Page 55 of A Land So Wide

G reer stared at the patch of sky where her father had been.

She’d gone numb, stunned at the speed and ferocity with which Elowen killed. By the time Greer realized what was happening, it had been too late.

Nothing moved now but the falling snow. Elowen was long gone. Hessel, too. Still, Greer couldn’t tear her attention from the sky, certain that, if she just kept watch, they’d come back and everything would somehow be undone.

“He’ll come back,” she mouthed to herself. “He has to come back. He can’t be…”

Father is dead .

The thought was loud and forceful, ringing in her head, and she frowned. The words didn’t sound right, as if they’d fallen in the wrong order.

Father…is…dead.

She thought them again, then again, but the repetition did nothing to help them make sense.

Hessel Mackenzie had been a force of nature, bending everything around him to his will. He’d been respected, revered, even feared. How could such a giant of a man meet such an inglorious end?

Father…is…dead .

Shadows moved through the curtains of snow, and Greer’s heart leapt high, beating its hopeful cadence painfully in the center of her throat. When she spotted the gray face of a boreal owl, she turned from the sky.

Hessel Mackenzie was not coming back, and it was foolish to pretend otherwise.

Finn was suddenly beside her, standing too close, and she didn’t know where to look, wasn’t sure what to do with her hands or her arms, and then his fingers were at her jaw, tipping her gaze to his, demanding acknowledgment. Eye-shine met eye-shine as he studied her, concern worrying at his face.

“Greer,” he prodded, and touched her cheeks, holding her face with gentle, tender pressure.

She knew what he was doing, knew he was trying to clear away her fog of disbelief. She knew all of this, and still wished him gone. She wanted to be alone, wanted to have the space to think and grieve and…

Her eyes welled.

Greer didn’t want to be alone, not truly.

She wanted to be wrapped tight in the arms of someone who knew her, who loved her. Someone who understood the complicated tangle of emotions knotting her chest. She wanted the comfort of history and steadfast consistency.

She wanted Ellis.

She could picture him with her now, the sad smile that would mar his face, the heft of his frame as she leaned against him, the trail of his fingers along her back, tracing endless patterns.

She’d done the same when John Beaufort had passed, running nonsensical shapes across Ellis’s shoulders, allowing him space but reminding him she was there.

Carefully, Greer cupped her hands over Finn’s to lower them away. She caught sight of Ailie’s ribbon, still tied around his wrist. It was stained dark with blood. His skin was sticky with it, and hers was, too, and she dropped her hold, overwhelmed by the coppery tang.

Hessel’s blood was everywhere.

Now that her focus had been taken from the sky, it was all she could notice. It steamed in the snow beneath them. Dripped down from tree limbs. It coated her hair, her face, and, despite the absolute horror of being painted in her own father’s blood, her stomach panged with a curious hunger.

Greer nearly retched in disgust, and the tears that had threatened to fall began to now.

Even if Ellis was here, she suddenly doubted that he would know her, that he would understand anything going on inside her.

How could he, when she couldn’t make sense of it herself?

“We should clean you up,” Finn murmured, wiping at one of the rivulets running down her cheek.

He studied the red coating his fingertips before instinctively sucking them clean.

Greer turned her head, unable to watch. Her chest tightened, fighting the urge to scoop up a handful of red snow for a taste.

This is wrong, this is so very wrong, her thoughts shouted, urging her to move, begging her to flee. Her throat flexed, her mouth watered, and it was all she could do to remain still as Finn bent down and traced a long line across her cheek with his tongue.

She fixed her gaze upon Ailie’s ribbon.

It was Finn who’d been with her after the death of her mother, who’d known she was hurting, who’d known she needed comfort, who’d needed it himself, and it made sense that he was here now. It felt right. It felt fated.

Finn understands this, she realized. He understands you like this. The real you. The one Ellis would never .

And he never would.

He’d pull Greer from this madness in a heartbeat. He’d tell her to fight against the strange, dark impulses tugging at her limbs. He wouldn’t see that the blood had been spilled, that it couldn’t be returned, that it wasn’t doing Hessel any good any longer, and…

Finn’s blood roared in her veins, silencing doubts, urging her to action. It wanted her to stay. Wanted her to tilt her head and meet the mouth that roamed over hers, teasing, tasting. It wanted the blood he offered, wanted his touch to push away the sorrow and death and let her feel life.

