Sorin as we tumble into our bedroom. It’s just as humble as I’d expect from a town of this stature. After several nights sleeping outdoors, I welcome the creaky bed and old curtains with open arms.
Shouting from the hallway wakes me.
Rubbing at my eyes, they take their time adjusting to the dark. My hand runs over Galen’s side, and I tense when I’m greeted with nothing but cold sheets.
More shouting erupts and it’s loud enough to pull me from the bed. I quickly dress in my loose pants and black shirt and head for the door. Orange light from the lanterns on the walls pools at my feet as I crack the door open.
“I already told you, I’ve been given specific orders from the king.”
“I don’t give a damn what you’ve been given.” I recognize Galen’s voice. The angry lilts a testament to his rising temper. “I didn’t let you go, and it was me who made you that deal in the first place. The deal you fucked up.”
“I repaid my debt. I brought you the Dyrsjel and now King Roman?—”
“Years later and not without my help,” Galen snaps, and I realize now who he’s run into.
Cade.
I step into the hallway. Both men’s gaze land on me, so I straighten my dark tunic and rake my fingers through my hair. “Perhaps the hallway isn’t the best place to have this conversation?”
Galen frowns and shakes his head. My head tilts to the side as I study the scene before me more closely. It’s the middle of the night and the two of them are arguing in the hall. Cade, in common clothes, looks as though he’s just come from the pub.
But why is Galen fully dressed when I know for a fact he wasn’t wearing any clothes a mere hour ago?
What are you hiding from me?
“You let him go,” Galen snarls. “His penance for his mistakes haven’t been paid.”
“I didn’t let him go,” I whisper. “I put him on another proposition.” The hallway remains empty but anyone could occupy the rooms here and I’m not comfortable speaking much louder.
“What proposition?” Galen’s eyes flash, a muscle in his jaw flexing.
“Come back inside and we’ll discuss?—”
“No.” Galen takes a step closer to Cade, turning his back to me. “The king may have given you orders but as the handler of your fate, don’t forget it is me who you obey.” Galen moves forward and grips Cade’s collar tightly around his fingers. “Now get out of my sight.”
Cade glances at me quickly and I nod. It’s not worth fighting Galen on this. Not now, when he’s so angry. Cade disappears down the hall, and Galen and I return to our room. The silence is deafening as we climb into bed. My heart continues to hammer against the walls of my chest.
Galen’s body is rigid next to mine, so I turn away, his breathing audible through his nose. I can feel it in the way he turns toward me that he wishes to talk. Likely wants to know what I put Cade up to, but I’m not prepared to speak anymore tonight. “Tomorrow.” I promise him. “I’ll tell you everything tomorrow, but tonight can we please just rest.”
The bed creaks as he rolls away from me, a cold draft pooling between us.
“I love you, Roman.” I suck in a sharp breath, his words hitting me in the chest. “If it’s something I’m doing the last few weeks to make you forget, I’m sorry.” He rolls again, wrapping his arm around my middle. My stomach tenses as he kisses my cheek. “Get some sleep, we’ll talk tomorrow.”
As Galen’s breathing turns heavy, I have never felt more awake.
I think of the bruises on the Dyrsjel’s body, directly from his hand. I think of the women before her and the bloodied marks around their wrists where we shackled them.
Where I shackled them.
I think of the village we visited today and the smoldering buildings of a town that once was. At the people who lost their lives merely because he was trying to prove a point.
I think of the starving people in the pub and the meager food I was given despite their rations. The generosity in the woman’s face and the pain when she spoke of Sorin.
All of this affliction and suffering at my hand. At our hand.
Galen shifts behind me, and my stomach clenches again.
Please don’t wake up.
It’s the first time I’ve ever had that thought. For so many years, all I’ve needed was him beside me. More and more and more of his time because the moments we had together were never enough.
When I realize he’s just rolled over again, my shoulders relax. I spent my entire childhood seeking approval and affection from people who never had any intention of giving it to me. So when Galen offered me a chance at freedom from the burden of constantly begging for love, how could I not take it? I was only eighteen years old.
And yet, here I am, five years later and still stuck in my ways. Still seeking approval and affection in the wrong places and people. Still remaining small when I was born to take up space. I bite my bottom lip and close my eyes.
What would I give to make this right?
Better yet, what wouldn’t I.
Would I give back mine and Galen’s time together? Would I take back my father’s life in replace of Galen’s?
No.
Because for all the bad Galen has done, it doesn’t right the wrongs of my father.
And the same goes for the opposite. Maybe Silas wasn’t as spiteful as Galen, but he had his many flaws. I wince, thinking of the scars lining my back. The lash of his whip, fresh in my mind like it was yesterday.
I roll onto my back and stare at the ceiling. The wallpaper is crumbling and cracked, much like how I feel at this very moment. But through the decay it reveals something extraordinary. A tiny glimpse of the foundation that holds up the space. Beneath the tattered paper and crumbling ceiling lies another layer of paint. Completely untouched and smooth, the blue is vibrant against the rest of the dull room.
Why would someone cover up such beauty?
I look at the crumpled edges of the wallpaper again, worn down to almost nothing. Slivers of something, someone, just underneath the mask plastered on by others.
Is a person more than the things they’ve done? What about the things they could have stopped but didn’t? Perhaps we are merely a collection of our actions and inactions. Rights and wrongs.
Perhaps the most powerful thing one can do is to look at the darkest parts of themself and acknowledge them.
See them for what they are, and live despite them.
I rise from the bed and tiptoe to where my clothes are folded upon the dresser. Piece by piece, layer by layer, I dress myself in the dark.
Too soft to be a king.
Too weak.
Echoes of my childhood, words that caused such infliction, now steeling my spine.
A small, ornate mirror hangs just by the front door, and while the room is dark, I swear when I squint I can see all the mistakes I’ve made etched into my face. But now, instead of hiding from them, maybe I’ll welcome them. I run a finger over my dark brows, down the sharp line of my nose. All of those years I spent chasing this man away; myself. Hiding and becoming someone else's version of me. I don my cloak, the final layer, and gently open the door. My hand shakes on the knob as I twist it shut, a flicker of doubt swirling in my gut, remembering all the mistakes in the mirror.
But it’s those mistakes that have brought me here. To the precipice of change.
The hallway is quiet now that Cade’s gone, and with every step toward the door, my confidence in my choice grows stronger and stronger. I hit the bottom stair on the outside of the inn and point my chin to the night sky. The air is fresh and crisp, burning my lungs, but I accept it.
I take a final glance at the inn behind me, a small piece of my heart breaks knowing who I’m leaving behind. But my feet press forward anyway, straight to the pub where I know my guards will be playing poker or drinking.
It’s time to take a stand, Roman. I smile despite the battle I’m about to face. Because maybe it isn’t the hero that can save the world, after all. Maybe, this time, it’s the villain.