Page 92 of Death Will Follow

Angrid gripped Callan’s hand weakly, drawing him to her once more. She guided his head down to rest in her lap, bony fingers petting the braided hair at his temples while she murmured soothing words. Callan felt as if he were a youngling again, crying into his mother’s skirts.

“You’ve nothing to be sorry for,” Angrid crooned between gentle shushes.

“But I have,” Callan forced out. He sat up, gaining some composure and swiping a sleeve over his eyes. “I left. I abandoned you both. I should have stayed. I should have been here—with you—that day.”

“No,” Angrid said with as much force as her weakened body would allow. She cupped one side of his face and bent her neck to meet his gaze. “It was a blessing you were far away the day Omen’s vile creatures came to Nivali.”

“But I might’ve been able to help. Perhaps if I had . . .” Callan gestured uselessly at his father, a specter wearing a familiar face.

“If you’d been here, you would have been taken as we were, or worse.” She shook her head. “I can’t bear the thought of you losing your young life to the enchantment. All this time, we may have been alive, but we weren’t living. I had no awareness of myself, let alone anyone else. It was a life of exhaustion. Loneliness. Hunger. We were wraiths, lost to the world.” Angrid shuddered and licked her dry lips.

“Your father was so proud of you. We both were.” His mother cradled his face in her hands. “You may find it hard to believe, but your father was a dreamer once. He, too, longed to see the world beyond our borders, but was never brave enough to leave. Gods know your grandsire would have sent a pack of trackers out after him to drag him home.” She tilted her head to one side as she brushed her thumbs over his cheeks, smudging the tracks of his tears.

“You lived, Callan. That’s all we ever wanted for you.”

Callan nodded, but the truth stung like a barb: He hadn’t lived. Not truly. Not until Nova.

Nova.

Callan righted his spine, pulling out of his mother’s reach and scrubbing a hand over his face. He sensed his mother watching him as he stared out the window, his mind whirring. What would he do now? Seeing his parents like this—he couldn’t walk away, could he? Not again. Would Nova come to Nivali? She’d told him she wanted to put down roots in Silvergard. No. The Lunar Court was her home, and it was obvious the folk there considered her star-blessed. He could never ask her to leave, to give up everything for him.

“What troubles you?” Angrid’s voice snapped Callan from his racing thoughts.

He looked to his mother once more, finding concern etched in the fine lines creasing her forehead.

“I see you here before me, and yet, it’s as if you’re somewhere else entirely.”

Easing the tension in his jaw, Callan nodded. “It feels as if I’m in two places at once,” he agreed, taking her hand in his. “Nova, my mate, is in Silvergard. I find it very difficult to be apart from her. I can’t think clearly. My mind always wanders back to her. What she’s doing. Whether she’s safe. Happy.”

“My son has made a love match?” A wide grin bloomed on his mother’s face. Though her once-full cheeks were hollow, her eyes sparked with joy, and she squeezed his fingers in her weakened grip.

“You must keep her close. We may not have been bonded mates,” she said, indicating his father with a tip of her head, “but our connection was always very special in its own way. Through the fog of the enchantment, I sometimes imagined I could feel our love. Fleeting, like a brief moment of sunshine upon my face . . .” She trailed off, sniffing once and dabbing at the corners of her eyes with the back of her hand. “Just promise me you’ll keep her close.”

“I will, I swear it. But I don’t know what to do. She has built a life in Silvergard. I said I would join her there, but how can I, now that the gods have finally returned you both to me?”

Angrid shook her head firmly. “Go to her, Callan.”

“But what about—”

His mother held a hand up in the space between them, halting his words.

“We are safe. Well cared for. We won’t reclaim the throne, and you mustn’t feel obligated to either.”

“But Thorn—”

Angrid waved him off again. “Thorn is a pain in the backside. He was always better matched to intellectual pursuits than the practicalities of leadership. I imagine it was an unwelcome shock for him to have to assume the role of regent. No doubt that is partly why he has sought to see you take the throne. But much time has passed. He has learned, and he is well suited to the task.”

She pursed her lips and exhaled sharply through her nose. “Believe me when I tell you that blind duty is a waste of a life. Devoting yourself to something, or someone, that brings you happiness, a true sense of purpose, that is living.”

She cupped his face once more, her eyes shimmering with what he hoped were happy tears.

“Just promise me you’ll visit.”

He raised his hands, fingers circling the inky cuffs marking her slender wrists, and gave a resolute nod. “I promise.”

Callan bid his mother farewell when the afternoon sun slanted in through the windows. They’d avoided the subject of her years under Omen’s enchantment, choosing instead to reminisce about days long since passed. His father never spoke, never reacted to Callan’s presence, though Angrid was able to feed him a bit of broth at midday. Around the time his mother sent for afternoon tea, Callan realized that although she didn’t want the visit to end, she was exhausted, and took his leave

Courtiers lounged around the Great Hall when he descended the stairs. Thankfully, only a few seemed to take notice of him, glancing up from their games as he walked briskly toward the exit. He’d nearly reached the double doors when a hand closed around his arm. Callan spun to find Liv clad in a fine gown of ruby red velvet, a silver circlet adorned with transparent gems sparkling like icicles atop her head.