Finn’s lips were at her temple, his kisses reverent as he cleaned her, cleansed her, anointed her into something she didn’t understand but suddenly wanted to.

It would be so easy to give in to the seduction of that blood. Too easy, really.

Releasing the last of her trepidation, Greer kissed him back. She tugged him toward her, hungry for the feel of his body against hers. A growl of pleasure caught between their lips, and she wasn’t sure if it had come from him or from her.

His hands moved lower, caressing her breasts, bunching the fabric that separated her body from his. He tugged at the collar of her sweater, kissing the hollow of her throat before his teeth raked over the length of her collarbone.

He was going to bite her, Greer realized.

He was going to feed on her, feed on himself, because his blood was within her, and if he took in her blood, mixed with his…

that would be it, wouldn’t it? She’d no longer have a foot in both camps, no longer belong to both sides and yet neither.

There would be no more “mostly”s. She’d have turned.

Her head swam, dizzy with desire; she was reeling with wants and worries.

It felt impossible to stop, the culmination of everything Ailie had wanted for her. It was inevitable, two streams merging into one river, waves pulled ashore by the tug of the moon.

I’m sorry, Ellis .

Greer froze, wondering at her thought. It had sounded so small, so fragile. The last of who she was without Finn’s blood guiding her. Was she really about to let it go, to let it wink out of existence?

“Stop!” she cried, and Finn startled away. They stared at each other, mouths open, breaths panting hard and fast. His face was flushed; his eyes dilated. Greer didn’t doubt she looked every bit as wanton. “I can’t.”

Finn raised an eyebrow. “Can’t?”

She shook her head. “That’s not me. That’s not who I am.”

“Oh, Greer…it could be.”

She hesitated, then shook her head. Somehow, in the muddled wilderness of Finn’s blood, Greer found that voice again. It was small and powerless, but it was hers, and she seized it with a hold that would not be broken. “No.”

Finn sighed, resigned. “You’re really going after him?”

“Yes.” She swallowed. “Your blood changes nothing.”

He turned away, his figure as still as a statue. The silence between them was just as stony.

The snow continued to fall, dusting their shoulders in a limn of white.

Greer looked to the road, picturing it rising higher and higher until it reached the mines. “I know that you probably don’t want to help me now.”

After a long moment, Finn glanced back. His face was tight and unreadable. “I don’t…but I will. I’m not leaving you alone against the Gathered.”

The thought of him on her side cheered her more than it had any right to. She offered him a smile, small and tenuous. “What do we do now?”

“We could set up camp here tonight. If you need the rest.”

“No,” Greer decided, her refusal sounding every bit as flat as she felt. “I’m tired of camps and fires. I just want this to be over.”

He grimaced. “I wish we’d never learned of Ailie’s cloak. It would be the thing that would change it all. But it’s in Mistaken. Somewhere.”

There was no good answer, no right choice. Every bit of confidence she’d gained after slaying Salix had been stripped away. Elowen had moved so fast, killed with such ruthless efficiency. Greer couldn’t imagine matching that. They needed the cloak. But there wasn’t time.

She looked around the clearing, wondering if there was anything she might use as a weapon. Her eyes landed on a dark shape partially obscured in a snowdrift. “Father’s pack!”

She trudged over and pulled it free, surprised by its heft. Unbuckling the clasp, she removed wrapped smoked meats, a wedge of hard cheese, a flask with contents so strong it made her eyes water. There was a canteen, a map, extra gloves, extra socks. She kept unpacking, pulling out item after item.

Greer thrust her whole arm in, searching for a pistol, a knife, any thing, but stopped when she brushed over something impossibly soft. She frowned, wondering that Hessel had thought to bring something so insubstantial with him.

She pulled, and a ball of velvet embroidered with sparkling threads as bright as the cosmos tumbled free. It spread open across the snow, shimmering with an otherworldly luster.

“Is that…” Finn stepped in to examine Greer’s find.

Hessel had packed a weapon. The best one in his arsenal.

“Mama’s cape.”

“You should put it on now,” Finn said, repeating the refrain as they readied for their final ascent.

Greer had transferred anything useful from Hessel’s bag to hers, and now sat on a fallen log, tightening the makeshift straps of Hessel’s broken snowshoes.

Ailie’s cloak was folded over her arm. She couldn’t yet bring herself to put it on, but also couldn’t bear to release it. Ailie had warned her never to play with it, and now, as it brushed against her, warming her side, Greer knew why.