Page 72 of Turret

I couldn’t answer, but with the way his brows drew together, he likely didn’t need a response. His hand remained on my cheek even as his other felt along the floor, taking in the broken pieces of the bowl.

My breath hitched. “Careful, I don’t want you to cut yourself. Let me clean it—”

“No,” he responded gently. “I’ll take care of it.”

“But—”

My protests were useless, for he was already picking up the broken bowl, his movements careful as he felt along the floor to pick it up piece by piece. I watched with a mixture of worry and awe as he managed to gather all the pieces and stood to dispose of them, finding his way with surprising ease.

“How did you know where to go?” I asked.

“I know you’re going to spend a lot of time here, so I’ve already familiarized myself with this room.”

A simple answer, but one that caused my heart to swell. Obviously he wouldn’t spend such time with me as my guard, giving me hope that he was still open to the possibility ofus.

He wiped his hands on a cloth as he turned around and cast his gaze across the stone floor that he couldn’t see. “Did I get all the pieces?”

I carefully searched through the flickering lantern light. “The bowl is cleaned up, leaving the mess of the spilled herbs.” I stood to retrieve a cloth.

“If you guide me, I can—”

But I’d already retrieved a rag and was cleaning up. He heard my movements and released a heavy sigh. “You’re a princess performing duties not meant for you. I’m so useless.”

My heart wrenched at his defeated posture and I glared at him, never mind he couldn’t see it. “You’re not useless, so don’t believe otherwise.” The words were familiar, an echo of an assurance he’d given me many times during my own moments of doubt.

The corner of his mouth lifted, though it did little to dispel his defeated expression. But as usual, his focus quickly shifted away from himself to me. “Why were you crying, Gemma?”

I debated on whether to tell him what had me so distressed, for it would only trouble him to know that he was causing me pain, but once again words weren’t needed.

“You’re still trying to find a cure?”

I released a heavy sigh. “No matter what herbs I mix together, nothing seems powerful enough to return stolen sight.”

He crouched in front of where I knelt surrounded by the green herbs splattered against the grey stones, a mess that only taunted me with the reminder of another failure. “Though I know little of curses, I do know they can only be cured by magic; no combination of herbs will ever be strong enough.”

“But these are from amagicalgarden,” I said. “I’m sure I can find the right combination if I continue trying—”

“I’m not sure you can,” he said with far too much resignation. “This is the fourth generation the curse has manifested itself. My ancestors have already scoured the five kingdoms for a cure, tried every herbal remedy, sought every spell…to no avail. From the beginning I’ve known there is no cure.”

“But therehasto be.” My despair was rising, an unrelinquishing weight pressing against my chest.

“No, Gemma,” he said gently. “Sometimes in life, things remain broken.”

As much as I ached to deny it, I knew firsthand the truth of his words. Despite my elixir, I would likely always suffer from poor health and shortness of breath when I overexerted myself; I couldn’t make Mother care for me the way a mother should; and I could never bring back Father. Sometimes there was no cure.

I searched dear Quinn’s expression and noticed the heartache my inability to accept his fate was causing him. He didn’t deserve the curse afflicting him, and yet he was doing all within his power to endure it as best he could. If I was to support him, I needed to as well.

Only this knowledge gave me the strength I needed to give up the fight. I crawled towards him and fell into his arms with a strangled sob. He hadn’t seen me approach and gasped in surprise before his arms enfolded me, holding me tightly. Grateful he wasn’t pushing me away like he had the habit of doing, I relaxed against him and burrowed against his chest, a position which allowed him to notice the tears still streaking my cheeks.

He moaned as he nestled against my hair. “Please don’t cry, dear Gemma. I want to protect you, especially from heartache.”

“And I want to protect you in return,” I stuttered.

“Youare. But there is nothing you need to shield me from. I’ve had years to come to terms with this, and despite brief moments where the difficulty becomes too much, overall I’m at peace.”

“Buthow? You can’t see, Quinn.” My voice choked on the words and I burrowed myself back against him.

He rubbed my back, as if the gesture could soothe my heartache, and though I felt as ifnothingever could, his attentive touch certainly helped.

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