“Where’s my husband?”
“Let’s all calm down. We’re safe here. No one’s coming through this door,” I said, trying to muster all the confidence I could.
After a quick look at the beds and noting the shortage of water and blankets, I approached an older woman slumped in a chair. Grace. Her shoulders were stiff, hands tightly gripping her cane, as a woman scolded her.
“There’s no need for that,” I said softly. “ We’re all in this together.” I gently pushed the younger woman away.
“Are you alright?” I leaned over Grace.
“Are you that girl I met with my grandson?” She looked at me melancholically.
“Yes, we met a couple of days ago. Do you need anything? Are you feeling alright?” I asked, trying hard to see the same energy and vigour I knew she had.
When I first met Grace, she was bold and quick with her words. Now she looked much older and so very tired.
“If I die today, I want you to tell him something.”
“You are not going to die.”
“I want you to tell him that I’m so very sorry about everything that happened to him.” Her hand clenched the polished wood of the cane. Her wiry fingers had turned as white as snow. “Just tell him.”
“I still think you should do it yourself.”
“My health is not what it used to be.” She wet her lips and rubbed her chest.
“What is it?”
“It’s nothing. Just some pain in my chest.” She closed her eyes.
“Give her some room!” I urged the woman sitting on the bed to move, making space for her to lie down. “Do you want anything? Water?” I asked, leaning over her.
“You are not the way I imagined,” she mumbled, closing her eyes.
“Everything’s going to be alright.” I reached out and took her hand.
“I want you to do something for me.” Grace said.
“Of course.”
“I want you to tell Tynan something.”
“What do you want me to tell him?” I did not dare to argue with her any longer.
I crouched beside the bed and looked at the woman who I once remembered as a burst of creative energy, but now bore no trace of that image.
“You see, I had been selfish all my life. I thought only about my own pursuits, and did not give others enough. I always told myself that art was more important because creating and living in that perfect world offered less pain. Every time I encountered something I did not know how to deal with, I removed myself. I did it once and it worked, so I kept doing that, not realizing that every decision I did not make, or pain I avoided, would emerge somewhere else. Someone would have to pick up the burden. I was not there when Tynan needed protection, because I chose to avoid it instead of fighting for him. When he was born, I was angry at my son. I felt sorry for his wife, who was by no means a good person. But I never interfered. I am ashamed to say it, but I did not care much.”
My heart seized in pain for the little boy who had no one to turn to, the things he had to endure to survive. Yet, even though he suffered through years of neglect and abuse, his soul remained pure.
“He was strong, even when he was only a boy. So strong that it killed his mother, little by little every day, because she knew he would be the clan leader one day, and she could not stand it. I believe she tried to stop it, stop him from gettingas far as he could, break him. Without realizing it, she only made him stronger. Just like the best steel gets harder with fire. Her hate made him into who he is now.” She sighed and her face distorted with pain.
“Please, don’t exert yourself.”
“I have to explain. I have to...” she took a deep breath and continued. “His mother was pure evil, but she knew what was happening in the capital. The council was up to no good when the black clan decided to challenge every other clan to give up their powers. She only did it because she knew that the queen was infected.”
“They knew.” I gasped, looking up at her.
My memories of Corliss, her cold unfeeling face, the monster in that dark, closed up room, and the horror in pitch black shadows.
