“I don’t know,” Alwyn said quickly, shaking his head. “To be honest, I never really wondered about any of it until after I started having those dreams. I want to go see it, to figure out if those are really just dreams, or if they’re memories from before. But... part of me is, well, afraid to know, I think.”
“Afraid?” Krujha said softly, brows knitting together. “Afraid of what?”
The words felt like tar in his throat. He had barely allowed himself to even consider it, much less ever speak it aloud. Maybe it would be better to leave it all alone—better never to know if the truth might be too terrible to live with. But wondering for the rest of his life would be its own kind of torture, too.
If nothing else, Krujha had always given him wise counsel. The orc’s thoughts on the matter might help soothe some of his own worry. First, he had to say it out loud.
“Alwyn?” Krujha prompted, his voice still gentle, as if he somehow sensed how terrible the words were.
“How I ended up there,” Alwyn said, barely above a whisper. He kept his eyes trained on the wooden table between them, afraid that if he looked Krujha in the eye, he would never bring himself to say it aloud. “In those dreams, I would often wake up as I was... running toward the river, the waterfall. I didn’t know why. But then there was... fire in the dreams, too. Especially after, well, everything with the mission. And I had the thought that, maybe...”
His throat clamped around the words, nearly choking with the effort. Krujha had gone very still across from him, but he couldn’t bring himself to look up.
“Maybe it was my fault,” he rasped out. “Maybe therewasa fire. And my magic has always been drawn to fire. If I was too young to control it...”
The burn in his eyes finally spilled over. He wiped away the tears angrily, hating how often he’d cried these past few weeks. His hands were shaking as he curled in on himself. He couldn’t bring himself to say more.
“Alwyn,” Krujha said, so soft he might have imagined it. “Even if that was what happened, you could hardly be to blame for it. You were a child, a baby.”
Alwyn shook his head. “Even so… Something must have happened. Something that either killed them, or… or made them give me away.”
Krujha let out a long, slow sigh, leaning back in his chair. When Alwyn finally mustered the strength to look into his eyes, his heart squeezed in pain—he had never seen such a sad expression on Krujha’s face before.
“That is a heavy burden to carry,” he finally murmured, reaching across the table. A second passed, then Alwyn closed the distance, allowing Krujha to gently cradle his hand. “I can understand your conflict. I’m sorry.”
“I don’t know if it would be better to just... keep not knowing,” Alwyn whispered. “I don’t know what would be worse.”
“You don’t have to decide right now,” Krujha replied. “You have the information. Take as long as you need to consider it.”
He supposed that was true. Wherever Mistfield was, surely it would still be there in a month, or a year, or more. He didn’t know how long it might take him to ever come to a decision about the matter—if he ever could.
“You’re right,” he sniffed, wiping his eyes one last time with his free hand. “I’ll think on it.”
Krujha nodded, flashing an encouraging smile when Alwyn glanced back up at him. He managed a shaky smile in return.
“Oh, there was more,” he said, suddenly remembering the invitation tucked into his pocket. “Tomorrow night—Tessarion told me there’s to be an award or something with us and the king. I’m assuming that whatever King Ruven planned will happen there.”
“Oh, I know,” Krujha replied, grinning. Alwyn frowned—how could he know already?
He slid his hand away from Alwyn’s, reached into the chest pocket of his coat, and pulled out a small piece of folded parchment. “That girl who left the office first—after you went in, she doubled back and passed this to me. A note from the king himself, telling us about the ceremony and our part in it.”
Alwyn scowled, his face burning. “You couldn’t have mentioned that before?”
“We were discussing more pressing matters,” Krujha replied, shrugging. At Alwyn’s scowl, he laughed and shot the elf a wink. “But I suppose you’d better take a look. I’ve already got my part down. I, er, might have had a few discrete meetings with the king to provide some input.”
Alwyn’s frown dropped into an open-mouthed gape. “You spoke with the king? When?”
“To be fair, you took somelongafternoon naps this past week,” Krujha chuckled. “And I never went back up to the castle. There was this tavern with a secret room in the basement—it was all very clandestine. I think I made a very good impression, by the way. Really got to prove to him why I was the man for the job and all.”
“I can’t believe you,” Alwyn said, still reeling. “Why didn’t you tell me any of this sooner?”
Krujha shrugged again. “It never came up.”
“You’re insufferable,” Alwyn muttered, but he couldn’t keep the hint of a smile off his face. Krujha laughed as he passed over the parchment. Despite everything, Alwyn’s heart ached withpleasure to hear him laugh. One final job, then they could be rid of this place forever, and he could hear that laugh and see Krujha’s sweet smile everywhere they went.
At sunset the next day, Alwyn and Krujha stepped through the gates into the castle courtyard, dressed in the finest robes that they could procure on such short notice, with heavy winter cloaks draped over their shoulders. Snow had been falling steadily all day, making the trek up to the castle wet and cold.
“I wish you could come with me,” Alwyn sighed as they trudged up the stairs to the grand entrance. Krujha shot him a small smile.
