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“It’s cold. I thought you’d want it.”

He took it, examining the wrinkled fabric. She winced, recalling the way she had bunched it tightly between her anxious fingers. She stilled them now as she wrapped her arms around her chest, trying to stave off the goosebumps inching up her arms.

Marcellus sighed and thrust the cloak back at her.

“Hey!” she protested, yanking it off her face.

“Keep it,” he said. “It’s still damp from your hair anyway.”

Thicket huffed but wrapped it back around her shoulders. He was right. The remnants of moisture from her hair still clung to the cloak. It brought out the fabric’s scent, something earthy, like sun baked stones with a hint of worn leather. Fitting for a man who constantly had a sword strapped to his person.

A blush crept up her cheeks, caught off guard by the fact she had even noticed. Needing something to distract her, Thicket summoned a ball of light to trail behind them. She clenched her totem, heart wrenching as she remembered the way her kiwi used to scamper ahead of her, the glow of light bobbing in time with its curiosity. The thought reminded her of her first night in Bilya when Marcellus had caught her climbing the clock tower. He had sent his piranha up to light her way. That was the first and last time she had seen his Aneuma.

“Why don’t you ever use magic?” she asked.

Marcellus raised one incredulous eyebrow but didn’t respond.

“I know you have red fire,” she continued, which earned her a second eyebrow, as though daring her to continue or interested to see where she was taking this. “But that doesn’t mean you can’t use magic. Yet I’ve never seen you rely on it.”

“Some people spend their lives chasing the things they aren’t good at, hoping one day they will miraculously fix their flaws. I find it tedious and a waste of time. I have accepted my shortcomings and have found ways around it.”

“Do you ever wish you could just… rewrite fate? Spin a new reality?”

“Like what?” he scoffed. “That I wasn’t a guard? That I didn’t have red fire? That the Soumort Princess never murdered my entire family in cold blood?”

This was the first time he mentioned his family to her—mentioned anything personal at all. Her stomach tightened, knowing it was her fault his family was dead. They had shielded her when she first fell under the sleeping curse and had paid for it with their lives.

“Yes,” he said after a long moment. “I do.”

Thicket blinked, taken aback. She hadn’t thought he would actually respond. Now that he had, she couldn’t help but notice the hollowness etched into the lines of his face, as though absorbed by a past that haunted him as much as her own past haunted her.

“But,” he said, closing whatever window into his true feelings had cracked open, “it isn’t up to anyone else to change it.” He shot her a sidelong glance, piercing her with those eyes that always seemed to see straight through her. “Instead of asking a spider, of all things, to change your fate, maybe you should focus on making sure you are capable of changing it yourself.”

I was trying, she wanted to say. But the excuse fell flat. Of course she was. That wasn’t the problem. The problem was her.

No matter what she did, it was never good enough.

That was the true curse, and unlike being trapped inside an endless dream, she didn’t know how to escape this one.

Thicket spent the rest of the walk trapped inside her head, replaying the events of the day over and over again. As her worst moments flashed in her mind, she bunched the folds of Marcellus’ cloak, as though if she only squeezed hard enough she could erase all of her mistakes.

She didn’t know where they were headed or how long it would take to get there. She didn’t bother asking, barely aware of the scenery bathed in shadows or the way Marcellus kept sending her furtive glances. On occasion, Bayo’s fur would brush against her fingertips, drawing her from the churning sea that was her mind long enough to spot the winding path beneath her feet or fences lining it.

It wasn’t until Marcellus came to a stop that she escaped the confines of her mind.

“We’re here,” he said.

Thicket glanced up. A farmhouse was illuminated by the light of her orb. It was old and forgotten. What had once been bright white paint was chipped, peeling from the exterior walls in chunks. Weeds and grass tall enough to brush Thicket’s knees devoured the edges where wood met earth and astromeia vines wrapped around the columns lining the porch, the closed buds glowing softly.

“Watch your step,” Marcellus said as he climbed the stairs. Bayo ventured around the side of the farmhouse, leaving Thicket to shuffle after him. The wood creaked, bending beneath her weight, but managed to hold as she reached the top. Marcellus reached for the doorknob. Thicket didn’t miss the slight hesitation before his fingers latched around the rusted knob. It reminded her of when she had gone through the door in the hallway, her indecision and fear echoing his exact movements. She opened her mouth to say something but Marcellus twisted the knob and gestured for her to go inside.

The farmhouse was dark. She could barely make out what she thought was a living room on the left. On the opposite side, a stairway hugged the wall, leading up to the second floor.

The door clicked shut.

“Home sweet home,” Marcellus mumbled. Thicket glanced back at him but Marcellus’ face was as unreadable as usual. He caught her staring and jerked his chin in the direction of the living room. “Go get cleaned up. I’ll prepare a room for you.” Without another word, he started up the stairs. His footsteps were certain, as though he knew exactly where he was going.

She found a bathroom nestled into the space underneath the stairs. It was small, housing only a sink, toilet, and mirror. Thicket turned on the faucet. Water dribbled out, barely enough to make a consistent stream. She scrubbed her hands, washing off the grime. There was nothing she could do about the state of her clothes. The fine dress Lotta had given her this morning was torn. Clumps of dirt and leaves clung to the once pristine fabric and the bottom hem was no longer visible beneath a thick layer of mud.