Page 170 of Ashborne Phoenix

One day, I’ll hold her again. Until then… until then, it is good to be sad when you’re sad. And it’s good to be happy when you feel happy. Both are right. Both have their place.

Don’t tell yourself you can only feel one way.

And don’t let anyone tell you that you have to face it alone.

Every word spoke to the tangle of emotions in my chest. It fed my heart that ached. And though I cried like a child, I also nodded, and smiled, and laughed. Because it was all right. All true.

“One of the healers said to me, you’re young, there’s more where that came from, and I wanted to punch her,” I admitted. “Koa offered to flame her.”

Bren’s mouth dropped open. “What did Voski say?” she asked with a shaky laugh.

I shook my head. “I didn’t tell him. He’s still carrying his blades. I worried he would lie in wait and gut her like a fish.”

Bren snorted, trying not to laugh. But I giggled, so she did as well. “They don’t understand,” she whispered. “Donavyn told me that men say things they think will help, but don’t. Then get angry when Donavyn rejects their words. He asked for advice, and an older man told him that it was a blessing in disguise—because of the… the circumstances. He punched him—he won’t tell me who it was, but it must be one of the high-ranking officers.”

I felt her tense and shook my head, finally sitting up and wiping my eyes, so I could face her. “Why are people so awful sometimes?” I asked her angrily. “I thought it was only the ambitious nobles who were so petty and vindictive. But sometimes, stupidity is worse!”

Bren nodded, her chin trembling, but her lips pulling into a smile. “I wish they would all just… be kind. Not say anything, just care.”

“Like this,” I pointed out. “Just be a friend.”

Bren nodded again, and despite her tears, her smile widened. “Donavyn told me if any of the brothers ever said something stupid about this, I was to tell him, and he’d personally throw him headfirst into a scatpit.”

I snorted, clutching my stomach and clapping a hand over my mouth at the same time, envisioning a furious Donavyn pitching Harle into dragon dung, our brother’s legs in the air and kicking.

We both laughed. We both cried.

Then, we were quiet for a time.

Sitting next to Bren, my back to the wall, I took her hand and twined our fingers. “Thank you,” I whispered, tears still trickling down my cheeks, because they didn’t seem to want to stop.

“You’re welcome. Thank you for being kind to me when we met and I was so different,” she said with a shrug. “I’m so glad you’re here, Grace. And my sister. I’m so sorry this happened… but I want to help.”

“You just did,” I told her, turning to meet her eyes, tears still streaming down my face, but I smiled, and meant it. “You really did.”

She pulled me into another hug, and we both cried again. But it was a sweet kind of grief. A shared burden.

This was awful. And it hurt. And I hated it. But my friend understood. And my mate loved me.

And even though I was tired of crying, and it exhausted me so that I slept the moment Bren had to leave, I drifted off with wet cheeks, but a lighter heart. Because I knew, if anyone said anything, Voski would literally scare the shit out of them.

Then, apparently, Donavyn would shove their face in their own mess.

Small mercies. Small gifts.

Small smiles.

The Burn of Grief

~ VOSKI ~

When Bren slipped out of the room, I’d wanted to go straight in, but I’d been held up by Terra, whom I’d stopped from entering.

Terra approved of the women speaking, of course. So she’d been willing to wait. But her questions for me had grown increasingly pointed. I was glad when Bren left, because I had an excuse to extricate myself from the pointed conversation. But it still took short minutes. And by the time I entered the room, Grace had already fallen asleep.

I frowned. Her cheeks were red and shining with tears. The spot on her pillow under her temple, obviously wet. But I reminded myself what Donavyn had said, and told myself it was good. It was good for her to get the grief out. She needed that.

I sank into the chair next to her, desperate to touch her, but not willing to wake her when she obviously needed the rest. But my heel bounced silently on the stone floor, and I struggled to sit still.