Painted Blade || sihtric

78.

   ON the road to Aegelesburg, Bemia was barely holding on to consciousness, the reins continuing to slip out of her hands while her horse followed behind Finan's and Cynlaef's, the twins with each of the two men.

After the drunken state of last night, it was clear that Bemia was unfit to care for her children on her own, let alone have them ride with her. If they had horses to spare, then the twins would have one of their own—but unfortunately that wasn't possible.

Sitting in front of Finan, Njål's face was full of worry as he looked back at his mother. "Is she...okay?"

Finan glanced down at the boy before looking back at Bemia who pulled the hood of her cloak over her head. With a tired sigh full of pain, he faced forward again, looking down at the boy watching him. "Your mother has lost many in this lifetime, boy," he gently said, voice laced with dread. "For now, she is not okay, but she always manages to pull through."

"And yet, I fear that this time she may not," Baldor spoke up, not looking away from the ears of his horse as Cynlaef straightened. "Our mother often spoke of Osferth, as did our brother. She has lost one child already and she had no time to grieve over that loss. How could she manage to pull through Osferth's loss with the weight of our sister's death still on her shoulders?"

Despite his age, that boy was wise with his words that held truth. Such truth that Finan cursed it and knew he was right.

This time, they all knew deep in their hearts that Bemia would not recover from this grave loss, and that terrified them all.

"It's a cruel world we live in, boy," Bemia whispered to herself, Osferth's pale face in her vision as she stared at the moving ground beside her, remembering one of the first true words she shared with her son. "Everyone deserves kindness, even baby monks who are afraid to kill."

"But I am not afraid to kill."

Bemia's head snapped up, her heart taking a tumbling drop in her chest as she looked around, trying to spot the face that belonged to that voice. But all she saw was the path they followed, her family on the horses, and the landscape that traveled far.

"For you, I always killed."

"What?" Bemia whispered, whipping her head around, eyes darting to anywhere a person could hide.

"For you, I died, and now I've been sent to the deepest pits of hell."

The air around Bemia grew thick, her hands shaking against the reins that held tightly. There was no face that the voice belonged to in sight. But she knew Osferth's voice as if it were nailed into her soul.

"I protected you and you couldn't even save me."

"No." Bemia let go of the reins, pressing her hands to her ears as she lowered her head, squeezing her teary eyes shut. "You are not real, Osferth. You cannot be."

"I am dead because of you!" his voice shouted, bouncing around her skull, louder than before.

The horse under Bemia came to a sudden stop and she flew her eyes open, snapping her head up with panting breaths controlling her chest. But it was not Osferth who she spotted standing ahead beside horses—no, it was her brother, ex-husband, and eldest son.

"Lord!" Cynlaef called out, his horse stopped with Finan's beside him.

There was no relief at the sight of the men facing them, no hope left in Bemia's heart. Only the grief that was already drowning her as she dropped her hands to her sides, new sobs clawing at her throat, begging to be released at the realization of the news she would have to break.