On the fourth day after Arwyn’s confession to Zeph, she sat in the garden, watching the sun rise, sleepy and pink, as it yawned its way across the meadow. After Zeph had left her alone in the bathing room, she had kept to herself. As Zeph had kept to himself. Neither seeking out the other. They were two souls, clinging to the edge, white-knuckling the jagged protrusions of their emotions that cut too deep and left more scars behind.

But what were a few more scars?

She closed her eyes, but all she could see was the night she had glimpsed the unspeakable violence done to Zeph when he was a boy. She was swarmed with his rioting emotions when she had told him that she knew. All she had wanted to do was reach for him—comfort him. And he had left her…alone. She couldn’t blame him. She felt his confusion, his heartache. Even now, she could feel him. She leaned forward, bracing her elbows on her knees, and pressed the heel of her hands into her eyes, her breath shaking with every exhalation.

“Arwyn?”

Arwyn abruptly sat up and turned in the direction of the voice, clasping one hand over her breast. “Elin,” she said breathlessly. “You startled me.”

Elin apologized. “I didn’t intend to.” She pointed to a spot on the bench beside Arwyn, unoccupied. “May I sit with you?”

“Of course,” Arwyn said, dabbing at her eyes, hoping Elin didn’t notice. She had purposely avoided everyone since that night, needing to distance herself from their emotions. Zeph’s were more than she could handle—exceedingly more.

“I haven’t seen you for days,” Elin said, watching the sun crest over the horizon.

Arwyn could feel Elin’s sadness. Ordinarily, she would want to mend the rift. As it was, all she could manage was a feeble, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. I’m just worried about you.”

“I am not the one you need to be worried about.”

“Are you certain?” Elin asked, casting Arwyn a side glance.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

Elin turned to face her, softness in her silver eyes, and something else. Understanding? Then Elin smiled, and it was reminiscent of the sunrise: a quiet, slow, pink expanse across the plains of her face, unhurried and quite beautiful. But there was a sadness underneath it.

“Is there anything you wish to tell me, Arwyn?”

Arwyn shifted in her seat. “Tell you?”

“Yes. Anything you wish to say? Confide? Friend to friend?”

Arwyn looked toward the sun and closed her eyes once more. It felt like a warm palm against her face. She allowed its warmth for a moment before standing and turning away from it, feeling like she didn’t deserve the comfort. She had told no one of her ability—that she was an empath. It was too much of a violation, and she had already hurt Zeph with her truth. She couldn’t hurt Elin, too. She couldn’t lose another, and she most certainly would if Elin knew how often Arwyn had tapped into her emotions without consent. She fought the tears that threatened to spill and shook her head.

“You forget,” Elin said. “I can see a person’s happiest memories, and I have seen yours.”

Arwyn turned to face her. “What?” She searched her memories, trying to capture a happy one.

“Surprised?”

“I am, rather.” The only ones Arwyn remembered were the ones that brought her grief. “Tell me what you have seen.”

Elin lifted a brow. “All the days your father taught you Nyokou.”

Arwyn’s legs felt wooden. “You…you know about that?”

“I have no more control over the memories I capture than you do over the emotions that you feel from others. We are not all that different, you and I.”

“I didn’t realize that was a happy memory. I…” Her voice trailed off, her eyes skimming over the tops of trees. There was a warm breeze at her back, blowing her lavender hair forward, obstructing her view. She thought about all the hours her father had spent with her, instructing her, teaching her strength and control. Her mouth curved into a smile. Of course it was a happy memory. It was time spent with her father. Time she would give anything to have back.

“You haven’t had anyone tell you how special you are in a long, long time, Arwyn. I want you to know, I think you are truly special indeed.”

“Don’t,” Arwyn said, remembering the look on Zeph’s face, feeling the betrayal he had felt. She had robbed him of his mind, stripped him of his emotions. She took that which did not belong to her. “Don’t say that.”

What she had done was infinitely more personal than knowing someone’s happiest memory. She had seen his deepest, darkest secrets. And for the life of her, she didn’t know why or how. Although she had done it before—when he was on the mountain and he had poisoned himself. Both times had been when Zeph was in utter despair…defenseless…ravished with grief and pain. Arwyn had been ravished with it as well and had somehow fallen in with him, pulling her under, until she was drowning in his agony. She could no more pull herself out of it than he could.

A cold sweat trickled down Arwyn’s spine. Nyokou had not prepared her for this. This was…

“Love…” Elin said. “It is the power behind your powers. It is what propels you. It is what moves you. And you love my brother.”

