Page 38 of Tusk Love

I’m making an absolute hash of this, aren’t I? Let me start over. Dearest Oskar, there are things I should have told you right from the start. I didn’t, because I was scared. Not to say that I’ve uncovered any hidden bastions of courage—I haven’t—but I will tell you now because I owe you this.

You are already aware that I was born in Cyrengreen. What you don’t know is that I was born during a forest fire. My parents were fleeing the blaze when Mother’s water broke. She gave birth to me right then and there, and one of the spirits of the fire attached themself to my soul. This was all explained to my parents by the dwarven hermit of those woods, who chanced upon us and fought back the flames. Hammie nursed Mother back to health after her difficult labor, and he made my totem for me. He packed it with the scorched earth of Cyrengreen, reinforcing my connection to the wildfire spirit, because I was born too early and by all accounts shouldn’t have survived. But, as long as I had the totem, he said, the spirit would lend me its strength and I would live.

Now that I think about it, Hammie was probably a wild mage like Elaras, wasn’t he? Was he telling Mother and Father the truth about the totem, or was it just to prevent them from getting rid of it? They certainly tried to when I was older, but Iwas stubborn, Oskar. I clung to it. It was a part of me. This was the only instance when I was ever a disobedient child.

But I can’t blame my parents for wanting to pretend that I’m normal. My wildfire spirit’s name is Teinidh of the Wailing Embers. She manifests when I am angry or afraid. I cannot control her. I was the one who killed those bandits the night we met. The one who started the fire that you and I barely escaped.

I’ve been a danger to you all this time, but no more. You’ve told me to stop apologizing, but in this case it really is my fault, so I am sorry. You cannot know how sorry I am. But I hope that my departure will finally make things right. And, while I suspect that you’ll be quite cross at first, eventually you’ll see that this was for the best.

Thank you, Oskar, for everything. I wish you a safe and pleasant journey to your mother’s homeland. I must be selfish one last time and request that you think of me on occasion, for I shall miss you very much.

Yours,

Guinevere

Inside the walls of Guinevere’s heart, Teinidh was shaking her head.No one is going to read all of that.

He will.Guinevere could barely see the parchment through her tears. She placed the letter on the table and slung her rucksack onto her shoulders, then made her way to the pearwood trunk across the room. She would drag it along the ground by its handle all the way to Nicodranas if need be, although she hoped that Pudding would be nice enough to come with her.

There was little time to spare, but Guinevere found herself hesitating in front of the pearwood trunk. She studied the ornate fleur-de-lis carvings on its lacquered surface, as she had spent many hours doing in her childhood when the trunk was the everlasting mystery shoved to one corner of her room.

What do you remember from back then?she asked Teinidh.Do you know what’s in here?

I see what you see,the wildfire spirit replied.I remember what you remember. I forget what you forget.

And do you dream what I dream?Guinevere thought about a firelit room that smelled like herbs and offal, and a dagger in her father’s hands. It seemed important, somehow, that nightmare her stressed brain had produced amidst the mud and the banyans of Labenda.

We share everything,Teinidh said with a sniff.Except opinions, clearly. It is my opinion that you’re overreacting. We don’t have to leave.

Oskar is safer without us.Guinevere grabbed the trunk by its handle. And…

And she hadn’t actually touched the trunk in a while. Oskar was always carrying it for her. She certainly hadn’t touched it since Elaras taught her how to listen to the magic that was all around.

The minute her fingers closed around the handle, she heard it. A roaring like thunder, a rushing like blood. There was an almost mechanical rustle, as though she were listening to something man-made—as though the stars had been plucked from the heavens and wrestled into simpler forms. It was nothing like the wild, but it was magic all the same.

And buried underneath it was a more familiar song. The leap of the bird into the wind. The turn of the seasons. The ocean, vast and roiling, endless and primordial. The croaking of ravens…

Snap out of it.

You have to go.

Guinevere forced herself out of the waking dream of black feathers and howling wind. She hauled the trunk to the door with some difficulty and then threw open the bolt and exited the room.

She nearly walked into Oskar.

“I had no idea you’d be back so soon!” Guinevere cried, dropping the trunk’s handle.

“It’s not like I went to Tal’Dorei.” Oskar was holding a brown bag from which wafted the mouthwatering aroma of roast meat. Had hebeen telling the truth about the sandwiches, after all? His topaz eyes narrowed as he took in the rucksack on her shoulders and the pearwood trunk at her feet. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“Um—” A hundred lies quickly sprang to mind and just as quickly evaporated in the face of such damning evidence. She settled for wringing her hands together. She couldn’t believe that her plan had failed as soon as she’d set it into motion.

I mean,Ican believe it,Teinidh drawled.Maybe if you’d written a shorter letter…

Oskar strode forward, leaving Guinevere no choice but to back into the room. He nudged the trunk inside with his foot, and he closed the door behind him with a soft thud and bolted it with his gaze fixed on her. She hung her head and awaited his judgment, more pent-up tears stinging her throat.

“Are you hungry?” he asked. “Do you want to eat first before we fight?”

“Let us get the fighting over and done with,” she said miserably.

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