The Drowned Woods (59)

“Are there so many in search of magic?” she asked. “People just wander into Annwvyn and never return?”

He shrugged again. “Enough. People—desperate people, in particular—will risk much for…” He trailed off, searching for the right word.

“Power?” she said.

“Choices,” he replied. “Those without choices are often willing to risk themselves for the chance of something better.” He looked down at his own hands. “I know I did.”

Sometimes Mer forgot that she was not the only person who’d had choices taken from her. Fane had lost his family, too, and not because he’d been bundled away by a spymaster.

“Well,” she said. “At least we’ll both have some choices when this is over.”

He reached for his shirt, testing the dampness with his thumb against the shoulder seam. “You think so?”

“We’ll have coin,” she said. “It can buy choices—like travel and lodging and bribes. We can go anywhere we want.”

“We?” he said.

The word hadn’t sunk in, not until he repeated it back to her. A hot flush rose in her cheeks. “I mean—I’m leaving Gwaelod. I hadn’t decided where to go. If you—you and Trefor, of course—you could always travel with me, for a time. If you wanted.”

It was a nameless desire that she hadn’t allowed herself to utter aloud. Ever since she’d left Ifanna and the guild, Mer had been on her own. She knew how to survive alone, how to slip in and out of villages unseen and stay unnoticed in the wilds. But in her time traveling with Fane, she thought she might have found someone she could trust. He was honest; he liked her sense of humor; they worked well as a partnership. He might not have trusted himself to fight, but she could fight well enough for both of them.

“If I wanted?” said Fane.

It was like trying to hold a conversation with an echo. She gave him a sour look. “Or maybe not. You said you enjoyed my company. And I like your dog. He’s charming enough to make up for your manners.”

“Forgive me,” he said, the corners of his mouth quirking in a contrite smile. “I did not intend offense. It’s just—it’s a kind offer. And I do appreciate it. But when this is over…” He sighed. “I have somewhere I need to be.”

Mer hid her disappointment behind a small, bright smile. “Ah, I see. I just thought—I mean, it would be pleasant to stop running for a while.”

“You won’t stop running,” he said.

Her smile froze in place.

“You run,” he said, “because it sates you. The way drink sates a drunk or cards soothe a gambler. You fear stillness.”

She turned on him, face hard. “I’m not afraid of—”

“What was the longest you stayed in one place?” he asked. “After you left the guild, I mean.”

Mer racked her memories. “The Scythe and Boot. I was there for three months.”

He nodded. “As I thought.”

She took another step toward him, hands clenched. “Don’t talk about things you don’t know.”

“You fear people,” he said. “Not because they might hurt you. But because they might discover your past and despise you for it.”

“And why would I fear that?” she said.

His eyes were warm and dark. “Because you despise yourself.”

It hurt, hearing those words. Far more than any physical blow. Mer’s jaw clenched hard. There was part of her that yearned to snarl back, to deny all of it. But—but she couldn’t. The truth was, there was part of her that itched to run. Even now, she wanted to turn and walk away from this conversation. To lose herself in movement and work and sleep.

She knew what it was to be haunted—not by ghosts, but by the feeling of wrongness. Perhaps it would have been easier if the spirits of those she’d gotten killed had followed her, plagued her. It would have been some kind of penance. Mer could never apologize in any way that truly mattered, could never make it right. So she’d learned to push the guilt down, to bury it deep. But like any seed given soil and time, self-loathing had grown within her, curled around her ribs like a vine, made itself part of her. She had no idea how to cut it free.

“And what of you?” she said angrily. “I see the way you cringe away from other people. You fear bumping into strangers on the street. Your only companion is a dog. Who are you to offer advice?”

“I never said I was better than you,” he said. “Merely that I know what it’s like. I chose this curse—I could have chosen anything, and I picked a power that no man should have. I am a murderer. I know what it is to hate yourself for past mistakes.”

“Then what are people like us to do?” she said. She meant for it to sound mocking but the words came out brittle.

“I don’t know,” he said. “If I had answers, I wouldn’t be here. I just wished for you to know that I understand.” He began to turn away, to tend to Trefor. “And I do hope you’ll find peace. But it won’t be with me.”

Mer let out a shaky breath. “You were wrong,” she said. “Back at the house, when you said I wouldn’t hesitate to kill you.”

He went still. “You wouldn’t kill me?”