I catch my breath, the shock of my memories wearing off, and join her, preparing the stitches. Once we are finished, Seri wraps the wound with clean bandages, and then washes her hands. "You did well," she says, glancing at me. "The first time is always difficult. Treating someone who has caused you pain."
I lean back against a pillow, sighing. "It should have been easier. I don’t care for pain. Only peace. Only healing."
"That is how it should be. But all of us have darkness within. Sometimes it comes to the surface. A reminder of why we must keep it at bay."
I think on her words. Perhaps there is a reason behind the suffering and pain, a purpose to my thoughts of vengeance against Levi and Metsi. Perhaps they remind me to do better, to be good.
"Thank you," I say.
"For what?"
"For reminding me I can still do the right thing."
***
The sun is setting by the time Seri tells me to go home. "I’ll need you tomorrow, so get some rest." I try to argue, but she runs this Healing Tree, and so I leave, traveling back to the palace, admiring the gold hues on the horizon. Something catches my eye.
A tree.
A man.
A rope.
Lars hangs from a withered branch, his face pale and blue, his body still. They hanged him. When no one was looking. They killed him. And I could do nothing.
Nothing.
Nothing.
How could you bring this upon us? The voices echo in my mind. You were our friend! You were our friend and you let us die!
I push away the thoughts and climb the tree, then untie the rope. I take what remains of Lars into my arms, and I weep for what has been done. And later, when the sun has set, and my tears are gone, I carry his body to the palace, to Dean’s room, and I lay the body at his feet. "You will give him a proper burial," I say. "You will give him the respect of a free man."
Then I head to the east wing and find my friends.
I stand in the doorway of the room, uncertain if I should go in, but they both look up and smile at me. "Oh darlin’," says Es, half-awake, laying in a white bed with Pete at her side. "I had the nastiest dream. My hair was all messed up."
I smile and cross the room to hug her.
And then I tell them everything.
From the beginning.
About my death.
About the deal my mother made to save me.
About the deal I made to save her.
They’re both more shaken than shocked by the story, maybe because they’re here in Inferna, seeing the truth with their own eyes.
"You could have told us," says Pete, his eyes cold. He reminds me of the way Ace looked when he learned that Fen tried to kill their father. And I decide to never hide the truth from people I care about again. I only hope I still have time to remedy what has passed.
"I tried to protect you from this world," I say. "I didn’t want anyone sacrificing their life, their happiness, to try and help me. But I know, now, I should have told you. I should have let you make your own decision."
Pete nods, and then a warmth enters his eyes I haven’t seen since we reached Inferna. The tension leaves his body and he begins to weep.
And so I hug him.
And hold him.
And the three of us talk through the night, laughing about the past, and remembering how good it feels to have friends.
Chapter 8
THE PRIMAL ONE
"I want to be king. Out of all my brothers, I think I would be the best choice. Out of all of us, I alone want peace. I alone want to end this war. And with you, I know I can."
—Asher
Dean does as I ask, and Fen holds me as we attend the funeral for Lars the next morning, Es and Pete at my side. It is a quiet affair. Only the five of us.
Later that day, Varis resumes my training.
We study at the library I stumbled upon, pouring over books. Varis shows me a spell to translate the language of the Fae into any language I know, and I begin to make quick progress on my reading.
"The amount of knowledge here is astounding," says the Druid, as he studies the different shelves and their contents. "I thought the vampires would have destroyed such volumes. Some of these have even been lost to Avakiri."
I think on it, grateful for the distraction from mathematical spells. "The Princes of Hell still rely on magic for ease of life. They have Keepers and others who cast spells. These Fae must learn somehow."
Varis rubs his chin, studying a particularly dusty volume. He seems enthralled by the writing. "Yes, I believe you are right. I suppose I always thought the knowledge was passed down orally, through storytelling and lessons."
"It usually is," says a new voice. Dean, standing in the hallway, his shirt off again, his muscles glistening under the golden hue of the lanterns. He looks a god amongst his domain. Perfect and powerful.
"My brothers burned most of the Fae texts they came across," he continues. "But I would not part with such knowledge, such beauty of language." He walks forward and pours himself a drink from a bottle on the table. He offers me one, but I shake my head.
"We are studying," says Varis.
Dean grins. "And I’m offering to make it a little more exciting."
The Druid shakes his head.
I sigh and reach for the drink. "Why not? I’ve studied all day, and yet I’ve learned nothing to help me fight."
Dean’s eyes go wide, and he turns to the Druid. "What are you teaching her, old man?"