Arwyn’s eyes snapped to Elin’s. “What?” she asked with a rasp.

“I see how you look at him.” Her voice lowered. “And I see how he looks at you.”

Arwyn shook her head. “I think he hates me now.”

Elin closed the distance between them and took Arwyn by the hand. “Zeph is capable of many things. Hating you isn’t one of them.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure.”

“What happened?”

“Oh, Elin,” she said, “I wouldn’t even know where to begin.”

“That night with Zeph. You…know what happened to him, don’t you?”

Arwyn looked away from Elin’s prying eyes. “Why would you say that?”

“I spoke to Favián.”

Arwyn swallowed. “I see. What did he tell you?”

“He told me what happened in your chambers, how you became ill. He’s quite worried about you. And you’re avoiding him, as you have avoided us all for several days.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m not looking for an apology. I just want to know how I can help. I know your abilities, Arwyn. Do you know what happened to him?” When Arwyn didn’t immediately respond, Elin pressed further. “Do you know what happened to my brother?”

Arwyn shook her head. “I can’t tell you.”

“Why?”

Arwyn squeezed her eyes shut and whispered, “It is not my story to tell.”

“I can’t help him if I don’t know.”

Visions of a little white-haired boy screaming shot through Arwyn’s mind and she pulled away from Elin. Clutching her arms around her middle, she said, “I cannot be the one to tell you. I cannot betray him twice. I cannot.”

“Betray him? You haven’t betrayed him.”

“Haven’t I? He did not want me to know. Yet I do. I didn’t mean for it to happen.” A sob escaped before Arwyn could call it back.

“No, luv, you didn’t betray him,” Elin said. “I think because you are—connected—that you are able to read him, see him, on such a deep level that—”

“It doesn’t matter,” Arwyn said. “I hurt him.” Tears welled in her eyes and brushed down her cheeks. “I feel it. Right here,” she said, hand over her heart. “And it hurts me to know that I did that, because I had promised him that I would heal him.”

“Oh, Arwyn,” Elin said, pulling her into a hug. “You carry the world’s emotions on your shoulders. Who is going to carry yours for you?”

Long minutes passed with neither speaking. Instead, they watched the sun rise high into the sky, the pink fading into a warm yellow glow, shining down as if there were no death, or evil, or heartache. How nice that would be if it were so.

Sometime later, they got up and walked off together. Their problems had not been solved, though perhaps their friendship had been strengthened.

 

Zeph waited a few more minutes before stepping out from behind the bushes. He stared in the direction Elin and Arwyn had gone, his sister’s words whispering in his ears.

“You carry the world’s emotions on your shoulders. Who is going to carry yours for you?”

Elin had stared directly at him, over Arwyn’s shoulder. She had known all along he was there. Elin hadn’t just been speaking to Arwyn. She had been speaking to him as well.

He sat on the bench and thought about what had been said. Arwyn was an empath. How had he never known? He leaned forward and scrubbed his hands over his face.

How had he never known?

Zeph journeyed the grounds around the monastery, keeping his head down, hair tied back from his face in a neat queue, hands behind his back. He had not spoken to anyone since the incident, the one that lingered on everyone’s mind and filled them with questions never asked aloud. He passed several monks, who gave him a wide berth, but he noticed they did not avoid looking at him as they normally did. Once or twice he caught a sympathetic eye, a polite nod, though no words were ever spoken. Not to him. There was still fear among them. He frightened them. For that reason, Zeph maintained a respectable distance. He did not blame them for their trepidation. He had earned it, after all.

For the duration of the afternoon, Zeph walked in silence, trying not to think about his parents, unable to keep them from his thoughts.

Don’t do this, Son. Please. You don’t know what you’re doing!

When he found himself at their graves, his knees hit the dirt. “Mother. Father. I’m so sorry.” The words were an inelegant, strangled sound. “If I could go back…” He tried concentrating on the names on the crosses as he spoke, but they became a watery blur in front of him. “If I could just go back, I wouldn’t have done it.”

He wouldn’t have pledged his fealty to the Unseelie. If he had never done so, his parents would still be alive. He may be dead instead, but he rather thought that was how it should have been. Perhaps he should have never been born at all.

“You cannot change the past.”

Zeph closed his eyes as Searly came around and sat beside him on the ground. Searly’s tone had been neither confrontational nor judgmental. Simply matter-of-fact.

“No, I cannot,” Zeph answered.

“The fact that you want to undo your misdeeds gives me great hope. You may not have the power to undo your sins. You do have the power to change, Zeph.”

