Chapter 42
“The weight of life is far too heavy a burden to bear alone.
It will crush you.”
- The Old Book
Istood in front of my bedroom mirror, counting the white strands in my hair that had been multiplying like frost creeping across glass.
I wasn’t as confident that it was purely stress anymore, considering every other culled one’s hair was growing just as white.
But at least I was doing better than most—like Talia.
Talia sat cross-legged on her bed, absorbed in her own world as she carefully maneuvered splintered bits of wood across the thin mattress.
She had pried them off her dresser days ago.
Each shard of wood seemed like a tiny actor in a play only she understood.
Her eyes, dull and distant, hardly ever acknowledged my presence anymore.
“Talia,” I spoke gently, my voice scarcely above a whisper. “You need to eat something.”
Her shoulders tensed slightly, but she didn’t lift her gaze. The wooden splinters continued their silent dance.
“You can’t keep avoiding meals,” I tried again softly. “Come with me. Even just for a little while.”
Each day, I watched her fade, a sense of helplessness gnawing at me, as if I was witnessing a slow, painful death I was powerless to prevent. I had watched an already slender Talia wither away during the past few weeks. I often had to prompt her to come to meals, and even then, she seldom came.
She paused, the smallest sliver of hesitation showing through her mask of indifference. I waited patiently, refusing to pressure her, giving space for the silence to coax her decision.
Talia’s hand stilled, her eyes flickering briefly toward me. Without a word, she slid off her bed, leaving the splintered pieces carefully lined in formation.
As we entered the dining hall, the usual tension pressed in from all sides. We found seats near the end of a long table, and Talia hunched protectively over her tray, picking listlessly at the food. I observed her, worry fraying at the edges of my composure. She was cracking before my very eyes.
I shivered and rubbed my arms for extra warmth. The dining hall had always felt cold, but now it was frigid, and it was all because of one person’s absence—Rowan.
He had been gone for three weeks without a note or whispered word of goodbye.
He just vanished. A part of me feared something bad had happened to him, but surely I would have learned that from Renata.
Every time I showed up for training, it was Renata on the mat.
She was a skilled fighter, but she wasn’t Rowan.
Suddenly, a violent cough echoed sharply across the hall, yanking me from my own thoughts and drawing the attention of the room.
A boy, thin and pale, lurched forward as blood spilled from his mouth.
Gasps and murmurs erupted around us as the poor boy continued to spew crimson.
Talia flinched, her eyes wide in fear. I instinctively reached out, gently placing my hand atop hers, anchoring her back to reality.
Healers rushed forward, swiftly lifting the boy onto a stretcher and whisking him away. An uneasy quiet settled once more, whispers rising in its wake.
I clutched my stomach painfully. This was the third time this week the healers had come to the dining hall.
It was in that silence that my gaze lifted, and my heart jolted painfully. Standing near the doorway, looking utterly forlorn, was Rowan. His eyes met mine instantly—wide, filled with unmistakable regret.
He was asking for forgiveness.
I clenched my jaw, irritation flaring inside me.
After weeks without a word, after leaving me adrift in worry and confusion, he now dared to show his face, looking like a wounded animal. The relief at seeing him alive overshadowed the bitter edge of anger—just barely. But I wouldn’t let him know that.
With an exaggerated roll of my eyes, I stood abruptly, pushing my chair back sharply enough to cause a scraping sound.
“Let’s go,” I muttered quietly to Talia, who immediately followed my lead, clinging close as we left the dining hall without another backward glance.
I had barely made it a few steps into the hallway before I heard quick footsteps behind me. Rowan was following behind, and he wanted me to know it. I turned to face a shaken Talia.
I sweetened my voice as much as possible. “Why don’t you go ahead? I’ll catch up.”
Talia glanced back at Rowan, unsure. I grabbed her hand and squeezed it. She looked at me once more and then nodded. I waited until she was further down the corridor before I turned to Rowan. Without hesitation, I shoved him, my anger a palpable force within me.
“Three weeks,” I spat my words at him, scoffing bitterly in his face.
“Mavis, please—” Rowan’s voice was desperate, almost pleading.
“You disappeared for three weeks. No warning—nothing. And now you show up and expect me to roll over at the sight of you looking sorry for yourself? No, that’s not how this works.”
“I don’t feel sorry for myself; I feel sorry for having left without leaving word.”
I stopped. “Then explain.”
I crossed my arms and tapped my foot expectantly.
He hesitated, searching my eyes. “I was handling commander duties.”
“Convenient timing,” I said sharply. “And what exactly were these duties?”
He opened his mouth to speak, but faltered, his hand halfway reaching for me before dropping weakly at his side. “I want to tell you—but I can’t.”
“Of course.” My voice dripped with contempt. “I almost forgot—you’re a Veiler. You were probably off murdering or kidnapping people. How silly of me to assume you were better than that.”
Rowan’s expression darkened, his voice lowering dangerously. “You knew exactly who I was when you kissed me.”
I glared at him, heat rising to my cheeks in anger and embarrassment.
“Apparently not.”
He reached for me again, desperation bleeding into his gaze. “Mavis—”
I stepped back sharply, distancing myself from him.
“I have a session to get to.”
Without another word, I turned and left him standing there, frustration and hurt still simmering fiercely beneath my skin.