Chapter
50

Cohen

EACH SHAERDANIAN TOWN GREETS US A LITTLE DIFFERENTLY. Some welcome us with open arms and demand we stay for a night, celebrating with spirits and meat. Other Shaerdanian towns want us to leave the second we’ve delivered their missing daughters.

The hardest part comes when we travel to the families of the girls who didn’t make it through Jamis’s rebellion. It’s difficult to see their tears. To watch them fall to their knees in grief. Losing a loved one brands you. It carves space in your heart that will always stay a little empty.

A week after leaving Brentyn, I break away from the traveling party. Lirra, Finn, and the guards will go on to see the remaining girls safely returned home. But I cannot stay away from a specific Channeler any longer.

Lamplight glows from cottage windows in the town of Tahr, yellow spilling onto the gravel road. Siron breaks away from the village, headed for Katallia’s home in the outskirts of the valley where shadows separate her land. But one single lantern shines against the wooded mountain backdrop. A beacon in the night.

It’s dark and impossible to see inside the stable, so I dismount Siron right outside Katallia’s door. His nose nuzzles my hand as I turn to leave. Maybe he can sense how hammered I am. Time apart from Britta has made me realize how many mistakes I’ve made. Instead of giving her my trust and support, my actions were often suffocating.

At Katallia’s door, I slide off my cap. Run fingers through my hair. Smack the dust from my coat and trousers. Then knock.

The blaze in the hearth glows behind Katallia, her red curls taking on the look of smelted metal. She opens the door wider. Her brows lift in surprise. “Cohen, I wasn’t expecting you tonight as well. Though I figured you’d come break down my door sooner than later.”

“Didn’t want to interrupt her healing till now,” I admit with a shrug. Maybe I should’ve come earlier. “And King Aodren’s had a lot for me to do.”

“Has he?” She taps her chin. “Well, don’t stand there, letting in all the cold.” Katallia sweeps her arm to the side, gesturing for me to enter.

The room’s been cleaned and painted and the furniture fixed up since the last time I was here. No signs of the attack show anywhere. I tell her as much.

“Yes, well, it took almost a month to get this home in order. I can only imagine how busy you’ve been in Brentyn.”

I give a polite nod. “Is Britta awake?”

Katallia flicks a glance at the hallway before facing me with her head tipped to one side. “She is. But I’m not sure if now is the best time.”

Right. It’s after supper. Still, she said Britta wasn’t sleeping. “I traveled all day to get here.”

She crosses her arms and drums her fingers against her sleeves. The woman’s indecision could cause madness. “Cohen, I—”

“Please,” I insist, crossing the room to her side. “I’ll be quick. It’s been too long. Too long. I’m half mad knowing she’s in the house and I’m not already at her side.”

Her sigh sounds like an approval. I don’t wait to ask. I dart around her and down the hall to Britta’s room. I knock once. When she doesn’t say anything, I crack the door open. “Britta? It’s me— Bludger.”

Don’t know what I was expecting, but it sure wasn’t King Aodren, seated in the wooden chair at her bedside. Britta’s blue eyes fly to mine. She’s lying beneath a woolen blanket, only her face and arms visible. Still, it’s enough to know she’s worlds better. No more deathly pallor. Her cheeks are tinged the color of summer peaches.

For a swollen pause, no one speaks. My gaze cuts between them, taking in the way he holds her hand between his. Cannot say the sight doesn’t wound me.

“Perhaps I should’ve waited for your answer,” I say. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.” Seeds, I’ve never felt so out of place.

“No.” Britta speaks right as the king stands, his chair scraping against the wood.

“Excuse me. I didn’t know you were planning a visit.” King Aodren’s formality makes me cringe even more. “I was returning from a meeting with the Guild. Since I was nearby, I thought I’d stop in and see how Britta was doing.”

“I was . . .” I pause. But I wasn’t in the area. Hadn’t finished my assigned duties. I’ve no good excuse other than wanting to see her. “I wanted to see how you were doing.” I look at Britta.

A smile cracks her lips.

Aodren gives Britta a long glance before he turns to me. “Good seeing you, Cohen. I’ll let you two have some privacy.”

He leaves and I sit in his chair. Keeping my face neutral, I fight down the jealousy. I hate that he saw her before I did. “How’re you doing, Britt?”

“As Katallia would say, I’m ‘on the mend.’ Though it still feels as if I’m barely holding myself together.”

“Bad as before?”

She shakes her head. It’s been worse.

I lean forward, loathing the distance between us. “I’m sorry I haven’t come before now. Katallia said she’d let me know when you were ready for visitors. Still waiting on her letter.”

