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I dug his grave there, next to the log.
The hours passed and the darkness grew. My shoulders ached, my back was in knots, but I kept digging. My hands were rubbed raw from the shovel’s rough handle, my palms had formed blisters that broke and bled. But I kept digging.
Finally, when it was ready, I pulled Marcus’s body across the yard. I had to use the blanket to drag him. I wasn’t strong enough to lift him. He’d grown so much, but of course he had. The last time I’d seen him, he’d still been just a boy. His voice had barely started to change. I wished I could move back the blanket. I wished I could see his face. But I didn’t want to see what had become of him. I didn’t want to see that his eyes were gone and his body had begun to rot.
I didn’t want to remember him that way.
I wanted to remember him running around the yard with a stick for a sword, his shoelaces untied, wearing his favorite red-and-yellow Tonka Truck shirt. I wanted to remember him standing up on top of the log and giggling down at the little chipmunks when they emerged from their nest.
I let my feet dangle into the grave, his body beside me. I sniffed, wiped my nose and smeared dirt across my face. My throat tightened. My chest hurt. My eyes stung so badly no amount of blinking could make it stop.
I laid my hand over the blanket. “I’m sorry,” I whispered. The ache grew worse. “I’m so sorry.”
I hung my head. I let myself cry. I let the ache overtake me. I let the pain strangle me. It hurt, and nothing,nothingwould make it stop.
The spigot wasn’t working, so I couldn’t wash the dirt off my hands. I always had a supply of baby wipes, because I was used to going long periods without access to a shower, so I wiped myself down with those as best I could. I only had a can of beans left and some crackers. I still hadn’t gotten gas for the generator, so the wood-burning stove soon became my only light.
I wanted a hot shower. I wanted a glass of cold whiskey. A blanket, even. I wanted to stretch out on a soft couch. I wanted to wrap myself in clean sheets. God, I wanted to stop crying.
I shouldn’t have stayed at the demon’s house, not even for a few days. I’d spent years on the road, sleeping in my car, in the open air, in shitty hotel rooms if I could afford it. Letting myself indulge in something comfortable hadn’t been worth it. Comfort wasn’t part of my life; it simply wasn’t. I didn’t need it. I didn’t even deserve it.
I’d run away and let Marcus die. I hadn’t been here to protect him. I hadn’t even been able to protect his body. All I could do was make sure the Hadleighs paid for this. No matter how much it hurt. No matter how alone I felt. Tomorrow I’d wake up and figure out what the next step would be. I’d figure out how to hurt them like they’d hurt me.
I curled up near the fire, since it was too cold to sleep across the room in the bed. It wasn’t comfortable, but I was too tired to care.
“Get up into the castle! Quick! We’ll be safe up there!”
I sprinted across the yard, leaving Marcus in the dust. I hauled myself up onto the mossy log, our “castle,” my fingers clinging onto the scratchy bark until I’d pulled myself all the way up. I raised my arms triumphantly, watching as my little brother tried to climb up after me.
“It’s too tall, Juni!” He pouted, standing back with his arms folded. “How am I supposed to get into the castle?”
“Your knight will help you, of course!” I got down on my hands and knees, extending an arm to help him. I hauled him up, until he was able to scramble atop the log and stand beside me, surveying the yard from our perch.
I put my hands on my hips. “Our enemies will never defeat us now!”
Marcus wrinkled his nose skeptically. “But...what about...the army?”
“No army can reach us!” I cried. “We’re too high up for them to ever reach the castle.”
“What about a dragon?” he said, his face somber. This was, after all, a very important wartime discussion. “What if they have a dragon, Juni?”
“Then your knight will slay it,” I said. I whipped my stick out from where I’d tucked it into my belt loop, brandishing it. “Fear not, Prince Marcus! Your knight fears no armies and no dragons!”
He giggled, plopping down on the log. I sat beside him, but kept my stick in my hand. A knight should never be without her trusty sword.
“I’m not afraid of dragons either,” he said.
“Good. Remember: we’re safe as long as we’re in the castle. And as long as you have your knight to defend you.”
He giggled again, kicking his feet so his heels knocked against the log. The sun was beginning to set, staining the sky pink and orange, like ice cream melted amongst the clouds. Dad would call us inside soon, and we’d make a wild dash across the yard through enemy forces. Right as we’d reach the house, a dragon would swoop down, and I would defeat it, and our kingdom would be safe.
After all, a knight feared nothing. A knight would never be defeated.
“Juni? What’s that?”
I looked up. Marcus was pointing his little finger across the yard, toward the trees that led down to the creek. The sun was getting low, so the shadows were growing. I narrowed my eyes. “I don’t see anything, Prince Marcus. Is it the dragon?”
He shook his head. His face looked strange. He didn’t look like he was playing anymore. “No, Juni, look.”
