Page 50 of Feralheart

“Good,” I said. “Keep doing it.”

I glanced at my father, now standing at the window with his back to us, one hand braced on the ledge, his shoulders locked.

“Keep Father out of the cold,” I whispered to Tolross.

“I will.”

“And take your tonic even when it tastes like boot leather.”

“I will.”

“And—” My voice cracked. I couldn’t think of anything else to say. Stay alive? I couldn’t name what we both already knew.

His lower lip trembled. “I will.”

My fingers didn’t want to open. I had to peel them away from his hand one at a time.

“I’m coming back,” I said softly.

He closed his eyes and nodded.

“I have to be at the fortress before dawn,” I said, taking in the darkness outside, light only a hint on the horizon. “I should leave.”

“Very well,” Father said, turning back from the window.

We walked to the door together.

He stopped with his hand on the latch. His shoulders rose and fell once. Twice. He gripped my arm, his callused hand both heavy and warm. His thumb found my forehead, stroking the way he had when I was small and afraid of the dark.

I still was.

His mouth opened, but the words he needed to say got stuck, the ones that meant don’t go and I can’t lose you too and your mother would never forgive me for letting this happen.

But we both knew none of those words would change anything.

His hand dropped away.

I stepped outside, closing the door behind me.

I found Silvie in front of her cottage, her dyeing supplies waiting in a small cart nearby. She wore her wrap pulled tight to keep out the chilly morning air.

Hos sat beside her, blinking my way.

Silvie opened her arms, and I stepped into them.

She smelled of vinegar and the herbs she used to fix colors. Her embrace was fiercer than I’d expected from such a frail body. My friend was stronger than she looked.

“Love you, little bird,” she said in a croaky voice.

I couldn’t answer. My throat had cinched tight.

She pulled back and cupped my face in her purple-black hands. “You hear me?”

Her fingertips brushed my cheekbone, the way my mother used to, the movement so small I almost missed it. But the ache still jerked through my chest.

“I hear you.”

Hos meowed, pawing at my boot.