Page 31

Love who you love.

It was not yet noon when I approached the back gate with Rook in tow. I pulled the gate open, but he hesitated.

“Is your mother in there?”

Guessing she probably remained home from work to care for Lysander, I replied, “I would imagine so.”

“And your sister?”

“Unfortunately.”

Rook fidgeted with his bag. “What if they despise me?” The question was so raw, so vulnerable, I didn’t know what to say. What’s it matter if they don’t like you? The response died on my tongue. Because he wanted them to like him.

Because they mattered to me.

I held Rook’s hand. Together, we walked down the path. Just as I meant to push open the back door, Rook stalled again.

“Load your bow.”

“What?”

“I’m suddenly feeling quite foolish.” Rook swallowed. “We’re entering a small space, filled with people whom someone might command I murder at any moment.” He backtracked. “In my haste to help, I fear I’ve put your entire family in danger.”

“No—Rook.” I grabbed his arm and stopped his retreating.

Rook dug his heels in. Through gritted teeth, he repeated, “Load. Your. Bow.”

“Fine, fine!” I unslung the crossbow and did as Rook said. “Happy?”

“If I start acting strange, if you see anything out of character”—Rook tapped his chest—“through the heart.” I stared at Rook’s chest; he squeezed my shoulder. “You have my permission; I hold no malice for you. Protect your family.”

After a deep breath, I entered the cottage.

Rook stooped below the frame after me. At the kitchen table, Lottie slept with her head on her arms, clutching an empty ale mug.

I crossed the room, and Lottie shot awake with a disgruntled, “Humph.” Still wearing an eye-patch, her good eye focused on Rook.

Her mouth fell open, revealing a front tooth was missing.

Descending on Lottie, I cried, “What happened?” Lottie didn’t respond, instead, she leapt from the table and backed away. Glaring at Rook, she reached for the bow on her back. “Lottie?” I whispered. Lottie was fearless to a fault; why was she alarmed so?

My mother came down the hall, stopping when she saw the stranger in our home. I put myself in front of Rook. “This is Rook. He protected me from the wolves.”

“Oh?” Mother said. “This is who you’ve been running off to meet in the Hollow?” She motioned to Rook. “Leaving us to wonder whether you’re alive or dead?”

Rook shifted and mumbled, “It’s Everard, actually.”

Ignoring Rook, I started, “I… We think he can help Lysander.” My mother’s stony expression was beyond comprehension.

She examined him, and the scar. Surely, she wouldn’t turn him away.

“Please,” I begged, bringing my mother’s attention back to me.

“I trust him.” It was hard to ignore the sharp intake of breath behind me, from directly where Rook stood.

My mother studied me good and hard.

“Please,” I repeated.

My mother pinched the bridge of her nose…and she stepped aside.

“Mother!” Lottie yelled.

My mother shot Lottie a silencing glare. “If he saved my daughter,” she snarled, “perhaps he can save my son.”

I hurried through the den with Rook. The pungent, acidity of sickness met us in the hall.

The stench didn’t hinder me, but coming into Lysander’s room, his frail body was staggering.

He’d always been so proud—so tall. But now…

he already looked like a corpse. Rook grasped the doorframe for support.

My mother joined us, watching Rook closely.

I stepped aside, allowing Rook by. He knelt beside Lysander, who didn’t stir.

“Only sleeping,” Mother murmured, quelling my fear. She never left Rook unwatched, and her hand never left the hilt of her sword.

Rook flipped open his satchel and withdrew the needle. “We may need to hold him.” Rounding Rook, I stood near the headboard, and my mother settled on the end of the bed. Rook peeled the bandages from Lysander’s chest. Rook gagged.

“Here. Let me.” I reached for the needle. Rook glanced up, his brows furrowed, considering my request. With a ‘hand it to me’ gesture, I said, “You hold him, and I’ll do it.”

Rook’s jaw twitched and he turned back to Lysander. He dragged a hand down his face, took a deep breath…and plunged the needle into one of Lysander’s wounds.

“Aghhh!” Lysander jarred awake. I thrust his shoulders into the bed. Lysander thrashed, and my mother threw all her weight on his legs, holding him firm. Lysander leaned sideways; he was ill down my trouser leg.

“Lottie!” my mother shouted. Lottie didn’t come.

Figures. When there was work to do, Lottie always disappeared.

We managed on our own anyway. I think, when my mother called for help, she was remembering Lysander as he used to be.

It hurt my heart, how little effort it took to keep my once strong brother immobile.

