The Blood Spell (Ravenspire, #4)(29)
“Usually he never bothered getting angry at all. He had better ways to make a lesson stick. Remember the cider?”
This time she was the one who laughed—a faint, breath of mirth that died nearly as soon as it left her lips. “I remember that I’d never seen anyone be that violently ill before. How many times did you vomit in our front yard?”
Kellan sniffed. “I was nine. He made me drink the entire jug of fermented cider I’d stolen from his supply. Anyone would’ve been as sick as I was. Maybe worse.”
“Ten times? Eleven?” Blue turned to look at him. “I remember thinking that we’d finally found the thing you’d be famous for.”
His brows rose. “I remember thinking I was going to die by puking up my internal organs. Never did steal again, though.”
“Did you ever drink fermented cider again?”
He shuddered. “Just the thought of it makes me feel sick. But he was right to make me drink it. I needed a father figure to step in and give me some limits. I can’t count how many times he did that for me after my own father died.”
She tried to smile, but the hot, sharp thing inside her was growing. Turning her face away, she gazed at the orchard again.
“I miss Pierre,” he said quietly.
She pressed her lips closed and tried to swallow, but the thing in her chest had spread to her throat. Her voice sounded choked when she asked, “Why are you being nice to me?”
“Because I’ve been in your shoes, and I know how it feels.”
She clenched her jaw as the hot, sharp thing surged, stinging her tongue with its bitterness.
“When my father died, everyone asked how I was. Told me things would be all right. Time would heal the wound, and it was lucky I had him for the time I did.” Kellan’s voice was steady. Every word felt like it was shredding a bit of her self-control.
“But I didn’t feel lucky. I didn’t want time to heal anything. I just wanted him back. I still do. I always wished someone would’ve told me it was all right to scream and cry and be broken over the heartache of it all.” He turned to look at her, and her eyes were drawn to his. “So I’m going to tell you. It’s all right to miss your father, Blue. It’s all right to be angry that he’s gone when he shouldn’t be. You can fall apart for a little while if you need to. Nessa, your grand-mère, and I will be here to help pick up the pieces when you’re ready.”
She held his gaze for a long moment while her heart pounded and her knees shook. And then the hot, sharp thing that had been coiled inside her since the moment she’d pulled back the cloak to reveal Papa’s face broke loose, and she collapsed against him and sobbed.
He held her. Let her cry and didn’t tell her things would get better. Didn’t say that he was sorry or that everything happened as it was supposed to. He just held on tight and let himself be her anchor as the grief tore its way out of her, raw and angry.
And when she was spent and weariness swamped her, he scooped her up in his arms and carried her back through the crowd and into the little farmhouse, Nessa at his heels. They tucked her into her bed, and Nessa crawled up beside her, her skinny arms wrapped firmly around Blue’s waist.
Somewhere outside, the sea hawk cried, shrill and distant, and the crowd murmured while the iron bells brought to honor Papa chimed in the breeze, but inside Blue curled up beneath Grand-mère’s quilt with Nessa on one side, Pepperell on the other, and Kellan’s tall body folded up in her little desk chair as sleep took her.
TWELVE
THE DAY AFTER Papa’s funeral, Blue woke to the noise of knocking on the farmhouse’s front door. Stretching, she nudged Pepperell off her stomach as the sound of Grand-mère’s footsteps left the spare room, where she’d been staying, and headed downstairs.
Blue wasn’t sure when Nessa and Kellan had left. She’d awakened once well after sunset, and they were gone. It was strange that Kellan of all people had been the one person to see what she needed and give it to her. Or maybe not so strange since Kellan knew firsthand what it felt like to suddenly lose a father. Still, it was unsettling to realize she’d leaned on him so completely.
Before she could waste any more time thinking about Kellan, she sat up and tried to plan out her day. She needed to check on the shop, though the thought of retracing the route from the farmhouse to the Gaillard merchant district, passing by the place where Papa had been killed, made her feel shaky inside.
Still, she hadn’t been there for nearly a week, and she was sure orders were piling up. She had no other means to support herself, so letting those customers take their business elsewhere while she grieved wasn’t an option.
Grand-mère’s voice rose sharply, and Blue scrambled out of bed.
It didn’t take much to get Grand-mère riled up these days. She was furious over the death of her son-in-law and the hurt to her granddaughter, and anyone who caused her irritation was an easy target.
Yesterday, she’d snapped at the milkman and threatened to light his barns on fire. The day before, she’d insulted the magistrate’s intelligence because the woman had no leads on who had killed Papa. Blue had no idea which hapless townsperson was currently irritating Grand-mère, but it was best to get herself downstairs quickly and intervene before Grand-mère forgot her own rule against pulling out her wand and reminding others that she could do magic.