A Dawn of Onyx (The Sacred Stones, #1)(82)

“You’ll never know.”

“Add it to the list,” I mumbled, and took a huge bite of the sweet bread.

When he didn’t respond I turned to face him, but he was lost in thought.

“I don’t mean to keep things from you, Arwen.” I didn’t like when he used my name. Not that I fully understood the feathered nickname, but I had come to learn that ‘Arwen’ meant only bad news. “There is some knowledge that would only bring you more pain.”

His words brought back a singular memory of the strange power that had seeped out from him when I was dying, and brought me into a sleeplike state. Stronger than any medicine, but not quite unconsciousness.

My breathing went shallow.

I scrambled back on the bed away from him. “You…”

“So you remember that.” He said, his face solemn, resigned.

“What was that? Are you… some kind of warlock?” But I knew—that had not been magic.

He frowned. “Perhaps if I had told you weeks ago, you wouldn’t have nearly died.”

I wanted to ask how the two things were at all related.

“Finish eating,” he said after a moment. “Then, let’s take a walk.”





TWENTY-THREE


Shadowhold’s gardens were a welcome sight for my weakened eyes. Trellises of the expected gardenia and lilac surrounded pitch-black fountains with floating blossoms. Velvety purple roses bloomed alongside twisted black voodoo lilies, and ethereal violet and wisteria hung overhead. Flowers I now knew were called bat flower, dragon arum, and spider orchid flourished in abundance. It was a gothic display of beauty, but one I had come to love. I wondered if part of me always knew there was more to this place than horror.

Kane strolled alongside me, but I kept my distance. I knew he wouldn’t hurt me—he had just saved my life.

But I was uneasy, to say the least. Confused, afraid—I felt like I was on the precipice of something that I wasn’t sure I wanted to know. But it was too late for that now. The Arwen that would rather stay in the dark, naively waiting for everyone to take care of her, make decisions for her…

The thought of that version of myself brought me to the brink of nausea.

We moved slowly, taking in the stillness and chirping birds. After bathing quickly and putting on a clean dress, I had met him out in the early evening air.

And he had yet to say a word.

“I need answers, Kane,” I said, not unkindly. But it was true. Enough was enough.

“I know,” he said, resolve fading from his eyes. “I just need to… think.”

Fine. I could be patient.

We strolled through the garden in silence until we passed the same gloomy flowers, which reminded me of something. “The white lilies. In your room.”

It wasn’t really a question, but he answered me anyway.

“I thought they might remind you of home.”

My heart swelled. “They did. Thank you.”

He hesitated. “Happy memories, I hope?”

I turned his question around in my head. “Mostly.”

When he didn’t respond I looked up. He was watching me with a strange intensity.

“What is it?”

“While you slept, you were calling out for someone to stop. I thought you might have been dreaming of the beast that attacked you, but then you kept saying this man’s name.” I could tell he was trying with all of his internal strength to be gentle, but his eyes were all pupil. “I never stopped thinking of those scars I saw on your back in your washroom. Arwen, did someone hurt you?”

Something about the kindness in his voice made me feel sick. I didn’t want to be saved anymore. Pitied.

“No. I mean, yes. A long time ago, when I was young. I’m fine now.” I watched him, watching me. “Obviously,” I added, dumbly.

Kane looked like he could topple mountains.

“Who?” He gritted the word out.

I hadn’t told anyone this in a long time. Only Ryder, actually. Once I was old enough that the memories felt like someone else’s life. I had made him promise to never tell Leigh or our mother.

A truth for a truth, maybe.

I steeled myself.

“My stepfather Powell would beat me. I don’t really know why. I think he hated me because I wasn’t his. It’s not a very good reason. But sometimes people are just looking to give their pain to someone else and will use any excuse they can find. My family never knew.”

“How?” He asked.

“My mother was always sick; I knew she couldn’t live without him. I couldn’t put that on her. Leigh was too young to burden. Ryder and Powell were so close. I could heal my broken bones and welts pretty quickly.”

“And where is that pathetic creature now? With your family?”

I shook my head. “He died years ago. A stroke.”

“Shame.” Kane’s eyes simmered.

I gave him a questioning look.

“Bastard got off far too easily,” he said, looking down, jaw tight. When I didn’t respond he added, “I’m sorry you had to suffer alone. I’m sorry you had to suffer at all.” Again, with that pained gentleness.

“Thank you,” I said. And I meant it. “But now, it’s your turn. No more stalling.” I steeled myself. “What did I see?”