Final Debt

My heart flew into my throat.

Jethro stood up, supporting the box and swatting at dust motes on his jeans. “I hid it because I was asked to by someone I cared about.”

Moving toward the table, he placed the offering in the centre. “She asked me to give this to you. She knew I’d come for you once she was gone, but she also knew I was different.”

I couldn’t move. I couldn’t take my eyes off the carton. “Different?”

“She caught me one day. She caught me before I had the chance to have another lesson. She didn’t fully understand what I was, but she guessed enough that it made her trust me. I wanted to tell her not to be so stupid. I was still my father’s son. But she didn’t give me a choice.

“She told me I would fall in love with you. She told me you would win. She also told me that if I let you help me, everything could be different.”

A tear glassed my vision then spilled over. Talking about my mother, learning new memories I didn’t share was wondrous as well as bittersweet.

I didn’t notice I’d moved forward until my fingers traced her initials. “She told you all of that?”

Jethro chuckled quietly. “She told me a lot of things. She also told Kes. I think she preferred him over me—he was the one everyone fell in love with—but she trusted us with different tasks.”

I finally met his eyes, tearing mine from the box. “What did she make you do?”

Jethro nodded at the table. “She wanted me to keep this safe for you. She said one day, I would find the right time to give this to you. And when I did, she hoped it meant things hadn’t gone the way they had for her. That you’d won.

“At the time, I almost hated her for being so cocky and sure. I hated I’d come across weak enough that she dare predict my future. But at the same time, I loved her for seeing things in me I hadn’t even permitted myself to see. I loved she thought I was worthy of your love. I loved that she wanted me to take you because, ultimately, she knew I’d lose and you’d win and together we’d fight.”

I struggled to breathe as more tears joined the first. I wanted to ask so many questions. I wanted Jethro to regale me of every time he’d conversed with my mother. I wanted to hoard his memories as my own and build a picture of her strength after she’d been taken from us.

But I didn’t want to rush something so precious. Another time. Another night. When people weren’t waiting to say goodbye.

Sucking in a breath, I asked quietly, “And Kes? What was his task?”

Jethro’s face tightened with pain. “You already know. He completed his promise within days of you being with us.” His eyes narrowed, willing me to recall.

What had Kes done apart from taking me into his quarters? He’d given me sketching paper. Become my friend. Laughed with me. Entertained me and granted normalcy while I swam in bewilderment.

“He was to become my friend.”

Jethro nodded. “Your mother knew no one could replace Vaughn. You’d grown up together. You loved each other so much. But she also knew not having that connection would be one of the hardest things you’d have to face. So she asked Kes to be your brother while your true one couldn’t be there.”

My stomach knotted as I wrapped arms around myself. Kes’s friendship had been invaluable, but now, it’d become priceless knowing every touch and joke had come out of respect for my mother.

In a way, it could’ve cheapened Kes’s kindness to me—knowing he’d been asked to do so—but I didn’t see it that way. I saw it as a selfless deed, and I was confident enough in our mutual affection that he hadn’t just done it for Emma. He’d done it for himself, for whatever bond blossomed between us.

Jethro came closer, moving behind me to envelop me in a hug. My back fell into his chest, my head tilting to the side for his kisses to land on my neck. “She also asked him to give you the Weaver Journal. I knew you thought that was a tool for my family to spy on your thoughts. That we were the ones to create such a tradition. But we didn’t.”

His lips trailed lovingly over my collar to my ear. “That was a Weaver secret and at least one Hawk in every generation kept it hidden. Kes was tasked to give it to you. But he wasn’t asked to tell you why he’d given it. It was yours to do what you wanted—write in it or not. Read it or ignore it. The choice was yours.”

How could I learn so much in such a few short sentences? How could I fall in love with the dead even more than when they were alive?

Spinning in Jethro’s hold, I pressed my face against his chest. “Thank you. Thank you for telling me.”

His embrace tightened. “Thank you for making your mother’s premonitions come true.”

We stood still for so many heartbeats, thanking the dead, reliving the secrets, rejoicing in the rightful end.

Finally, Jethro let me go. “Open it. And then we’ll join the others.”

I looked at the box. The air around it seemed to throb with welcome, begging me to look inside.

Jethro shuffled, moving toward the door.

I held out my hand. “Wait. Don’t go.”

He halted. “You don’t want to be on your own?”

“No.” Shaking my head, I smiled. “I want you beside me. She would want you to be here.”

Biting his lip, he returned to my side.

Wordlessly, I pulled the box closer and slid off the lid.

A puff of lint flurried with the opening pressure, scattering onto the table-top. My heart stopped beating as I reached into the tiny coffin of memories and pulled out the letter sitting on top.