#9: What I Can Do For The One I Love (9) — What I Can Do For the One I Love

I squeezed my aching eyes shut, then opened them again. Leaning close to Sir Riatrice’s ear, I whispered. I didn’t know if he could hear me, but I had to say it anyway.

“Sir Riatrice. Your son is here. He came to rescue you.”

I’d hidden the boy. The child who risked everything to sneak inside, searching desperately for his missing father… I’d kept him safe. Luckily, it was only me who found him. Right now, he was under my bed, probably grumbling about how stuffy it was. But there was nowhere else. I’m sorry, sir. I can’t save you.

“You… are going to die here.”

My father won’t let you live. There’s no chance. And if they find your son, he’ll never survive, either. Your wife, your daughter… We probably did the same to them. That’s the kind of family we are. I’m sorry. I couldn’t stop any of it. I realized it all too late.

But even if I’d realized sooner, there wouldn’t have been anything I could do.

“I’m sorry.”

Please, understand how powerless I am. Forgive me for doing nothing.

On my knees, I begged Sir Riatrice for forgiveness. The way I prayed to God, or to my nanny in my dreams, or to all the people I saw die by my hand, day after day. I begged for understanding, for forgiveness… for simply not knowing any other way to live. Desperately. Selfishly. Shamelessly.

I knew it wasn’t real forgiveness, but I apologized anyway.

“I promise, I’ll at least save your son and send him home.”

That much, I would do. That much, I swore.

It was my own vow… my resolve, my promise. As I said it to Sir Riatrice, I silently swore again and again that I would get that boy out, safe.

Choking back my emotions, I started to get up. But suddenly, something tugged at my skirt. I startled, looking down… Sir Riatrice’s hand was gripping the hem.

“Sir Riatrice.”

I hurried to his side. He reacted when I called… his face twitching slightly. That was all. His lips parted, dry and cracked, and a thin, barely-there breath escaped.

His hand, still clinging to my skirt, trembled violently with even the smallest movement. I leaned closer, trying to catch his words. I heard a faint, raspy sound.

I looked up at him. His left eye was swollen shut, the right one bloodshot and clouded, his blue iris dull… but he was looking right at me.

“Don’t worry about your son.”

At that, he closed his eye as if in relief. His grip on my skirt relaxed and slipped away.

I wanted to check his wounds again, but there was no time. I made sure he was still breathing… just barely… then rushed out of the storeroom. I hurried back to the mansion, returned the key to Father’s study, and headed for my room.

As I climbed the stairs, a burning smell hit me. Thinking there was a fire, I rushed down the hallway. Flames flickered on the floor ahead.

Servants and Jacob stood by the fire. Their faces couldn’t be more different… servants pale and shaking, Jacob grinning into the blaze.

“You’re here?”

Startled, I spun around. Jayden was leaning against the wall. I forced my heart to slow and asked, as casually as I could,

“What are you burning?”

“The man who tried to kill you last night.”

“You ate him?”

“No.”

“Then why burn him?”

“Because he’s dead.”

Jayden’s voice echoed in my ears, flat and cold.

“But he wasn’t dead then… I told them to let him go…”

“The servant is there, too.”

He pointed to the burning shapes. I looked… there was nothing but blackened figures in the flames. Smoke curled to the ceiling, thick and choking. It felt like even their souls were burning.

“Why did you kill them? Why burn them? Why?”

“They betrayed us.”

“I forgave them. I said it was okay.”

“It’s not about your forgiveness. Razella, you know that. When you refused to kill him, when you called the servants to deal with it… you knew word would spread. You expected this.”

No. I didn’t expect this. I never wanted this.

I just wanted to protect them. The boy searching for his father, the gentle gardener who gave me flowers, the servant who once helped me. I never meant for any of them to be sacrificed.

Or… did I really not know? Did I not expect this at all?

“What’s with her face?”

Jacob’s voice cut in. He jerked his chin at me, but Jayden didn’t respond.

“What, did you want to eat?”

“No! I said I don’t eat. I don’t!”

“Then just don’t! Why are you yelling?!”

I turned away from Jacob, ignoring his shouts.

It felt like something was crushing me, pressing me into the ground. The reality I’d tried so hard to forget crashed over me. My chest hurt, sharp as a blade though there was no wound. I couldn’t bear it… I squeezed my eyes shut.

It felt like all my happiest memories were burning away: my nanny, the gardener, the servant, Sir Riatrice… and finally, just a single boy, standing alone. A resentment darker than the flames boiled up inside me.

I fled to my room, slammed the door, and stood there trembling, out of breath before I even realized it. My throat had been itchy for a while now.

“Was that you?”

The boy’s eyes peeked out from under the bed. I wanted to answer, but pain scraped at my throat and twisted in my heart.

“Did something happen?”

When I didn’t answer, he seemed to sense something was wrong and crawled out. I steadied my breathing and moved closer. His blue eyes searched mine, meeting my gaze.

I couldn’t speak for a moment. I hesitated, not knowing how to say it.

“What did your father say?”

“Huh?”

My heart, pounding wildly, seemed to drop. I pressed a hand to my chest, tried to answer, but nothing came out. Then his warm hand touched my cheek.

“You don’t look well.”

His fingers were unexpectedly gentle, his expression soft with worry.

That look threw me completely.

“Did you get in trouble?”

“Uh… huh?”

“You said your father is scary. Did you get scolded? Is that why you look pale?”

For a second I didn’t get it… then realized he was talking about my father. Relief washed the tension out of me.

I let go of my chest and finally managed a small laugh.

“No.”

“You didn’t get in trouble?”

“No… Well, yeah, I got scolded. For being stupid…”

“Oh, I know what that’s like. Fathers are always like that.”

He repeated the sort of thing Father would say, and I didn’t expect him to relate. Did all fathers act this way?

“My dad never said anything that harsh. Yours must be really strict.”

“…Yeah. He is strict.”

“You must’ve gotten in real trouble. You’re sweating.”

He reached up and wiped my forehead. His hand was bigger and rougher than I expected. I took his hand and looked at it.

“Do you practice swordsmanship?”

“I learn a little of everything.”

“Swordsmanship too?”

“Yeah, that too.”

‘So you’ll grow strong. Maybe you’ll become the eagle from the prophecy… the one who kills the serpent.’ I fiddled with his hand. He gave me a strange look.

Once I caught my breath, I tried to speak again.

“Your father…”

“Did you find him? Where is he?”

He jumped in, urgent. I looked away.

“…No, I couldn’t find him.”

But in truth, I’d always known where his father was. I just couldn’t save him. I’m sorry I hid it, even though he came all this way for his father.

“No matter how much I search, I can’t find him.”

“…Maybe, like you said, he really isn’t here.”

I shook my head, unsure what I was even denying or confirming. He said something else, but I didn’t catch it. My head was spinning.

“What’s wrong with you?”

“My throat…”

Maybe it was the smoke, or maybe something else. A burning pain was spreading. I touched my neck, feeling my heartbeat race, my breath hitch.