The Curse of the Blessed

Chapter Eleven

Fear spiked through me as I took the hand Bran offered. It danced in my veins, quickly followed by the power he provided. My senses zoomed outward. I closed my eyes.

Deathbirds pressed their consciousnesses against mine. They sensed my fear, and my worry, and they asked whether I was all right.

I'm fine, I told them. I just need to find my friends.

While they searched our surroundings for any trace of Reed, and Lark, and the ghosts, I began to worry. Was this really the right decision? What if it all went wrong?

My senses suddenly shifted to one of my birds. I was high above the forest, carried by a gentle wind. My eyes were trained on a group of moving objects.

"The ghosts," I said. "I found them."

Bran's hand grew tighter in mine. "Where are they? Do they have Reed and Lark?"

"Yes. They're unconscious." Or at least, I hoped they were. Their bodies were limp as the ghosts dragged them through the woods.

"Can we get to them?"

"Maybe." I spread my senses through all of my birds, so that I could figure out where they were. "Yes. They're far away, though. We'll have to fly if we want to catch up."

"Fly?"

"Yeah." I opened my eyes. "You don't have to come."

"I know. But I already decided to go."

"It's not too late to change your mind."

He met my eyes. "They need us, Fyra. I'm coming."

"Okay." I called a group of my birds to me, and released Bran's hand, studying him. He hid his fear well.

"The birds are on their way," I told him.

"Just don't let them drop us this time."

I rolled my eyes at him. "That was your fault. If you squirm out of the grasp of creatures that are carrying you through the air, you're going to fall. You can hardly blame me for that."

He drew breath for a retort, but I said, "Anyway, my birds are here."

"Convenient."

"Are you ready to go?"

He shrugged. "Ready as I'll ever-"

He was cut off as four of my birds plucked him off the ground, each taking a limb in their claws. I'd been expecting him to shriek. I was disappointed.

Four more birds grabbed me. They caught up to Bran, who shot a glare my way.

"Enjoying the flying?" I asked.

"Warning would have been nice."

"Just think of it as payback."

"Payback for what?"

I shrugged. "Everything."

"Ah, yes, everything. That's very specific."

"You know what I mean."

"No," he said, "I don't."

What was I supposed to say? Did he want me to spell it out for him—all the years when he'd prodded and poked me, snapped at me, teased me, pranked me? Did he want me to walk him through what he'd done? I couldn't hold myself back any longer. I broke.

"You've been a bully," I said.

"What?" Disbelief threaded through his voice.

"You know," I said. "I only discovered I was a Blessed because you stole my headband and wouldn't give it back to me. There was that time when we were five and you threw mud on my new dress. And what about when we were eight and I'd had a bad fever, and you told everyone I was contagious?"

"You really don't remember?" He laughed angrily. "Of course you don't."

"Remember what?"

"Everything you did to me," he snapped. "You taunted me with your new headband, and your new dress, and the pampering you'd gotten while you'd been sick. Your mam saved. Mine didn't. You got new things, and all I got were the clothes on my back, growing more threadbare every day."

Distantly, blurrily, I remembered what he was talking about. "I joked, yeah. And every time, without fail, you retaliated. You hurt me, Bran."

"You hurt me, Fyra."

"They were just words!" I shouted.

"Maybe it was just a little mud, or a few moments without your headband, or barely a day with people laughing at you, pretending to avoid you—but they were never just words. You always made fun of me, like it was my fault my parents couldn't afford new shoes or a new jacket. And I always had to apologize to you afterward. I usually felt bad for what I'd done. I hated losing my temper like that."

"And I always accepted your apology and forgave you."

"You never forgave me," he growled. "I could see it in your eyes, sparkling like hot embers. You accepted my apology, but you never forgave me. You never let it go."

"I did too. And..." I paused. "I don't remember the specifics, but I know you taunted me somehow. That's why I teased you. I wanted to get back at you for what you'd done."

"I never did anything to you, other than the things I did in retaliation. And if you really forgave me, why did you just say you were paying me back for everything I'd done?"

A spark of an idea lit in my mind, and I smiled, sure of my victory. "What about when you were selling potatoes at the market? I never provoked you, but you still tried to sell them to me for triple what they were worth."

"You had the money."

"So?"

His eyes glanced toward mine; then he looked away, as if ashamed. "Your parents have money. Mine don't. We live off of what we get from the market."

"Then why do they let you have a quarter of what you make? Why don't they keep all the money for themselves?"

"They give it to me in exchange for running the stand while my mam shops for things and my da looks for extra work. I barely have time to earn five coppers before Mam comes back."

He shook his head. "Look, I don't expect you to understand. I really am sorry for the things I did to you. I was angry, which doesn't excuse it. I don't hold what you did against you. We were just kids, and you weren't the only one being cruel. Just don't pretend like you've forgiven me."

"But I have."

"You can't have both," he said. "You can't forgive me and continue to jab me about the things I've done."

"So I'm supposed to just forget it?" I asked. "I'm not allowed to hold the things you've done against you?"

"You don't have to forget it. But if you still hold it against me, as though I owe you something, you haven't forgiven me. You're lying to yourself."

I didn't know what to say to that.

Bran's words whirled around my head, devastatingly confusing. I couldn't let him do this—change my mind with his words. It was too much for him to ask.

But a worming voice in the back of my mind wondered, if I wasn't open to the things he said, could I really say I was being just? How could I pretend to be on the side of the right if I wouldn't listen to his view of things? Why wouldn't I listen to his view of things? Was he right? Did I still hold what he'd done against him?

I didn't know.

My body tilted forward as my birds began to descend toward the forest floor, heading for a clearing that would work perfectly as a landing area. Bran gasped slightly at the sudden change of motion.

"What's happening?" he asked.

I closed my eyes for a moment, trying to silence the voices that argued inside my head. "We're here."