“And yet you’re here?” Britta smiles, but it’s tired, not reaching her eyes. To punctuate the image of exhaustion, she lets out a yawn. It makes me feel guilty for keeping her up so late.

“Tired?”

She shrugs. “A bit.”

Bet if I had her ability, my innards would flash icy cold.

“Why’d you come all this way, Cohen?”

I prop my elbows on my knees and stare at the wood slats that make up the floor. There are a dozen things I want to say, but now I’m questioning myself. I wanted to return and annihilate the distance between us.

Yet I’m wondering if that’s what she wants. Last Britta and I talked, I suggested she have time away from me to decide what she truly desires. Fact of the matter is, whatever I had with Britta ended when I chose to give her space. I cannot fault her for possibly entertaining the thought of a life without me, if that’s what she wants most. Nor can I push her into remaining with me.

I’m not doing a great job of giving her space. I promised I wouldn’t hover or try to govern her decisions.

I hold my breath, steeling myself to stay true to my word. “I’m here because I care about you. Wanted to see if you’re doing good. That’s all. Not staying long.”

She frowns.

“Just wanted to let you know that if you need me, I’ll be here,” I add. I clear my throat and force myself to hold her gaze. There’s been something scratching at my conscience. The way I treated Britta after discovering her with the king was wrong, considering I’d kissed Lirra.

“When I was traveling with Lirra, we had to pretend to be newlyweds. A barkeep called for us to kiss to prove as much.” Britta flinches and I feel it in my gut. “Didn’t mean anything. I should’ve told you before now. I . . . I’m sorry.”

“But you were so angry over Aodren . . .”

My head hangs. “I’m a bludger.”

“Thank you for being honest with me.”

Her response hits hard, reminding me how much I’ve hid from her in the past. If she chooses a future with me, I’ll never hold anything back again. I issue another apology, and when her eyes droop, I say, “I’m going to give you the space you need to decide what you want. More than anything, I want you to be happy.”

Bloody gods, the words nearly kill me. The jealous part of me demands to know what the king is doing here, but somehow I manage to hold the question back.

I wait for her reply, but all that comes is a small “Thank you, Cohen.”

I catch up with Lirra and Finn two days later and finish out the assignment King Aodren gave me before returning to Brentyn. Once there, I ride straight to Britta’s cottage. She’s not one who would stay away from her cottage for long. Since she was alert when I last saw her, there’s a good chance she’s returned to Brentyn.

Only, her shutters are closed. No smoke rises from the chimney. The stables show no sign of use all winter.

The loneliness that’s taken residency in my bones tightens its grip. I scratch my beard, letting my fingers graze my scar, the one piece of Britta I’ll always have. Then I set to work. Don’t know if she’ll ever return, but I want her land to be kept up and her belongings safe.

Over the next few days when I’ve some free time away from castle duties, I ride out to Britta’s cottage and tend the property. On a cold sunny morning, I find another horse there.

“Hello,” I call out, hand reaching for my blade.

Gillian throws open the cottage door. Her face, now clear of bruises, greets me with a wide smile. “I was wondering who cleaned up the stable.”

I hug her, laughing as she makes another comment about her fat heifer, and follow her inside.

“This where you snuck off to the other day?”

Leif’s voice has me spinning around. He’s sitting in Britta’s favorite spot—her papa’s wooden chair. A fire burns in the hearth. I make a mental note not to let myself get distracted by my thoughts in the future. Didn’t even see the smoke coming out of the chimney.

I shrug. “Figured it needed looking after.”

“I understand. Britta’s cottage reminds me of better times.” Leif’s voice is morose. Though leading the troops against Jamis’s forces gave him purpose for a time, he hasn’t returned to his jolly self. Makes me wonder if he ever will.

“What are you guys doing here?”

A blush crosses Gillian’s cheeks. “I came to air out the rooms for Britta, should she ever return. Leif was kind enough to help me.”

They share a small smile. It’s the softest expression I’ve seen on his face since Omar’s death. I’m glad for him. Aodren insisted he take Omar’s position as captain of the guard—cannot be easy. We haven’t talked much about Omar, though I’ve expressed my opinion a number of times. What happened on the Channeler’s field wasn’t Leif’s fault.

“I noticed the roof needs patching.” The sun has peeked out and melted the snow enough to show the thatch. “I’ll work on that.”

Gillian and Leif leave an hour or so later, but I work until the sky darkens. The best way to keep myself from drowning in should’ves and would’ves concerning Britta is to keep busy.

On another day, I mend a stall in the barn.

A time after that, I paint Britta’s door.

Winter gives way to spring, and Britta’s house remains empty and silent.