I slow.
Smoke drifts across the horizon and the breeze carries in its burnt, violent scent as crocus heads rustle across the white meadow.
My blood shivers.
Haven stops.
It’s a full minute before I work up the nerve to slide off. When I do, I press my booted toe into the icy ground as if to make sure this is real. That the heartbeat and lung-breaths thumping inside of me are the same as those that ripple beneath the earth here.
They are. I can feel the energy, the familiarity of its steady life-rhythm in this place. It is old and purposeful and deep. Not like the Valley of Origin, but . . . it’s a rhythm that has kept going even after everything that existed here was destroyed.
A chain jingles and Colin dismounts beside me.
I ignore him and stare at the mound of flowers pushing up through a snowdrift. The meadow’s now filled with baby saplings and new life, belying the violence done to it. I scan the area until I see it—the little spot where I stood and watched my world fall. I can almost picture the blood spatters in the snow.
Colin stays quiet. Still waiting.
“Do you believe a person is born for violence?”
He looks surprised. I watch him consider it a moment. Then, “I like to think we’re all born to do good, but dark things sometimes get in the way. Why?”
One breath.
Two breaths.
Five breaths.
“Because Eogan helped kill my parents here when I was five.”
His silence reveals his feelings more than the quick jerk of his arm against mine.
After a pause he says, “I’m guessin’ he didn’t know what he was doin’.”
It’s a hopeful statement more than a question, to which I respond, “He didn’t know who they were, but he knew what he was doing. Just like he did with all the people he murdered. And his spending the last few years trying to be sorry doesn’t make it better.”
“No. I doubt anythin’ would.” Colin rubs his neck. “But makin’ a hurtful choice is different than being born for violence—than being truly evil—isn’t it? Just like the things you and I did in our past don’t make us evil.”
I kick the dirt with my shoe. “Eogan believes you and I were born to bring deliverance to Faelen.”
“So?”
I stare out at the smoke-whispered valleys and forests covered in death-eating birds and shrug. “How can you say it’s not a person’s fault when he harms others, whether intentionally or not, but then say it’s honorable when he chooses to help? I mean, what makes a person evil? If you believe a person was born to bring help, then were others born to bring destruction? Was Eogan born to kill my parents?”
Was I born to destroy life, or to defend Faelen?
Colin bumps my shoulder. Then does it again. Until I look up and that bald-boy smirk emerges. “I think some have to fight harder to choose good over evil because the evil’s got it out for them. And maybe it’s because those’re the ones evil knows will become the strongest warriors, recognizing true wickedness when it rears its head.”
Something, a wave, a feeling, a force, tingles up through my feet as if the earth beneath is agreeing with his words.
He slips his arm around mine. “Maybe the ones who’ve struggled with true evil are the ones meant to make the biggest difference against it, you know?”
He hands me Haven’s reins. Pauses. Then plants a kiss on the side of my head and winks. “You ready to go be not evil with the most attractive male friend you’ve ever known?”
I feel a smile edge the corners of my mouth. One last gaze around the sun-drenched meadow and I slip my hand into his. “Thanks.”
With a deep breath I turn to Haven, and I find Breck has been listening. She’s wearing an expression halfway between a smirk and disgust. But when I blink, it’s gone and her look of tired annoyance is back in place.
“By the way . . . what were you doing in the forest earlier, Breck?” I tip my head at her.
Her blind eyes stare at nothing as her lips peel back into a wide, toothy grin. “Hunting.”
“Yeah, about that, Breck,” Colin erupts. “What the kracken? What’s with you? You coulda been killed, you know.”