“It is too late for me.”

“As long as you breathe, it is never too late.”

“Spoken like a true man of the cloth. You, who have never done a misdeed in your life.”

Searly turned to face Zeph then, sadness brushing the edges of his brown eyes. “I came mightily close to breaking my vows once. The temptation was so great, so overpowering, I would have done anything to have one moment…” Searly looked away, breaking off his words with a hiss.

“Lolith,” Zeph whispered, remembering the moment of which Searly spoke.

Searly gave a curt nod. “So consumed with lust I was that I cared not a whit about my vows.”

“Nothing happened,” Zeph said. “You didn’t—”

“Not because I was strong enough to resist. As I recall, I was bound by a magical worm that prevented me from being able to move.”

Zeph didn’t want to talk about Lolith. He knew all too well the spells she wielded on her victims, for he, too, had been her victim. He hated her. Hated what she had done to him. Zeph looked away, staring off into the forest beyond. “I wouldn’t have let her touch you,” Zeph said quietly.

Zeph could feel Searly’s eyes shift toward him. “Indeed, you did not.”

A moment passed where neither spoke. The sun was beginning to set. Soon it would be dark, and Zeph was anxiously anticipating it. Darkness was his friend. His home.

“What are the things you care about, Zeph?”

Without even thinking, Zeph answered, “I care about my sister. I care about Arwyn.” He smiled wanly. Betrayed or no, he cared for Arwyn. How could he not? Elin was right. He was capable of many things. Hating Arwyn wasn’t one of them.

“Is that all?” Searly asked.

Zeph chuffed, “They are everything.”

“You’re leaving someone out.”

“Who?”

“Yourself.”

“I’m not—”

“What is your story, Zeph? How will it be written?”

Zeph chuffed again and came to a stand. He pointed to the graves. “This is my story. It’s already been written.”

“No,” Searly said, coming to a stand as well. “Those are crosses you must bear. And you will bear them. But they are only a part of your story. What is the rest of it?”

Zeph stared at the monk, blinking. “I-I don’t know.”

“Aye. Because it hasn’t been written yet. Go write it, Zeph. Give yourself the story worthy of your parents. If you owe them anything, you owe them that.”

“Zeph,” Favián said, his mouth twisting into a wry smile.

To his credit, Zeph didn’t startle, though it was easy to deduce the anger that snaked along Zeph’s veins to see Favián in his bedchamber in the dead of night.

“Let yourself in, did you?” Zeph asked as he closed the door behind him, not at all gently.

Favián shrugged, relaxing in a chair next to the bed. “Thought perhaps I’d repay the visit. You don’t mind, do you?”

Zeph did mind. It was as plain as the nose on his face, but he wouldn’t give Favián the satisfaction. “Of course not. I hope I didn’t make you wait long. I know how you fear the dark.”

Favián grinned, like a cat who got the cream. Hand to chest, he said, “He’s worried about me. Wait until I tell Tío.”

It was hard to see—it really was rather dark—but Favián would have wagered everything he owned that he saw Zeph smile...just a little.

“What do you want?” Zeph asked, removing his robe, discarding it at the foot of the bed.

Favián was surprised to see simple clothing underneath: white tunic, white breeches, white boots with sharp, pointed toes. He watched Zeph fill a cup with water at a side table before he answered. “I am here because of Arwyn.”

The cup hovered at Zeph’s lips. “What about Arwyn?”

Favián leaned forward, all joking aside. Like Zeph, Favián had learned how to skirt the edges when he didn’t want to be seen or noticed. And no one noticed Favián lurking in a monastery full of shadows. Over the past days, he had watched over Arwyn like the brother he had promised her he could be. He had to, for she was not accepting his visits. She left her room in wee hours to avoid him, to avoid everyone. She was growing paler, and everything about her seemed so…fragile. Something needed to be done. “You need to talk to her.”

Zeph drank the water. He put the cup down then opened the door. “Get out.”

Favián stood, met Zeph eye to eye. “Talk to her.”

“Is there something wrong with your human ears? I said get out.”

“Is there something wrong with your big Fae ears? I said talk to her.”

Zeph’s jaw twitched.

Favián shook his head, forcing back his own irritation. “She’s not eating. I doubt she’s sleeping. I know you care about her. Forget about me, compadre. This has nothing to do with me. Talk to her because she needs you to talk to her.”

Zeph’s eyes fluttered and then fixated on a spot somewhere over Favián’s right shoulder.

Favián gritted his teeth. “She needs you.”