Of Blood and Bone (Chronicles of The One #2)(16)

“It’s really beautiful, Travis. You … must’ve worked on it a long time.”

“I know you have to go.” When his voice thickened, he swallowed. “I know you’re afraid, but you’ll come back.”

“Yes. I’ll come back.”

“You’ll be different, but you’ll come back. I’ll bring Grace.”

She started to speak to her father, struggled for what she wanted to say. Colin and Ethan came out and spared her.

“I don’t want you to go.” Ethan flung his arms around her legs. “Don’t go away.”

“I have to, for a while, and I need you to do something for me.” She opened her bag, took out the pink bear. “I need you to take care of her, okay? She really needs to be snuggled at night.”

“You should take her with you.”

“She doesn’t want to go. She wants to stay here. Will you take care of her until I get home?”

“I won’t let anything happen to her. I made you this. Well, mostly Dad made it, but I helped, and I said make a flower, and I painted it. It’s a birthday flower.”

She took the little wooden tulip painted bright and inexpertly pink and green. “It’s really pretty. Thanks, Ethan.”

She crouched to tuck it into her bag, then unbuckled her knife sheath to replace it with her new one.

“I did this.” Colin shoved a little box at her.

From inside, she lifted out a small wind chime. Thin white stones, pieces of smooth colored glass hung from fishing wire attached to an old metal hook.

“It’s beautiful.”

“It’s stupid, but—”

“It’s beautiful.”

She saw tears in him, barely held back, and hugged him hard. “You’re the president now,” she whispered. “Don’t forget.”

When her mother came out, Fallon saw the signs of weeping even through the glamour.

“There’s some of your cake, and bread from this morning, some meat and cheese, and … Well, here’s Travis with Grace. I’ll put this in your saddlebag.”

“I’ll do it.” Colin took the food pack, and the duffel.

“It’s so fast,” Lana murmured. “It’s all too fast.”

Afraid she’d lose her nerve, Fallon bent down, hugged Ethan. “Take care of the bear, and don’t let the big guys push you around.”

She straightened, turned to Travis, held tight. “Don’t even think about moving into my room.”

Then to Colin. “Try not to be such a big jerk.”

“You’re the jerk.”

“Try not to screw up too much while I’m gone.”

She stepped back, turned to her mother. “Mom.”

“This is from your dad and me.”

Fallon reached for the chain that held what she knew was her father’s wedding ring and her dad’s St. Michael’s medal. Tears and love flooded her throat.

“I’ll always wear it.” She slipped the chain around her neck. “Always. Mom.” She fell into her mother’s embrace. “I love you. I love you so much.”

“I love you. I’ll think of you every day, and count the days off until you’re home again. Shine bright, my baby, and I’ll know. Send me a sign,” Lana whispered.

“I will.”

Fighting tears, she turned into her father’s arms. “Daddy. I love you.”

“If you need me. Listen.” He cupped her face, lifted it. “If you need me, call for me. I’ll hear you. I’ll come to you. I’ll find a way.”

“I’m not afraid because I have you. I’m not afraid because you love me. I’ll come home.” She pressed her cheek to his. “I swear it.”

She grabbed the reins, launched into the saddle. “My fifteenth birthday, don’t forget. I want presents.”

She set Grace into a trot. Mallick, already mounted, rode up to her, gestured south.

She turned, one more look, saw her family standing together, close, touching, in front of the house where she’d been born.

Colin straightened his shoulders, sent her a snappy salute that made her lips curve, her eyes blur.

She lifted her hand into a wave, then turned her eyes south and urged Grace into a gallop.

Mallick let her set the pace. He could give her free rein for a few miles, see how long it took for her to steady herself. And his sturdy old bay could handle the run.

They passed another farm, smaller than the Swifts’, where a woman and a skinny boy dug for potatoes. They paused in their work, and in the few seconds it took to thunder by, Mallick felt a wave of longing from the boy.

For the girl, and for what the boy saw as freedom.

They galloped on, past a scatter of abandoned houses with lawns gone back to meadows. A few sheep grazed on the rock-pocked hills, and their elderly shepherdess stood on a mound with an old-fashioned crook in one hand and a rifle slung over her back.

The image of her, gray hair under a worn cap, the rough gray rocks pushing out of the green, the white sheep mindlessly cropping, brought him a quick, unexpected tug of nostalgia.

When Fallon slowed to a trot, then a walk—more for her horse’s sake than her own, Mallick concluded—she turned for the first time to look at him directly.