He scoffed and shook his head. “Don’t they, though? It’s been weeks.” His lips twisted, and his tone was near mocking when he spoke again. “He made the greatest sacrifice anyone can make for Eeus. I should be proud. He’ll serve a greater purpose in death than he did in life.” His voice cracked, and fresh tears rolled down his cheeks.
I leaned in to rest my hand on his arm. “You have every right to mourn, no matter what anyone else says.”
His eyelids fluttered shut. “Everyone else has already moved on,” he said softly. “It’s like he was never here. Like he was always replaceable and death didn’t matter.”
“We haven’t forgotten him.” I squeezed his arm. “His death matters to us, too. You’re not alone in this. We’ll be here whenever you need us.”
His scarce nod was acknowledgment enough.
Several moments of quiet passed before he spoke again, his voice barely above a whisper.
“This wasn’t how it was supposed to end. I tried to tell him I didn’t want him to do this, that I fell in love with him as a shepherd, and I didn’t need him to be anything different to make me happy. I wasalreadyhappy. And now…” He sniffled and took a handful of shuddering breaths. “I couldn’t evenbethere. I couldn’t hold his hand and tell him I loved him, couldn’t take care of him. He died with no one around but Anders. And Anders is so cruel. I know he didn’t try to help, just let Reimond suffer…”
According to the official rules of the third Oath,no onewas to interfere. It was only done in pairs as a way to discourage attempts at cheating—though I doubted they anticipated how that could also work against them in situations like mine. That didn’t mean that no one ever at least tried to keep their partner comfortable when they were able, but as far as I knew, no one everhelped. More often than not, both parties would be too sick to do anything but wallow in their own misery until it was over.
Still, knowing Reimond’s last moments had been spent with Anders instead of Thoma, I understood Thoma’s regret. To lose the man he intended to spend the rest of his life with to something so unnecessary and to have missed out on one last chance to tell him how much he was loved was a pain I could never touch and never wanted to experience.
The urge to leave, to go home to Penny and tell him again how much I loved him, flared up suddenly and left me feeling breathless. It was all I could do to push it back down when Thoma continued.
“If I’d been there, maybe I could have done something. Maybe I could have saved him. I don’t even know what he went through. How long it took to—” He choked on his words and sank forward, hiding his face behind his hands. His shoulders shook.
I scooted through the straw to settle beside him. When I stretched my arm across his back, he turned into the offered comfort and tucked himself against my side.
For as often as I found myself comforting Penny, I wasn’t used to being someone that people sought solace in. I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to do with someone else. I considered him a friend, but Thoma was still a veritable stranger.
But I knew some of this grief. I was no stranger to death or loss, though I recognized that losing a father figure would never be the same as losing a lover. Still, I’d dealt with my grief alone. I wouldn’t leave Thoma do the same.
I curled my arm around his shoulders, and he sniffled again.
“Penny was lucky,” he said, his words thick with tears. “He had you there to take care of him.”
Guilt stirred up a sick feeling in my gut. I’d broken the rules to save Penny, but Reimond didn’t get that luxury. Knowing Anders—especially how he’d taunted Thoma with Reimond’s disembodied heart at the skinning—he took pleasure in watching his fellow initiate writhe in agony until he succumbed to the poison.
“Penny almost died,” I said softly. “I wouldn’t wish having to witness that suffering on my worst enemy. Not when there’s nothing you can do to help.” The image of Penny seizing on the kitchen floor rose up in my mind like a phantom. Despite knowing he was back at home, happy and mostly healthy and waiting for me, it was an effort to move past the memories.
I squeezed Thoma’s shoulders. “Don’t torment yourself with this. He wouldn’t want you blaming yourself. It was his choice to take his Oaths.”
“It’s cruel,” Thoma said. His vehemence was startling in the wake of his tears. “Every part of the third Oath is awful and wrong, and it’s monstrous to expect anyone to go through that.”
I’d almost said the same to Rosie’s father weeks ago. It was a sentiment we shared, but not one that was safe to voice to everyone. It shouldn’t have surprised me to hear it from Thoma. Especially not after what he’d been through.
“Be careful who you say that to,” I murmured.
He peeked up at me. His brows drew low over his dark eyes. “Do you not agree?”
“Ido, but I’m afraid we’re in the minority here. I don’t want to see something happen to you because someone thinks that’s blasphemy and not objective truth.”
He straightened out from under my arm and scrubbed his palms over his face. “We’re not the only ones. There are more of us than you think.”
Before I could ask what he meant, he pushed to his feet and brushed the straw from his slacks, then offered me a hand up.
“I have to finish feeding the horses.”
I let him pull me to standing, then kept hold of his wrist when he tried to turn away.
“Want help?”
His eyes flicked from my hand to my face and then off to the side.
