Page 71 of Burn Her They Said
“Hey.” His voice is gentle, as is his touch, yet I startle when his fingertips brush over my own. “Tasch. I’m sorry.” His expression squeezes my heart, a pained mix of sorrow and remorse. “I came on too strong. I’ve made you uncomfortable.”
I stare down where my fingers smooth the lace edge of my slip over the top of my thigh.
“You didn’t choose to be here.” His voice cracks, allowing the hurt to seep out.
“And you didn’t choose to hurt anyone,” I remind him.
His mouth opens and closes while his eyes mark a trail I could trace with my eyes closed.
“No,” he says, and I sit up straighter, inadvertently bringing our chests closer together. This is the first time he’s acknowledged it was not his intent to hurt anyone. “I assume the same is true for you.”
My heart leaps in my chest. He knows, and he’s not judging me for it. He means it. Then my stomach drops, and a familiar nagging voice takes over, shaming me into eternity.
I laugh. A true, hearty belly laugh. Needing the levity to get through, well, everything.
“I amuse you,” he says, though his tone is questioning.
“Indeed.” I take a sip of the now room-temperature tea, fidgeting with the handle. “Anyone thinking they understand me or my situation is always amusing.”
“You think no one understands you.” He pauses. “Or what you’ve been through.”
“I do not just think so. I know.”
“You’re wrong, Tasch.” He says it with such conviction, my throat constricts. “Because I do. I understand.”
His voice is nearly imperceptible. It’s as if I imagined he said anything at all. Like I heard his voice, when truly all I did was read his lips. The sound of his whisper was so real. A shiver runs down my spine, jolting me into a noticeable shudder.
He smiles as if he’s won something, and I don’t dare question what.
* * *
“What exactly am I distracting you from? Possessing the ability to walk up the stairs without my assistance?” Varic asks, as the smile in his voice spreads over his plush lips, and I yank my arm, which does nothing aside from encourage him to chuckle as he adjusts his grip.
A molten sort of frustration churns within my chest. Yet not with his flagrant amusement at my need for him, but rather the entire situation.
Decades of being used for my skillset. Expected by my parents to tend to their emotions from such a young age. Making my life miserable anytime I needed something, much less wanted. Only to be stolen away by a far crueler figure. One who expects me to be perfect, when no witch before me has been capable of anything relative to my power.
The experience of viewing the reliefs of the Witch Queen and Dwarf King strikes me differently this time, piercing my chest with a pain so visceral, I could swear the end of a spear should be sticking out from between my ribs.
The depiction of their wedding day twists my stomach, with the joy on their faces a bittersweet reminder of just how short-lived their happiness would be after. The way they hold hands and smile over at each other. With the ethereal flow of her veil trailing off of a tall crown fashioned to look like Dragon wings, while the King’s bears talons—displaying their obvious reverence for the beasts. Heart aching from the horror those intolerant few inflicted upon these two beings, decimating a family who stood for the thing the assailants feared most—unity.
Because what sort of control can one wield over a united populace? One which has learned to live in harmony by taking care of one another.
If magical beings are to gain more power, they must drive fear into the hearts of all who dissent—just as the Emperor forces me to do with my magic.
A growing ache builds within my ribs, drawing on the anger of all those who came before us. Grieving for what should have been, and what could still be, should my power not wither and die before I can ensure it. Because, like Hendry said, we must endure hardship and keep the Emperor in line as much as we are able, so that the citizens might have the right to a better life.
Witnessing what the Witch Queen stood for, attempting to create a world where we take care of one another, rather than continuously steal from our neighbors, the ache expands, and I cannot take much more in. This feeling, this awareness, it is all so much bigger than myself. Pressure builds, and it is as if generations of witches who came before me have released their collective rage inside me to contain, having experienced this same sense of grief with their own lack of freedom, while somehow choosing this moment to express it alongside my own.
This collection of feelings cannot remain trapped inside me, boiling and bubbling from the center of my stomach and up inside my chest, until it rends from me in the most terrifying growl I would have never guessed my vocal cords could form, sounding so ancient in its tone, far older than my thirty-two years on this Continent.
Relieving just enough of the pressure felt from holding more than I ever have in with the expulsion, no longer capable of caring whether anyone happens to be looking in my direction to witness my Lead Guard assist me in a way which would anger His Majesty, Varic and Lars both stare over at me with concern, while I focus on the strange sensation lingering in my chest. One which feels oddly familiar, though I cannot place it.
“I’m sorry. I do not like this any more than you do, and I am determined to get you back to health. Until then, I need you to allow me to take care of you, Tasch,” Varic pleads under his breath. “Only a few more steps until we reach the landing, then I can trust you to walk on your own, though I will remain close in case you need my assistance.”
I nod and stare ahead with tears brimming along my lashes. Because that’s the problem, isn’t it? The fact that I need him.
Enough tables have been set in the dungeons to serve a large party, while every inch of my body screams with the need to rest. To be able to sit, and without being made to think.
