The Curse of the Blessed

Chapter Forty-Nine

As the Head Man had said it would, the party began right after dinner. Townspeople carried sturdy wooden tables out to the village green and covered them with food. All the villagers who played instruments brought them out. Games for the smaller children and the older teenagers were set up. A huge stack of wood towered right in the middle of the green, and we lit it on fire at sunset, the blaze quickly shooting upward as if it wished to brush against the stars. All in all, it was beautiful.

It was also overwhelming. People, and people, and more people—all here to celebrate me and my friends—crowding around us, hugging us if they were family members and sometimes even if they weren't, asking us questions and toasting us and being loud, as people were often wont to do.

I could tell my friends tried to take the brunt of the questioning. Somehow, they were in tune with when I grew close to the breaking point, stepping in front of me casually enough that it looked like a coincidence if they intercepted someone who'd been headed my way, sometimes answering questions for me while I was trying to get a handle on my breath.

Mam came up to me with Aunt Marla after a few hours, with a slice of apple pie.

"You need to talk to more people!" she told me. "You look cold, and standoffish, the way you're avoiding people and questions."

"It's really overwhelming," I explained. "I... I'm tired."

"So? I'm tired all the time, and you don't see me avoiding my friends." Mam shook her head. "They're going to think you got all stuck up while you were gone. They're going to say you think you're too good for them."

Aunt Marla laid a hand on Mam's arm. "Let them say what they wish. We know the real Fyra, don't we? Isn't that enough?"

"I don't want you to embarrass me," Mam said, ignoring Aunt Marla's question. "If they think you're being rude on purpose, who do you think they will blame for raising such a willfully unkind child?"

"Tssk," said Aunt Marla. "They won't blame you. They have children of their own."

"And their own children have no trouble talking to people. Why should Fyra?" She turned to me. "I understand you're tired, but just push a little longer, all right? This whole celebration is for you. I'd appreciate it if you'd be more grateful for the effort everyone's put into it."

"I am grateful," I protested.

"Then show them that." She pulled me into her embrace and placed the slice of apple pie into my hands. "Sugar will help you stay lively."

She turned away, weaving through the crowd easily, unbothered by the people and the noise. I sighed.

"She means well." Aunt Marla smiled at me as I dug into the pie. "How do you like it?"

"It's good," I said. I meant it.

"Just good?" Her eyebrows shot upwards. "Well. I suppose I'll have to do better next time."

"I didn't mean it that way."

She laughed. "I know you didn't. I'm just teasing you."

"Ah."

I relaxed a bit, allowing my posture to ease and my back to straighten. As the night had worn on, I had curled over more and more, wishing I could simply disappear altogether—or at least become invisible enough that everyone would direct their questions to Bran and Lark and Reed.

"How are you doing?" Aunt Marla asked.

"Oh." I shrugged, trying to make the motion light-hearted but failing. "Well enough, I suppose."