Cenric?
The events of yesterday replay in my mind as I drag myself out of bed and stumble to the washing stand. I pour water into the basin, then add lavender and lemon balm.
As I wash, I can’t shake the image of Finn’s lifeless body. I scrub harder, as if I could wash away the memory along with the dirt. But there’s no erasing what happened. No changing anything.
Finn is gone.
Sadness burrows beneath my skin as I dry myself off. I reach for my new clothes, marveling at their fine quality. The fabric is soft and luxurious against my skin—nicer thananything I have ever owned. Even the surcoat is more elaborate than my usual attire.
From the nearby table, I grab a brush and work it through my curls. The last thing I need is to look like I ran through a lightning storm.
After I braid my hair, I slip the sheathed dagger into my sleeve, then leave the tent.
I join Morwen,Brennah, Ava, and Feyona at the cooking fire, my heart as heavy as the iron pots they are tending. The scent of simmering oats fills the air, but the comforting aroma can’t lift my spirits. I grab a long wooden spoon and stir one of the massive cauldrons of porridge.
Excitement shimmers in Brennah’s eyes as she looks over at me. “Have you seen Cenric?” Before I can answer, she continues, her voice far too cheerful. “He was training with some of the younger warriors yesterday. All I could think about is how much I really want to kiss him.”
I force myself to keep stirring.
“And those arms of his,” Brennah says, “I bet he could lift me with one hand tied behind his back.”
Everything in me wants to snap at her, to tell her to be quiet, but I bite my tongue. It’s not her fault. She doesn’t know how much I love him.
“Brennah, dear,” Morwen interjects gently, “perhaps wecould talk about something else? There’s more to life than handsome warriors.”
Brennah pouts but doesn’t argue.
As we continue preparing the meal, my mind wanders to Finn. My hand trembles, and I nearly lose my grip on the spoon.
“Everly?” Ava’s voice breaks through my thoughts. “Are you all right? You look pale.”
“I’m fine,” I lie, forcing a smile that feels more like a grimace. “I just didn’t sleep well.”
Empathically, Feyona reaches over and squeezes my arm. “We all have those kinds of nights, especially in times like these.”
If only she knew.
I return to my task, stirring the porridge with renewed vigor. If only it could make this pain go away, this ache in my chest, this sadness.
“Do you know what happened to Finn?” Brennah asks, her voice cutting through my thoughts like a knife. “I saw the funeral pyre last night, and I asked one of the warriors who it was. He said Finn, but nothing more.”
The spoon slips from my grasp, clattering against the side of the pot.
“I...” Tears well up in my eyes as I swallow. I blink rapidly, trying to hold them back, but it’s no use. They fall anyway.
“Oh no, Everly, what’s wrong?” Brennah asks, her voice thick with worry.
I open my mouth to respond, but no words come out. How can I possibly explain what happened?
“That’s quite enough of that,” Morwen says, her clear blue eyes sharp as she looks at Brennah. “Everly, why don’t you go fetch some more firewood? We’ll need it to keep these fires going.”
Grateful for the escape, I hurry away from the cooking area. As I walk, I hear Morwen’s voice behind me, gently but firmly redirecting the conversation. “Now, Brennah, let me show you how to properly season this porridge. It’s an old family recipe...”
Tears blur my vision as I make my way to the woodpile at the edge of the camp. Frustrated, I wipe them away, not wanting to cry anymore, not wanting to shatter.
If I fall apart, I’ll never be able to return to my family. Never be able to embrace them again. Never be able to tell them how much I love them.
My hands tremble as I reach for a log. The rough bark scrapes against my palms, but I ignore it.
