Page 121 of A Promise of Peridot
I was a healer, and all I had done was harm people.
And my... father. A god. A Fae god.
A gruesome laugh slipped from my lips.
“Can you stand, bird?”
I sucked in a lungful of air until my chest grew cold, and it did nothing at all to steady me. My power, my lighte itched and twisted at my fingertips—fueled by guilt and grief, building inside me, ratcheting up my neck and down the backs of my legs and into my ankles and toes.
I tried to stand, and made it halfway up before a dizzy rush forced my arm against the wet exterior of the sweetshop to hold me upright.
“Arwen.”
I whirled my eyes to Kane and could only make out the thin trail of a raindrop dripping down his nose. My vision was tunneling.
“Take a deep breath for me?”
The wind was shallow in my lungs. I shut my eyes against the storm and Beth’s words and all the pain and all the agonizing power, and willed the cool droplets to soothe the burning in my heart.
“Let’s get you home,” Kane said.
“I don’t have a home.”
“Don’t get self-pitying on me now, bird. Shadowhold will always be your home.”
“It’s everyone else I pity. Everyone who’s unfortunate enough to grow close to me.”
His broad hands grasped my shoulders—so gentle, and yet with enough firmness to drag my eyes upward. “You were afetus. You didn’t sicken her on purpose. Your mother loved you, Arwen. She knew what you were, and what carrying you would do to her, and still, she loved you more than anything.”
I let out a quiet, bitter laugh. “And look what good it did her.”
He pulled me out into the street, where we were met by a disorienting downpour. The wind howled angrily against the cliffs and the merchants’ carts around us swayed with the force of the storm. Townspeople were seeking shelter under awnings and crowding into taverns and shops. The angry, rippling lake loomed behind a dock that had all but emptied out, its water thrashing at the half-sunken, driftwood stilts.
“Can you fly in this?” I asked him, my voice lost in the gusting wind.
“I can, but it won’t be pleasant for either of us.” He squinted up through the rain at the narrow clock tower in the distance, water plastering his dark hair to his forehead and dripping into his eyes. His shirt was soaked. “It’s late. We should stay here for the night. Come on.”
Kane dragged me through the storm, around carts and boats and scraggly trees with no leaves. The wind chilled my bones through my cloak, but I didn’t mind. Sorrow, despair—both had been replaced by a dull headache that made me feel more tired than anything.
Finally, we arrived at the cornflower-blue door of Kane’s seaside cottage.
Using a single wisp of obsidian lighte, he opened the home to us and we slipped inside.
Deafening silence enveloped me.
It was dark and icy cold—clearly no one had been here for months. I stood awkwardly, shivering and dripping on the rich hardwood floor.
“I’ll just be a moment. Make yourself comfortable.” He crossed the room to a round, rustic table, and slung his sword and scabbard off, dropping them atop it beside a small vase that held two wilted orchids, completely dried up and nearly paper-thin.
Pulling his coat and gloves off, he dropped them as well before moving to the iron fireplace. A single match and few logs formed a small but mighty fire, flames blossoming like flowers from the kindling.
Kane motioned for me to sit in front of the hearth as he slipped into the dark kitchen. I heard him rummaging before he came back with a kettle and placed it atop the flames. Then, with one match, he lit all the lanterns in the home and a few dark, dusty candles as well.
Amid the newfound glow, I assessed the cottage in earnest.
It wasn’t unlike Kane’s bedroom in Shadowhold: masculine, dark, a little cluttered, surprisingly warm and cozy. The bay windows overlooking the lake were as exquisite as he had told me earlier. Soft linen curtains framed them with care, and a low, cushioned bench jutted out from underneath the glass, making for a nook one could sit in and peer out into the abyss from for hours.
“Arwen?”
