The White Shadow

25. Tris's Letter

"No more bright colors from this day forth. Tris has been the one bright light in all of this darkness, yet it has been the white shadow that has taken the beat of his heart." Aethelu's voice did not waver as she spoke to all that had gathered for the funeral of her beloved. She had insisted and paid amounts and sums for this to happen. And now Firmin was asked to make a speech as well.

He couldn't do it. So instead of standing beside Aethelu and saying meaningless words, he hid within the crowds of people, cloaked so nobody might see him. Despite using it for him to hide in safely, he'd truly begun to loathe the dark cloak, using its shadowy protection as a wall to conceal the darkness and bitterly keep to himself. The woolen hood reeked of guilt, the coarse fabric a scratchy reminder of bad news.

Firmin felt responsible in every way for Tris's death, but felt he should somehow respect the death of a fellow soldier by attending the funeral. It was the least he could do, standing here, listening to Aethelu's words for her deceased lover.

"I shall honor him, and not forget him, by wearing black from this day forth. We were to be wed in just a few weeks." Her voice trailed off for a bit, but then she lifted her head. "My father tells me that I still have a wonderful future ahead of me, that I have plenty of suitors that would have me. But never again. I shall remain a widow."

Enough. Firmin should never have come. How would this even help a dead man? Surely Tris wouldn't want him here, where all the rest of his friends—his real friends, Carson and Roxanne in the midst—said good-bye.

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"I should be mourning, shedding tears for a lost friend. I should stop you from ever doing this again. I should not feel the pleasure of your touch. It's not right."

But he'd tried. Tried to keep himself away from Reina after she'd killed Tris but had felt only worse after. Despite the guilt he couldn't overcome his own loneliness and pain. "Can you not give him life, resurrect him? Didn't you say you need the death of others so you can give them life?"

"No," she said. "I have limits. I cannot make life. Firmin, why are you not angry with me?"

"I—I am," he growled, but then dropped his shoulders and sighed. He looked down. So tired. "Even if I try, I cannot hate you. I just can't bear to let you down. Not you too. "

"But what about me?" she asked. "Do you think I can live while you suffer?"

He'd rarely heard her talk like this. He lifted his eyes just enough to look at her as she spoke.

"When the man snuck around the corner, my instincts, my fear took over. I could not stop me, and I thought I was somehow protecting you."

"Please stop," Firmin whispered. "Don't blame this on me. Don't try to justify yourself." She wasn't supposed to feel guilt after all.

"It's just that—I love you, Firmin." She smiled a little.

Firmin was relieved to see her this way again. Her concern and struggle of justification had made him uncomfortable.

Firmin put his hand over her growing belly, feeling warm inside. "I know. And I will continue to fight for you. For us. For our child."

Her smile flickered for a moment, then returned. She kissed him and all concerns lifted, as if picked up by the breeze and carried off into the night.

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"So now I'm supposed to look for you at the cellars, eh?"