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She hobbles into the room, dabbing at her eyes. She eases into a rocking chair beside the bed.
There’s a heel of bread on the table, and I bring it to her, then hang her kettle over the fire.
“I’m sorry,” I say quietly. It doesn’t feel like enough.
It never feels like enough, but tonight, I feel it more acutely.
“It’s been about a week,” she says, and a tear streaks down her face. “I didn’t want him to go.”
I drop to a knee in front of her and pull an apple from my bag, pressing it into her hands. People in the Wilds tend to look out for each other, so I’m sure she hasn’t been starving, but the kitchen pantry looks barren. “I’ll try to bring more food the next time I come.”
I’ve fallen back into my role as Weston Lark, as if no time at all has passed, so I say the words automatically.
I’m a fool. There might not be a next time.
She squeezes my hand. “You’ve always been such a kind boy.” She swipes away a tear with the back of her hand. “Alfred will be sorry he missed you. I thought you might have been captured, but he always says you’ve got a good head on your shoulders. Is young Tessa with you?”
Wait. “What?”
“Tessa? I always thought she might be sweet on you. She hasn’t been caught by the night patrol, has she?” She wrings her hands.
“No, I—Tessa is fine. But did you say Alfred would be—” I break off. I must have misheard her.
But Tris nods. “Sorry he missed you. I was so worried when I heard of the captures during the raids yesterday, but Lochlan said everyone from our village was accounted for, and Alfred wouldn’t be in direct danger.”
I stare at her. “Alfred isn’t dead?”
“What?” She blinks. “Oh, I hope not!” She wrings her hands again. “Have you heard news?”
I can’t tell if she’s addled or if we’re speaking of different things.
“Tris,” I say as gently as I can. “Did Alfred die of the fever?”
“Oh, goodness no. When we agreed to help with the raids, Lochlan said the Benefactors would give us enough medicine to survive, and he was right. We’re always a bit tight for food, but we’ve made it work. It was such a blessing, after you and Tessa had to stop coming. Look.” She hands me a small pouch.
Lochlan. The name tugs at my memory, but I can’t place it. I take the pouch and tug at the strings. Dried petals are gray and white at the bottom of the bag.
“Take it,” says Tris. “I have plenty, thanks to Alfred.”
“Wes.” Tessa hisses at the door. “The night patrol.”
“Get back into bed,” I say to Tris. I pocket the pouch of petals. “I’ll be back when I can.”
I’m out the door and in the shadows with Tessa before I draw a full breath. My thoughts are churning with what Tris said, but I can’t make sense of any of it.
Thenight patrol clomps between the trees a short distance away, and we crouch together in the darkness against the back wall of the house, huddling against the stacked stones of the chimney. We always stay close when we hide, but tonight I’m very aware of her breathing, of the scent of her skin, of the way her shoulder brushes against mine.
I should move away. I should harden my eyes and turn off the churning emotions in my chest. I should have left her in the palace and done this alone.
I can’t even convince myself. I can’t imagine ever doing this without her at my side.
I don’t dare speak. I wish I could share my thoughts.
Forgive me.
Please, Tessa.
I would give anything.
