Page 118 of Cursed Shadows 5

Hemlock House is dead.

Daxeel leaves it to its silence, mounts his steed on the street, steals the reins into his grip, then turns his chin to his shoulder.

He looks back at Kithe, faint lights speckled in the distance, much too dim now that the Cursed Shadows have been released.

His throat swells.

Nari is there, somewhere, in that darkened town.

Just phases ago, it teemed with the same life that Hemlock House once did. A promise of purpose and joy that failed to deliver.

Now, she is there, alone.

She lies in her pitiful bed, Hedda in her arms, tear streaks staining her face. She doesn’t eat, not much.

He knows because, once he awoke from the powder, he went to see her.

He climbed onto the terrace and looked through the window at her sorrow.

Hedda stirred when he slipped inside; she watched him as he set down her treasure box, a small chest that once held a bracelet, but that he filled with gold pieces. Ten thousand of them.

Her tocher.

Then—he left.

No farewell spoken to Nari, no words or looks exchanged.

She slept.

He paid what he owed for stealing her life.

Now, he rides off into the darkness.

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Bed is my ally, my home, my hell.

I do not escape.

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A letter comes. It invites me to Eamon’s funeral in Licht.

I scrunch it in my hand and bring it to my twisting face, and I hold it to me as I weep.

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Home smells like urine and the mould from old food in the kitchen is a thriving ecosystem.

I do not clean.

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