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The thought of reliving her death makes me cold inside. Inhuman, even. It’ll take a lot to convince me that I could benefit from seeing her again. From seeing that day play out in front of me.
But my father’s house must hold important memories. When Kane took me there, he gave me that jewelry box that held my parents’ locket. It’s where Kane was able to find the envelope that evidently had proof of Masten’s betrayal. How could my father have known that?
That house has to be the source of most of my missing memories.
Chunks of time lost.
I’ll sleep here, then head back to the Bear Traps north of the Red Oaks. Giving myself a schedule—a mission—is the only thing holding me together. Because without it, I’ll want to curl up in that tree house again, go to sleep for hours, and pray I won’t wake. I’ll want to wallow until the life slips from my lungs. Let it pull me into the darkness until there’s nothing left.
And, oh, how that darkness is tempting.
I sit with my back to a heavy log, unable to sleep. My mind races. My stomach growls. And frankly, I don’t have the guts to skin those dead animals that Asena killed. I’ve never been a hunter.
Even though there isn’t any sound to signal that I’m no longer alone, I can feel his presence. An old, familiar flutter against my skin. A sweet warmth down my throat, like hot chocolate. It nudges me to look, although I don’t have to.
I see Chekiss walk toward me in the corner of my eye. He carries a mug and a large wool blanket. It isn’t clear if this is a memory or not. And that worries me, not being able to sift through the present and past.
I don’t flinch as he wraps the wool blanket around my shoulders. And he doesn’t say anything, only leans down to drop a quick kiss on top of my head. The action leaves me choked up and wilting with sadness.
Chekiss sits in front of the log next to me, using a wooden spoon to stir whatever is in the mug. “It’s hot,” he says with a hoarse, aging voice.
I look down as he reaches the spoon close to my lips. Steam pours off of it, curling around my mouth. I breathe in the scent of chicken broth. My stomach twists.
Closing the distance, I blow out a little air to cool the soup before slurping it down.
Chekiss continues feeding me. Doesn’t say a word. Doesn’t ask where I’ve been. He just sits. Taking care of me the way a loving father would.
After I finish the soup, he sets down the mug.
“How did you find me?” I ask.
“Warrose and I have been tracking you. We’ve camped half a mile away.”
“And why isn’t he here?”
Chekiss sighs. “He wants to give you space. But… I needed to make sure you were eating.”
I glance over at his face shimmering in the moonlight and fire. His eyes, the color of slimy algae at the bottom of a pond, are glossy, and his lashes are wet.
Something lodges in my throat.
“Ruth?”
“Watching over Niles.” Chekiss clears his throat.
A pang of guilt swells under my chest. “How is he?”
“Hurting, like you. But he’s healing.”
I remember the way Niles screamed when he threw himself through the flames. Sacrificing that perfect, glowing skin just to reach DaiSzek. He’s probably reliving that trauma in his nightmares, only to wake in a violent burning sensation. I wince at the thought.
“It’s selfish that I’m not with him right now. Holding his hand. Feeding him soup.” I swallow at the lump in my throat. I called him my chosen brother, and yet I’m the worst sister. I let him down, just like I let Scarlett down.
“Don’t do that,” Chekiss warns.
I raise my eyes to meet his.
“You’re spiraling,”—he rubs a withered hand over his tired face—“and I don’t know how to pull you back.”
