Page 37 of Burn Her They Said
Though I yearn for it. No matter that I should not wish for this to be true from him. It is unfair to us both, and far too dangerous.
“General Varic,” I say, more formally than intended.
He strides to stand at the edge of the bed while my pulse pounds heavier.
“Will you please tell me what happened?” My voice breaks over the words, though I continue. “I need to hear it. From you.”
He nods curtly with his hands clasped tightly behind his back. And while this formal way of addressing my query is best, it creates a distance between us which pierces my chest. I need the real him to be the one to deliver this news. The real Varic. But he must maintain the wall required to keep us from acting irresponsibly should anyone arrive to witness our interaction.
“As you observed, small firebombs were set off near the balcony’s edge, to which I responded by shielding us and ushering you toward the door. Lars approached and assisted in your rescue by speeding us safely indoors.”
I nod, anticipating the worst of it, when Varic clears his throat. Tingling courses through my limbs with the urge to drop my legs from the mattress and pull him to my chest, assuming it might be more tolerable to receive this if he were to whisper it in my ear while holding me close.
“Hendry was surveying beyond the railing when a wall of fire rose.” I close my eyes as he leans closer. “The edge of the balcony fell, and we believe he must have fallen with it.”
A terrible image invades my vision—Hendry plummeting, flames scorching his skin the whole way down to the rocky foot of the mountain.
A shudder rolls down my body, and Varic unclasps his hands from behind his back to reach for me before pausing—hovering with one hand held in the air between us, clearly intending to touch me before thinking better of it. He slowly curls his fingers inward to make a tight fist, and the black ink of the sigil tattoo ripples over the back as he clenches before forcing it down to his side. Witnessing this war between instinct and decree breaks something inside me, while yet another piece of my heart calves off, lost to the infinite abyss named grief.
“Could—” I begin. “Could his shield have saved him?”
“While it is possible his shield could have kept him safe from the initial flames, I have no reason to believe it could have protected him from the impact of the fall, nor from the rising temperatures as he drew closer to the source of the explosion.”
A tingling feeling courses through my chest, and it feels as if that part of my soul which Hendry’s life force inhabited is present again. My imagination must be playing tricks on me, trying to absolve me of the guilt I feel by making it seem as if I can sense the very fibers of Hendry’s soul thrumming within this plane of existence when every other part of me knows it cannot be true.
That Godsdamned snatcher called hope is manipulating my feelings, though it fails to remember just how well-practiced I am at catching its deceptions. After years of my magic proving it can conjure other visceral reactions related to certain emotions, both from those I have experienced myself as well as some I have siphoned from others, making it seem as if I am experiencing it in the moment. Haunting me with the past—my own, or stolen from others.
“Cirrin helped you sleep so we could safely transport you to your room.”
Cirrin, whom my magic detects is riddled with guilt, and who looks to me as I send my understanding and forgiveness until his kind brown eyes fall closed in acknowledgement.
“While you were sleeping, we received word that Imperial Army trackers have identified boot prints in the forest near the perimeter where the small bombs are suspected to have been set. His Majesty has commanded our best trackers to follow the prints while Imperial Grand Philosopher Wyrth will investigate the boot prints to determine if they may be helpful in identifying the assailants. As of now, we do not have any of the culprits in custody.”
“And Hendry’s body?” I ask, hoping we might honor him properly.
Varic clears his throat. “Imperial Guards escorted the undertaker to retrieve him.”
A shiver rises up my spine at the thought of that sorcerer having anything to do with Hendry’s remains.
We exist in silence—my four Guards, the General, and I. The void left in the absence of Hendry’s commanding presence looms with the dread of his role needing to be filled and awareness the Emperor is likely to appoint a replacement as early as this morning.
“And you were assigned as my interim force Guard,” I say to Varic.
He solemnly nods in confirmation, and though none of us speak it, we all know Varic is the most likely to be appointed to a role more integral than as a stand-in for our dead friend.
Varic considers me, his bright brown eyes casting over my being, exuding more sorrow and despair than he had years before this when he felt so bereft he dreaded existence.
Because he knows this pain—this helplessness and hopelessness—better than anyone, making it no use to try to hide from him. The one who sees through every façade I’ve ever attempted to fabricate. Who would know instantly if I were to try it, without the need for influence, as he so rarely misreads me or my needs, which is just as terrifying as it would be freeing, were we not both servants to the Empire.
“Fuck!” The scream erupts from me without warning, and I slam the heels of my hands to my eyes, trying to dam the barrage of tears from escaping. “No,” I cry as they fall, regardless.
“Tasch, stop.”
I straighten and sober enough to glare up at Varic, whose eyebrows knit in the center, before I drop my head down into my hands.
“I’m trying,” I say, voice muffled.
He lets out a breath as he lowers to the mattress, sitting next to me much like I had with him when we first met, intensifying the war between my need to shove him away to save us all from ruin and wanting nothing more than to draw him into my chest and make him promise he will never leave, no matter what happens.
