Page 86 of Beast and Remedy
I cave and grab one, tucking it into my journal.
It is probably stupid to bring the letter, knowing it could slip out at any point. But an unknown force tells me to keep it.
A reminder of what our relationship was and what it couldn’t be. A reminder of encouragement and reassurance I’ll need but am too weak to turn to Beau for right now.
So much for the strength I asked the Makers for.
We drift through vacant towns. After reaching Vilbirn, one of the few places with people refusing to evacuate, we opt for soft beds before sleeping outdoors becomes our new norm for the next long stretch of time.
Dismounting and tying off my horse, I check my satchel and provisions, ensuring my journals are tucked safely away from prying eyes before I help Marian as the men settle up our lodgings.
Her energy wavers significantly from this morning. Sweat beads lightly across her hairline as her feet swing sluggishly, and her knees almost buckle upon impact.
I am grateful Beau is nearby. Not for me but for Marian.
I reach for her forehead to check for a fever, but my sister snatches my wrist, gripping it as fury lines her eyes.
“I’m fine,” Marian seethes. Shock flashes across her features, and she releases me and stares at her open palms. “I-I don’t know why I did that.”
I can’t help but clutch my chest. Studying her carefully, I wait for another outburst. But her brown eyes hold mine in the silence, and I relax.
“Let’s get inside.”
She spins for the tavern as I let her go ahead of me, stepping up the two stairs, and the door creaks open.
The comforting smell of spiced meat tempts me as we enter, and my stomach rolls with hunger. The owner, a curvy woman in her later years, cleans behind the bar to the right.
Long tables stretch from wall to wall with built-in wooden stools for patrons to sit and converse while enjoying wine and beer. But the tavern is quiet, except for laughter from a booth in the left back corner.
Marcel and Leo catch us, but I lift my hand in warning, wanting to give Marian a little more time before being ambushed.
The lady peers up from cleaning. Her graying hair falls forward on her right side, and she huffs a breath to move it away as she bows. “I can bring out two bowls of stew, Your Highnesses.”
A kind smile lifts my cheeks, remembering her from when we dropped off our friends before. “Thank you, Dolores.”
She perks up at my memory before walking to the kitchens.
Our friends swing out of their seats, headed for us, but my sister curls into me. Jules and Christine’s brightness dims, noting Marian’s sudden hesitation.
Beau trails up behind Marcel and Leo, the three men towering over Jules and Christine as I lean into my sister. “Are you alright?”
“Fine,” she hisses and grips my bicep so tight I wince.
“You aren’t acting like yourself.”
She whirls, lashing out. “Who is to say you know how I should and shouldn’t act!? None of us even know how you act yourself!”
Her nails dig deep, piercing through the light fabric of my shirt. I don’t want to draw attention, nor do I want to stare at the anger fuming across her face.
“Marian.” Beau laces her name with a hint of warning.
My sister turns, and he steps through our friends, a small bead of light coming from his palm.
“Release your grip on Vivienne.”
She glances down, mortification sweeping across her features, and she flinches, discarding my arm as if it burned her.
“I-I am so sorry.” She rubs her temples in confusion and despair.
