All's Fair in Revenge

Chapter 60: Silver Endings

Ma'ma and I walk back to Srisset midday. We match pace in a comfortable silence passing thatched roof homes and mud straw shops. People stop, their eyes burning into my spine and skull. They'll speak of me in taverns tonight, passing pieces of my story around like carafes of ale, whispering about the death that trails me, spills from me. The thought curdles my blood. It reaches for the hollowest parts of me and pools. Sparks gather at my fingertips. I curl them into my fists. Ma'ma senses the tension and rubs my shoulder.

Relaxing takes time. I have to identify and release each muscle and tendon. The process is cumbersome if an effective distraction from the whispers and sneers. It's easier once we turn the corner for a giant beast runs at us full speed, a mass of fur and tongue barreling down the road, each press of his pads against the soil echoing like thunder in the forest.

With a whine so pitiful it shatters me, Mook leaps onto my shoulders, the hulking wolf knocking me to the ground into a dust cloud of hugs and globby tears and slobber coating one side of my face. I grip him tight until neither of us can breathe. Even as I release him, he glues himself to my leg, his head lifting my hand. I sink my fingers into the soft fur, memorizing the way it feels. A crack of hope and gratitude breaks through the tempered anguish I've allowed to burgeon within me. If only for this moment, I'm glad to have survived.

"He's paced the road for weeks waiting for you. The big ninny wouldn't even hunt. Bröd's been tossing him rabbits and setting out a water pail."

"I'll have to thank him." I press my forehead into the wolf's simultaneously pressing a kiss to his snout then add, "You need a bath." The oversized fur ball grunts and rubs his entire body across me leaving a streak of dog grime across my apron.

With Mook on my heels, we pass the training fields where Arin ought to be. Instead, the Heerth prepares for the oncoming onslaught. A seriousness roots itself in each brow. Fewer women taunt one another, antagonize. Orders and commands are soon to become life and death. Ma'ma insists this outcome was inevitable. I may not have dealt the hand, but I guided it.

I arrive at the infirmary inside the citadel cursing every stone that threatens to crack my jaw as my feet fumble up the spiral stairs. I throw open the carved door and there I find her. Liv sits in bed, her back against a wall of pillows, her gaze focused on the window. I nearly choke at the sight. For so many reasons she should not be here.

"Liv?" Her name strangles me. Apprehension tugs on my heart. She doesn't turn; acts as if I am invisible. I deserve much worse. Still, I want to run to her, to throw my arms around her, to feel her under my touch, to know she's not some ghost, some trick of the gods. I don't. I'm scared she'll throw me out.

"Liv, I—I thought—" Images of every horrible outcome flash through my mind. "Never mind what I thought. How are you?"

My friend remains still. She doesn't twitch. She merely sighs and leans her head against the wall as I approach. I round the bed's corner when suddenly, she jumps; her high-pitched scream loud enough to shatter glass.

"Good Eyr," she says. "You scared the piss out of me." She checks her robe for wetness, satisfied to find none. "Has anyone ever told you not to sneak up on the deaf? It's rude."

"Deaf?" I sit in the chair across from her bed. "Liv, what do you mean?"

"I can't hear you, Hana." She rolls her eyes as though she's already annoyed with questions I haven't yet asked. "I am as the goddess Signey was. Like her I've been gifted with silence and the slightest bit of ringing." She rattles her head as though a bell might topple out. I squeeze her hand, relief drenching me. Of all potential ends, this was manageable. Difficult, but doable. "I know you're probably here to offer me a thousand apologies but let me stop you. It was an accident. If anyone is to blame, it's those damn Dorsi. No one else. Least of all you." A shaky breath rattles her chest. Parts of her are still healing. "Here." She hands me parchment and a piece of long, thin charcoal from the bedside. "Turns out, I'm shit at reading lips."