Page 95 of Where Darkness Dwells

Instantly, my guard is up. My father’s fists clench at his sides as he watches Myrzeth like a bird of prey.

My uncle leans forward and whispers in my ear, “Because if you are at all like her, we could either have something that could become unstoppable, or something that could tear this whole valley apart.”

The repulsive sensation of his moist breath on my cheek sends shivers down my spine.

He straightens and smiles wickedly.

“I can’t wait to find out which it is.”

35. Belwyn

BELWYN

I CLIMB AN OLD LADDER to the roof of our family’s new dwelling and investigate the shingles. As I expected, half of them are rotten or mysteriously absent. As if the dozens of pots strewn all over the inside after last night’s rain weren’t proof enough.

“Shem,” I call down. “Go help Korvin with the handcart.”

He scrunches up his face. “But you told me to hold the ladder.”

“Never mind that. I’ll be fine. We need to get the new shingles on before the rain picks up again. Just go help him.”

I hoist myself onto the ledge of the roof and look out at Utsanek in the damp darkness. From the glowing lanterns in the streets below and the few sola bone shards that have made it to this poorer district, I can make out the dim picture.

This neighborhood is a slapped together collection of sloped rooftops and snaking chimneys. Ours isn’t the only roof with problems. The one across the alley from us has a gaping hole, two feet across at least. But no one cares enough to fix it.

Inactivity invites my darker thoughts to seep in, like rainwater through the gaps in these weathered shingles.

Come on, boys. Hurry up. I rub my hands across my trousers to keep them warm.

Father has not been home in days. ‘Home’ sounds wrong. He hasn’t beenpresent.

Why doesn’t that bother me?

Probably because he hasn’t been present for most of my life. Being present means more than showing up to berate your sons for their failings, or only partaking in your wife’s company when she will make you look good.

I’ve done my best to respect him, to live up to his insatiable standards, but I lost a bit of that childlike trust at the Challenge Ceremony. I watched the faces of the valefolk when they celebrated his fall, when they were released from his rule of fear. In his pride, he could not see what has been plain for years. He’s a joke to the people. They didn’t want to disrupt the eerie quiet of the kaligorven’s absence—the only reason no one opposed him until now.

The whispers wherever I go are the worst—not because I don’t agree with what they say about him, but because of how my brothers and my mother are being dragged into this with him.

My fingers press into my thighs. If he had been with us more, would Rhun have been so uninformed about the dangers of the kaligorven? If he had been a real father to him, would I be the one constantly having to brace for wave after wave of guilt for not protecting him as I should have?

I let the anger build in me, filling every empty space. My muscles contract painfully under its influence, straining against the tendons and moving my bones against my will. It pushes on my lungs, yet I am incapable of making their air escape. I tighten my fingers around the ledge of the roof and feel like, if I squeezed, I could reduce it to splinters.

This rage—it’s intoxicating.

The clatter of wheels punctures it, lets out the pressure. Korvin and Shemai roll the cart to the foot of the ladder, arguing about the best way to position it.

A cold fear radiates across my skin. If I’m not careful, I could be every bit as frightening as my father. Or worse.

I must be better for my mother and my brothers.

Swallowing forcefully, I call down to them. “Leave it like that. It’s perfect.”

Over the course of the morning, the three of us work together to solve the problem of the leaky roof. Shemai grips the base of the ladder while Korvin shuttles shingles up and down with caution. I hammer the planks on one at a time, sealing up the gaps. It is satisfying to do physical labor like this, to see the value of an action manifested. To be able to assess worth, look at a job and know it is well done.

“Here, Mother told me to bring this to you.”

I glance at Korvin curiously as he grips the ladder tightly and holds out a spiced bun. A perfect spiral glazed with a shiny, sweet syrup.

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