Page 93 of The Violet Raven

“Right now, ye need to listen to us, and ye need to focus on healin’.” Callan says bluntly, his deep voice cutting through the tension like a blade.

The finality in his tone sends a chill through me. My head aches as a thousand possibilities flood my mind, each more terrible than the last.

“Stop,” I whisper, shaking my head. “I need to know. Please.”

Casey leans in, his voice low and tight. “There was a fire,” he says. “The house… it’s gone, Triona.”

“What caused the fire? Are we outside because—”

Casey places a hand on my shoulder, halting my racing thoughts.

He stiffens as I reach up to grab his hand, a move I regret immediately as it causes the muscles in my back to move in a way that has pain radiating in all directions.

I scream out in pain, and Casey jumps back.

In an instant, Finn and Bran are both at my side.

Finn cups my face. “Triona, I need to look at yer wounds. We have more laudanum for pain,” he says, gesturing to Bran. “It won’t taste good going down, but it’ll help you sleep and ye’ll heal better if ye’re not movin’.”

“Stop!” I shout.

“Finn,” I say, panic rising. “Please. Tell me. You’re scaring me.” I stare into his golden-brown eyes long enough to see an unbearable pain in their depths.

Bran hands Finn a cup with liquid in it. “Drink this, and we’ll tell you,” he says with a finality unusual for Bran.

I do as I’m asked.

“They protected us, Triona.” Casey’s voice cracks when he speaks after I’ve consumed every drop of the foul liquid. “They protected ye. Da—he fought to keep us safe. Ma... she—” His voice breaks completely, and he closes his eyes, as if the memory alone is too much to bear. “They didnae make it.”

Through my still clouded memory, I attempt to process what they’re saying.

The realisation of what he’s suggesting drops like a stone into a deep, dark well. I stare at Casey, his eyes misty, at Callan who’s body is tense, and then at Finn and Bran, who both avoid my gaze as though my eyes might burn them. The silence presses against me, thick and suffocating, and my mind struggles to pull the pieces together.

“No,” I murmur, my voice raw, barely more than a breath. “That’s not—” The words crumble as my throat tightens, and I shake my head, vision blurring with tears.

“You’re lying.” The denial scrapes against my ribs, desperate, trembling. “They can’t be gone. They can’t.”

“They saved us, Triona,” Finn says softly, his brogue roughened by emotion.

My chest tightens painfully, as if the very act of breathing might break me. “No,” I whisper again, my voice trembling. “No, no, no.” My head shakes violently. A sob wrenches free from my throat, raw and ugly. I try to push them all away, to sit up, to do something—anything—but my body refuses to obey. Nothing compares to this storm raging inside me.

Casey takes me into his chest as gently as he can manage.

“Let me go!” I cry, though my arms cling to him in desperation. “This can’t be real. Casey, it can’t—”

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, his voice thick with grief. “I’m so sorry, Triona.”

The memories resurface, disjointed and painful. My father’s tears, a rare and shattering sight, falling onto my cheeks. My mother’s hands trembling as they cup mine, her voice steady despite the quiver in her breath. The sound of shuffling feet, of hurried whispers and suppressed sobs. The clatter of horses’ hooves fading into the distance.

It’s all too much. Too much to hold, too much to bear. My chest is near bursting, my sobs wracking through me until I feel as if I might splinter into pieces.

I cling to Casey as though he’s the only thing tethering me to the earth, and he holds me like I’m something precious, something fragile that might shatter if he lets go. His tears drip steadily, soaking into my hair, and the quiet sound of his grief reverberates in his chest. I clutch at him, desperate for his strength, his presence, his reassurance that some part of this world—of my world—remains intact.

My breaths come slower, weaker, as if the effort to stay awake is more than I can bear. The laudanum’s grip pulls at me, its weight like a tide dragging me under. My eyelids grow heavy, my body slackens, but I fight it for just a little longer.

“Ma used to hum to us,” I say, my words thick and clumsy. “When we were sick... do you remember Casey?”

His body tenses, and I feel the hitch in his breath against me. For a moment, I think he won’t answer, that the memories will be too much.