Chapter 11
Emmerick
Alight shone through the void.
Someone was trying to reach me.
“Elsedora?” I shouted.
Don’t panic. Don’t panic.
Caym dragged me by my ankles, away from the opening to the world. I skidded through murky green water, clawing for leverage and heaving for breath. The weight of his rage pressed down on my back, crushing the air from my lungs.
“I will destroy them all,” he hissed.
I roared in protest. The longer I slept, the more sense of myself Caym chiseled away, replacing any lingering joy with visions of life lost under his command.
I couldn’t tell where my misdeeds ended and someone else’s began.
Death aimed to create a pit of despair so deep that I wouldn’t dare climb free of it.
“I’ll stay locked in here forever with you sooner than let you set one foot into the world again,” I snarled and crawled toward the light.
An endless barrage of horrid memories and hatred gripped me nearly all the time, save for the relief of the moments when Elsedora or my parents guided me away. I could tell one of them called to me now. Ripples of light coursed through the void, beckoning me closer.
“Emmerick?” My mother’s voice cut through the thick amber smoke.
I clambered through the sludge toward the pane, where my parents sat side by side, holding the mirror so they both fit in the frame. They couldn’t see me until I stood, finally snapping free from Death’s grasp.
Here, happy in the joy their presence brought me, Caym could no longer reach me.
“Hello, Mama, Papa.” I greeted them with a gasp.
My mother’s smile faded, and her back stiffened. I tried my hardest not to worry them about things out of their control. They were no more able to stop what was happening to me than I was.
“Emmerick, my dear,” Mother said. “Are you alright? You’re covered in mud.”
I glanced down, finding sooty liquid clinging to my tunic. Some of it dripped from my hair onto my forehead. My blood ran cold. Usually, when I left Caym’s hold, nothing he’d put me through appeared to them.
“Never been better,” I said, with a hard swallow, forcing a chipper tone.
Mama didn’t seem convinced. “Elsedora brought us your lovely gifts. My favorites as always—thank you, dear.”
My father added, “The chocolates are already gone.”
Doing my best to wipe my face with my dirtied sleeve, I smiled at them both.
Mama wore a simple blue tunic with her silver hair plaited over the crown of her head. She seemed frailer than I remembered her; I resisted frowning.
Papa took the mirror from her, allowing her to relax her arms at her sides.
“You’re welcome. I’m glad you liked them. Of course I would have delivered them myself…”
“Bah, no worries about that. Plus, we always enjoy Lady Elsedora’s company.” My father waved away my concern with his free hand. I smirked at his using El’s first name—that was new.
Callouses had grown over his dark knuckles, reminders of the hours of labor he’d once done for Luz. He’d continued to work as groundskeeper until his knees and back no longer allowed him to. I’d offered him an early retirement upon being promoted to Constable of Luz years ago; he’d scoffed at me.
“Are you both well?” I asked, eager to hear about their unchanged routines. It wasn’t the same as sitting around the dinner table at the end of every week, but it sufficed.
“I have been keeping your father busy with the yard—the garden has doubled in size. Oh, and the ever-seed selection has grown bountiful in Luz. What the Soil-wielders at the market sell would amaze you. We have strawberries that are still yielding abundantly, and we planted them seven years ago!”
My father ran a hand through his silver-threaded beard, watching my mother excitedly babble on about the squash harvest next.
He had always been terse. The way he revered Mama when she spoke made me want to be the type of man willing to get down on weak knees to build a garden bed just to see his wife happy.
“That sounds lovely.” I swallowed my hesitation to ask them for anything. It felt wrong. “I could use a favor.”
Mama’s eyes widened in surprise.
Papa said, “Of course.”
“My dear, anything,” Mama added.
“Well… it’s a favor of Mama, specifically, but Papa, if you could see her there safely, it would make me feel better. Can you please check in on Elsedora tomorrow evening? It’s a hard day for her.”
My papa nodded. My mother’s eyes glistened a bit, and she said, “Well, yes. I already planned to.”
My brows rose. “Oh. Good, then.”
She smiled at me weakly. “I go to see her at Lamoreaux every year after we visit with you.”
Elsedora never mentioned that. I cleared my throat, fighting my impulse to question her. What did they talk about? Did she reveal things to my mother that she kept from me for my well-being? It should be me going to her, holding her up, not wasting away here, a liability to them all.
My father turned to her abruptly. “I didn’t know that.”
Mama scoffed. “Oh, yes, you did. Where do you think I slink off to?”
“I sleep like the dead, Angeline.” He covered his mouth and glanced at me with an apology written across his face.
I laughed, not offended by the choice of words. “You’re right. You sleep deeper than I do right now—and you snore.”
My father’s shoulders slackened with relief as he chuckled.
“But thank you,” I said to Mama. “For caring for her.”
Mama shrugged. “Someone has to, and I like that wildflower. I am glad you have her.”
Wildflower. Never to be tamed. The perfect way to describe Elsedora.
“Yes,” I answered with a smirk. “I like her, too.”
My mother possessed a keen sense of a person’s true nature. She looked at me too knowingly—the same way she had when she’d caught me as a boy sneaking around the grounds with a young Princess Wymark.
This wasn’t the same.
I had no naive expectations of El. She’d never anchor herself to anyone. I no longer let boyish crushes lead me to disappointment.
“She’s rather fond of you,” Mama pried.
The idea of seeing Elsedora again in person warmed me—that dream fueled my hope. But I knew better than to fall for a wildflower…
“Stop planning my wedding, Mama. She is a good friend. Nothing more.”
Mama laughed and added, “She’s quite pretty though, isn’t she, Leo?”
“This feels like a trap,” my father answered.
El was beautiful. She knew it too.
My affection often blossomed into adoration. Any spark beyond friendship was wisest to squash before it blazed into some unrequited passion on my part. I wouldn’t be foolish enough to open my heart to someone who gave me no reason to believe she’d ever settle with me. Not again.
Elsedora was far too important—her visits were a compelling reason to keep fighting.