Page 116 of Feathers and Thorns

“I want you both to know how sorry I am for everything. You two went through things that no child should have to endure.” She squeezed their hands tighter, tears spilling down her cheeks as she continued, “My silence did more damage than your father ever could, Enara, and I only hope that, in time, you will be able to forgive me. And Rook, I know I cannot make up for the years we have lost, but I want you to know that you are always welcome here.”

“You already know I forgive you, Mom,” Enara said, leaning her head on her mother’s shoulder.

Beatrice released their hands to press her palms to Enara’s cheeks. “I wish someday to be as strong as you are, sweetheart.”

Rook remained silent, worried if he spoke, all his emotions would come rushing forth. He was not ready to shed tears in front of anyone but Soren.

They spoke a short while longer, sharing the few happy stories they had from their childhoods, before getting up to leave.

“I hope you’ll come back soon,” Beatrice said as they donned their winter gear.

“I’m sure we will,” Rook answered. His simple response seemed to be exactly what she needed to hear, and his eyes misted.

She pulled him in for one last hug, and this time, he let himself relax into her arms. She smelled of rosemary and chamomile tea, and it put him at ease.

He pulled away gently, looking from his mother to Enara, and couldn’t help the bit of joy that peeked out from behind his black heart. He had a family.

Enara touched her fingers to the necklace that hung from her throat and took a steadying breath. The small pendant had been fashioned from a silver alloy, the stone formed from applying immense pressure to a collection of Baztien’s ashes. It was the color of fresh milk, and the white swirled with flecks of gold, just like Baztien’s eyes.

After they had collected his ashes from the pyre, Saoirse had come to her later in the evening, asking if she could have some of the ashes to make something for her. She had shown Enara the ring she wore that held her grandmother’s ashes, and Enara had obliged, wanting a way to keep him with her always.

When the package had arrived from Olecastor, it had brought tears to her eyes. Saoirse, being ever thoughtful, had fashioned four necklaces, all the same, apart from Enara’s. Hers was the only one that had the gold flecks. She couldn’t believe Saoirse had remembered how she’d spoken about Baztian when they had dressed for Hallival.

Enara ensured the other three went to their rightful owners—Soren, Alondra, and Laraline. She had stayed with Baz’s mothers for a few months after they had returned to Vreburn, and as they had mourned together, she had begun to heal. Now, it had been over a year since she’d lost the love of her life.

Every now and then, someone she knew from the institute would ask her to join them for a drink, but she always turned them down. Sometimes people were cruel and would tell her it was time to move on. They did not understand that one did not just move on from grief.

Grief was a dark passenger that latched onto your soul and never let go. Grief was the cold hand that would forever be entwined with yours. The only thing in existence that could compete with grief was time.

A relationship with grief was like experiencing exposure therapy. If you tortured yourself long enough, the pain would become more manageable. The burning of a shattered heart would dull to a low ache. The agony, a gentle reminder of those they had loved and lost.

“Hey, hon,” Laraline called from farther down the beach, “it’s time.”

Enara gave her a wave in response and headed in her direction. Today, they would release the remainder of Baztien’s ashes into the Obsidian Sea so that he could join his birth parents and be reconnected with his homeland. Then he could finally be at peace.

They had wanted to come sooner, but they had stayed to help rebuild Vreburn. Soren had wanted to join her, but Adaryn was about to give birth to her and Jai’s child any day now, so she had gone to provide her emotional support.

She waded into the water where Alondra and Laraline stood, her white dress floating on the ocean’s edge like a ghost. Her skin prickled, and her feet sunk slightly into the wet sand.

Alondra held up the small, golden urn that held the rest of Baztien’s remains and asked Enara, “Is there anything you want to say?”

“He knows how I feel about him,” she replied softly. “Now, let’s send him home.”

Alondra nodded, and then they took turns sprinkling the ashes into the dark waters.

The day was relatively still, and a gentle current carried the ashes away almost as if the sea was helping him on his journey.

The three of them stood in the shallows, letting the waves lap at their feet until the ashes were out of sight. Silent tears joined the great expanse of water, each droplet finding its way back to him.

“Are you ready to go?” Laraline asked softly.

Enara nodded and wiped her tears with the pad of her thumb. “Yeah, we just have one last stop to make.”

* * *

Enara knocked softly on the wooden door of the fisherman’s house then waited patiently as the man made his way to the door. His movements were chased by a faint knocking sound that she couldn’t quite make out.

He opened the door to reveal that he was missing a leg. Baz had never mentioned that. Then again, he always saw people for who they were and spoke of them from what he knew of their hearts, a trait that seemed to have been passed down to him from his mothers.

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