Rook withdrew the needle. He refilled it and plunged it into another gash in Lysander’s chest. Gradually, Lysander stopped thrashing and relaxed into the bed.

“Who’s this?”

Ruven stood in the doorway.

Beside me, Rook examined Ruven as one might inspect a curious insect.

He remained entirely undisturbed by the newcomer’s presence.

But Ruven… He looked as if he might burn down the entire cottage, regardless of who was left inside it.

Looking between Ruven and Rook, I thought, please, don’t do anything .

Not with Lysander and my mother in the room.

Deciding this was not something to leave to fate, I rose and pushed Ruven into the hall.

He craned to the side, so he might still watch Rook.

There was such intimidation in Ruven’s posture, as if he were observing a rival or some monster he must slay.

It reminded me of how he'd looked at Lottie, and the way he’d gripped his sword so tight…

Hold on.

Someone had sent the Hound for Lottie.

Rook’s voice floated back to me. 'Who would want to harm her?'

I scrutinized Ruven.

Ruven, who was promoted because the blacksmith had died. He had motive to kill Lauren but, why my family? Was he angry I hadn’t given in to his advances? My stomach turned… Could Ruven really want to destroy us? From birth, Ruven had always been there. He was a pillar in my memories. My friend.

“Ruven,” I whispered, “why are you here?”

Ruven’s features were set in a scowl of furious surprise. He pointed at Rook, and snapped, “Who is he ?”

“A friend.”

Was Ruven shocked because he didn’t recognize this new man in my home?

Or because he did recognize the man and knew exactly what he was.

“Why are you here?” I repeated and stepped in front of Ruven, obscuring his view of Rook.

Ruven’s attention fell on me, and the malice melted away.

He offered a sad smile, and I saw him. The boy who snuck across the goat fields and watched the stars with me.

Who napped on the job, so he might stay awake with me on those nights so filled with terrors, sleep might never come.

I saw my friend .

“I wanted to apologize,” Ruven said. “I didn’t treat you the way I should have treated a friend, especially not one I hold so dear, and I’m sorry.” He brushed my arm when he said, “You owe me nothing.”

Something shifted in Lysander’s room.

Both Rook and my mother stared after us.

I’m not sure who wore a worse glower as they beheld Ruven.

Rook’s cool indifference was gone, replaced by a nose curling scowl that one might expect to see if someone had just smelled rotted garbage.

Ruven cleared his throat and retreated farther down the hall.

“I wanted to let you know: I’ve been offered a position at the castle.

I’m heading there tomorrow and”—he paused, unsure how to finish the sentence—“and, uh, I’ll be staying.

” Offered was a generous word used by those in the castle.

I doubted Ruven had a choice in the matter.

Ruven loved his family terribly; he wouldn’t leave them willingly.

I knew Ruven occasionally worked at the castle; he was a talented blacksmith.

Too talented for his own good, it would seem.

Temporary suspicions forgotten, my heart ached for Ruven.

“I’m so sorry.”

“Hey—hey, it’s okay. It’s… It’s an opportunity,” Ruven said, trying to dispel my upset.

“Anyway, I should go. I just wanted you to hear it from me, that I won’t be around anymore.

” Though I knew he didn’t want to, he smiled in that familiar way, the way that tugged my own cheeks up. I looked at Ruven and I knew.

I knew.

It wasn’t him who’d sent the Hound for my family.

Shame consumed me over the idea that I’d even suspected Ruven in the first place.

Ruven and I stood awkwardly, unsure how we might part.

In perhaps the most awkward of all possibilities, Ruven offered a hand, and I shook it.

Ruven gave Rook a final parting glance. Though he seemed genuine, the jealousy in his voice was unmistakable.

“I hope he can help your brother.”

I hope so too.

With that, Ruven left. I resumed my spot at the head of the bed. Rook glanced at me, asking a silent question. I shook my head. ‘Not him.’ I’m not sure whether Rook’s furrowed expression was one of frustration or relief.

When finished, Rook got up and backed away.

I took his spot, slipping to my knees. Mother switched to the head of the bed, where she moved sweat-soaked hair from Lysander’s brow.

I ran my hands along the wounds, and my heart fluttered.

I could always tell how a wound would heal.

When I dressed Lysander’s chest so many nights ago, I felt loss…

“It’s going to work,” I sputtered.

My mother’s throat bobbed. “Are you certain?”

I felt Lysander’s chest, and I was met with the springing sensation of possibility—of a future. A noise between a laugh and a sob sputtered out of me. Though my mother didn’t cry, her arm snaked around Lysander’s shoulders, and she buried her head in his hair.

Lysander would live!