Page 89 of The Witch and His Crow

Between his state, Romy’s disappearance and my shattered body, I didn’t know where to start. I crumpled the note in my hand, feeling the presence of my Gift returning beneath my skin. The thistlebane was wearing off, which meant I’d been out of it for hours.

Tears pooled in my eyes. I tried to swallow down the lump in my throat, but I couldn’t. Here I was, pathetic and weak, before a man who was on his deathbed only yesterday. My breathing came on thick and fast, aching my broken ribs and bruised chest.Through the pain, the sobbing began, so much so that I couldn’t form a word.

Arwyn forced his way out of bed. I couldn’t even tell him to stop, to rest. He hobbled over to me, wearing nothing but black boxer shorts that clung to his muscled thighs as he knelt beside me.

Without another word, he wrapped his arms around me and pulled me to him. I gave in willingly, human contact feeling like the only magic that could save me. He lowered his chin on my chest, anchoring himself to me as I cried. There were no questions, no expectations, no requests for information. Only gentle shushing as he rubbed his hand on my back, painting circles of warmth on my skin.

‘I’ve got you,’ Arwyn whispered beneath his breath. ‘I’m never going to leave.’

Those five words were my undoing. Weak, exhausted and with an aching heart, I cried into Arwyn’s shoulder, feeling the tears smudge between his warm skin and mine.

Arwyn held me like that for a long while. It took me that long to gather control back over my emotions. When my torso stopped trembling and the tears dried on my cheeks, Arwyn pulled back and roamed his eyes over me.

‘You look like shit,’ he said, giving me a tiny smile.

I sniffed, throat aching from the crying. ‘Yousmelllike shit.’

He nodded. ‘Fair enough. How long have I been…’

‘Six days. Give or take.’

Arwyn’s gaze was lost to the wall beside me as he took this information in. ‘That explains why I feel like this. Are you ready to talk about it?’ he asked, carefully.

I shook my head, refusing to use my words because I was a coward. ‘Not yet.’

‘Ok,’ he said, looking around the room. It felt so empty without Romy. Even though she wasn’t here, I felt herdisappointment in me press down like a solid weight. Arwyn reached for my jaw, brushing a firm thumb over my skin. I winced as he drew back, knowing I likely looked as terrible as my body felt.

‘I need to wash all this blood off,’ I said.

I need a distraction. I need to not think about any of this.

‘You need to rest first,’ Arwyn looked to the slightly open door. ‘Then we should gather our things and find a new place to stay. It’s not safe here anymore.’

‘What about Romy?’ I asked so suddenly that Arwyn rocked back.

He laid a hand on my cheek, soft fingers melting me to the core. ‘She’ll find us, when she is good and ready.’

‘Did you… did you see what she left?’

Arwyn paused before replying. ‘No. I didn’t.’

He was lying. I could tell that just by looking at him. But I had to trust it was for good reason, for protecting me against how much I’d hurt my friend. Friends weren’t something I was good at, nor used to. And the one who’d slipped with ease into that category had left me.

And I deserved it.

I tried to stand, but it took Arwyn to help me. My joints had locked, my knees screaming. Even the clicking of my bones sounded like a plea for me not to move. ‘I should be helping you,’ I said to Arwyn as he took my body weight.

His reply knocked the remaining wind out of my lungs. ‘You did, Hector.’

The moment of silence that followed was thick with tension. It distracted me from everything, until he was my only focus. Arwyn locked his gaze with mine until I lost myself in the blue of them. ‘I dreamt of you. I… I felt you at my side, even if I couldn’t tell you. It was you, Hector.’

What could I say to that? Nothing. No words could possible vocalise what I felt inside. But then I remembered something about Arwyn’s days of suffering. When he was haunted by his nightmares, he would shout out,forgive me, forgive me.

I couldn’t help but wonder—if he dreamed of me, what was he begging for forgiveness for?

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Ilifted my face to the water, languishing beneath the warm needle-sharp droplets which splashed against it. The shower I stood under was one of many faucets that were lined across a dark green tiled wall. After what we’d been through, even the weak pressure felt like a fountain.

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