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With a deep breath, I get to my feet and briefly glance at where Thorish sleeps beside the fire. Bea’s mat, on the other hand, is empty.
I scan the clearing, spotting her sitting against a tree on the opposite side from the cavern. I move toward her and drop down beside her as she continues sewing something in her hands.
“Boy needs new trousers,” she says, holding up what I now see is a pair of dark green pants.
“Why are you sewing his pants?”
“He’s young. Doesn’t know how.”
“And that is not your problem.” I’m angry, irritated, though I’m not sure why. Bea truly enjoys mothering the Rebels. She’s done it since the moment she stepped foot in my camp.
“You are struggling.” She sets the pants aside and folds her hands in her lap.
“Yes.” I don’t see the point in lying. Not when she can likely see the inky black lines snaking through my eyes. “Ember being with Ailis…it’s tempting to forget why I cannot embrace the darkness.”
“Because doing so would mean you likely wouldn’t care about Ember’s fate.”
I nod.
“You are a good man, Rafferty, and that is yet another thing the darkness is making easy to forget. What you did tonight—letting that village burn.”
“Why risk my life for his?”
“But it wasn’t just him you fed to that creature, Rafferty. In fact, he survived.” Before I can ask her how she knows that, she shrugs. “I went back to check. They were counting the dead.”
“How many?” I don’t want to ask, but I need to know.
“Twenty-seven. Women, children, and a few men.”
My stomach burns with guilt. Regret. Even as I know both are useless emotions. I had my reasons, though even I can admit it is not something I would have done before. I am slipping—dangerously close to not having a choice.
“You cannot win a war by sacrificing your soul.”
“I may not have a choice,” I tell her. “If we cannot stop the ancients—”
“You already said your power does not work on them.”
“It doesn’t. But it might give me the strength to put them down.”
“You can’t, Rafferty.”
“We’ve been to nearly a dozen villages, and every single one of them believes staying out of this war is the best move.”
“They’re afraid.”
“They’re fucking cowards.”
“On that, we agree.” Bea lifts the trousers again and begins patching the holes. “You are not alone in this. I am here. And Thorish—he may be young, but he has the best of intentions. Perhaps training him might be where you find peace. Until we find Ember.”
We fall into silence, and I consider her words. The young fae is green—that is true. He could benefit from formal training, but that is something we do not have time for. Not when Ember is at the mercy of a woman who would sell her own young if it would benefit her.
And the thoughts of what Ailis might be doing to Ember—of what my love must be suffering through—they entice the darkness in me.
