Page 96 of Cycle Keeper’s Shadow

“You should rest,” Garin said. “I’ll listen for a while.”

He squatted nearby like a carved post, kicking off bits of dried mud from his clothes with the heel of his boot. The wood of his staff creaked under his grip. He didn’t say another word. Didn’t need to. Grief was written in every crease of his face. Maybe he’d feel better if he yelled at Orzen too.

Wren had already fallen asleep—if the restlessness pinching across her face could be called sleep. The curve of one horn pressed against a moss-covered trunk, one of the caps bent and hanging lopsided. Her festival clothes were stained across the silver threads and the bottom was caked in mud. Leaves and bits of grass were caught in the fur on her legs. It couldn’t have been comfortable.

Sleep was the last thing Orzen wanted. He needed it, but his mind was a jumble of puzzle pieces he couldn’t fit back together. Rest wouldn’t come until some of them did.

“What’s the plan?” he asked, stretching and standing.

“For?” Garin tilted his head, mouth set in a rigid line, like he could hear the answer from posture alone.

“Going after Theordrin,” Orzen said, his hand finding the hilt of his blade. “He caused this. He needs to pay for what he’s taken.”

The words hung heavily between them. Overhead, the trees whispered in the hushed way that often calmed him, but it brought no peace. The forest held dangers he couldn’t predict.

He knew the kind of evil men made—it had faces, reasons, excuses. The forest promised a different kind of war. He’d much rather face Theordrin.

“He let the Witherborn in,” Orzen said. “I found weak walls on the forest side. He acted like he was already aware of it. Calculated or incompetent, Tavrin’s blood is on his hands. Someone’s still looking for her, and Theordrin’s the only one that knows who they are,“ Orzen said. “We can’t let him get away with this.”

“He thinks he’s won,” Garin said gruffly. “If you die chasing him, he wins twice.”

Orzen didn’t answer. The words sank in like a slow bruise, painful and true. The breeze drifted around them, bringing the scent of smoke and death. Her father’s cloak still sat in his lap. He held it out to Garin.

“Returning this. Don’t think she’d want me to keep it. Better if it stays with you.”

Garin reached for it but drew his hand back when he realized what was being offered. Then he sat there, one hand resting on his staff, chin lifted like he could see straight into the part of Orzen that he tried hardest to hide.

“You know,” he said, voice low but steady, “I hear better than most. Not only the words.” He nodded to the cloak. “Nothing she said means you don’t deserve to wear that. I gave it to you for a reason. Still think it belongs with you.”

Orzen let his arm drop. “I don’t know. Guess we heard two very different conversations.”

Garin didn’t budge, so Orzen untied his pack and slid the cloak inside, tucking the ornate clasp on top until he was worthy of wearing it again.

“I thought it was her, Garin. I promise I did.” Orzen’s voice came out rough. “She had the dress on—the veil. I remember the way it moved when she ran. I followed her.”

He pressed his hand to his forehead, like he could pull the truth out by force. “But when we got to the forest, it wasn’t her. Some…creature. One of the Witherborn. It doesn’t make sense. Why trap me if they wanted her?”

“Got you out of the way, didn’t it?” Garin said, slow and careful. After a moment, he added, softer, “Tavrin’s death—that’s not on you.”

Orzen swallowed hard. “Not sure she feels the same. Not sure why you feel that way. Why aren’t you blaming me too?” His voice cracked. “I told her I’d be there, and I wasn’t. Tavrin was. And he paid the price for it.”

Garin grunted. “So leave,” he said simply, nodding toward the path. “Nothing’s stopping you. No reason for you to stay now.”

He let the silence sit heavy between them.

He quietly said, “Unless you still care. Unless you’re not done. Then, figure out why you’re here.”

He couldn’t. The argument with himself over leaving had been a losing battle for days now. There’d been plenty of chances, but Tavrin had been right about that, too. He’d waited too long, and doing so now would only hurt her. If she still cared that he was there at all. No…that was unfair. She was angry. She had a right to be. But she’d never said she wanted him to leave.

“I can’t go now,” he admitted. Wren shifted in her sleep across from them. He drew a long breath and forced himself to look away. A groan slipped out as he dropped his head into his hands. A dull ache throbbed behind his eyes. “How do I do this?” He gave a humorless laugh. “I know it’s pathetic, but I’d stay even if she never forgave me.”

“Which is exactly why you need to be here,” Garin said. “Grief needs people. People who care. Helps soften the fall a bit.” From beneath his collar, he drew out a carved rune stone on a chain. The grooves were smooth from years of touch.

“Their names,” Garin murmured, nodding to the runes. “Sanna. Petur. Emelin. My wife, my son, my daughter.” He ran a thumb over the marks, like their memories were embedded in the stone itself. “Wasn’t there when they were killed.”

Orzen stilled, watching the old dwarf. His expression never changed, though a deep weariness sank into his shoulders.

Was everyone carrying quiet grief this way? Maybe Orzen had never stopped long enough to listen. Or maybe he’d been so consumed by surviving his own grief that he’d never learned to recognize anyone else’s.