Page 55
Her laughter rang out—bright and unburdened. It carried across the quiet road, blending with the frogs and the whisper of wind in the trees.
“Okay, gloamguises it is,” she said, her tone lifting into something worthy of a stage. “Surely you’ve seen them by now. Masks made to look like beasts, spirits, even one that looks like an onion, I swear. We wear them to protect ourselves. To confuse the spirits so they don’t mistake us for someone they once loved—or worse, try to take us with them across the veil.”
He blinked. “That sounds…a little nightmarish.”
“They’re supposed to reflect who you are.” She shrugged. “I could make some suggestions.” She didn’t wait for an answer. “Stop a minute. I need to look at you.”
She took the lantern from him and raised it again. The painted flowers wavered near his face, casting gold across the lines of her face. He tried not to shift under her scrutiny. Her eyes turned thoughtful—searching him the way she’d done since she first met him, like she could read what he wasn’t saying. Then, at last, she lowered the light and started walking again.
“Well?” he asked. “Don’t leave me wondering what horrifying creation you came up with.”
“Okay,” she said. “But I apologize if it hits too close to home.”
He sighed. “That’s never a good start.”
“I think it would be frightening at first glance,” she began, “but detailed, intentional. It should carry pieces of your past. Something forged—something your father’s spirit might recognize, if he saw you.”
He swallowed. For a second, he couldn’t speak. “That’s not bad.” His voice came out rougher than he liked. “Could’ve gone for something obvious. Swords. Armor. Something like that.”
“You seemed more like yourself without them,” she said. “Your gloamguise should too.”
The lantern creaked in her hand as they climbed the ridge, the flame trembling with each step. The lights of Thistlehold had faded behind them now, swallowed by the dark. Above them, the cursed moon smirked.
Last chance.
Tavrin’s words crashed against her goodness, and he almost stumbled in the darkness. He couldn’t keep this up. She’d hate him, but at least it would be over. Gods…it would be easier if he’d walked away. The words rose anyway.
“I need to tell you something.”
They stopped at the top of the hill. The road below was empty. The frogs went silent, as if the whole world leaned in to listen.
“That sounds serious.” Her brow furrowed, the brightness fading from her voice. The wariness in her eyes made his shoulders ache, but he couldn’t stop now.
“It is.” He swallowed hard. The words clawed their way out before he could second-guess them. “I haven’t been completely honest with you.”
Her expression flickered—confusion first, then unease. He hated every second of it. The truth burned in his lungs.
“Theordrin hired me to watch you.”
Tension settled between her brows, and the muscles in his jaw twitched. He forced himself to keep going, quick and clumsy, like tearing off a bandage. Only, this wound wasn’t quite healed enough for it to be painless.
“Others too. Brunna, Pell…anyone he doesn’t trust. But I haven’t told him anything. Not a word.”
Time stretched endlessly. Still, she didn’t move. The lantern swayed between them, its light catching the edge of her jaw, the silver charms on her horns, the hollow look in her eyes—a look that said his confession wasn’t a shock. It was simply a confirmation of something she’d already feared.
“I see.” Her voice was calm. Disappointed. That was worse.
She wasn’t angry. Gods, he wished she was.
Anger would’ve been easier. Anger would’ve meant there was something left to fight for. She pulled the pack higher. Then she nodded once, as if he’d proven her right, and walked away.
“Theordrin’s a monster. I know that now,” he said, following her, desperate to make it right. The breeze cut through his armor like a knife. She slowed but didn’t look back at him.
“Maybe you were so used to monsters,” she said quietly, “you couldn’t recognize one anymore.”
The words stopped him cold.
She couldn’t have known what that meant. How close she’d come to a truth he’d been running from. She didn’t know anything about him. That was worse. It meant it was written on him—branded there, no matter how carefully he tried to hide it. Maybe she was right. Maybe he hadn’t recognized Theordrin for what he was because the reflection had been too familiar.
