Chapter 22
Greycen led Amberly into the home. Stepping through the threshold sent a shiver down his spine. The first thing he noticed was the absence of warmth, not hearth fire warmth, but real warmth. No happiness. No love. No memories worth saving.
He turned and lifted the broken door off the floor, propping it back into place. It wouldn’t stop anyone, but it would keep curious eyes from peering in.
Amberly looked around nervously. The smell of damp stung her nose, and she brought her cloak over her face. She watched Greycen move through the space with quiet familiarity.
He gathered broken table legs from the floor and placed them in the hearth. Searching for something dry, he pulled hay from the dilapidated bed in the corner and packed it beneath the wood.
Drawing his dagger, he struck the spine of it against a rock. Sparks flew. None caught. He moved closer and struck again. Again. Finally, one ember flared. He cupped with his hands and with his breath, coaxed the fire to life until the wood began to catch.
When it finally burned, he turned to face her.
“The fire should warm it up soon.”
Amberly lowered the cloak from her face. “Okay.”
He sat on a flat stone at the hearth’s base.
“We need to come up with a plan for tomorrow.” He said taking charge. “I want to get you back to Hilde, away from all this, before it gets worse.”
Amberly heard the concern in his voice. It was real.
“Okay.” She said again, quieter.
“I’ll check with the traders in the morning. Maybe one’s headed to Liston. If we’re lucky, I can get you a ride out.” He knew she needed to leave, to be safe, but a pressure was building in his chest again. He didn’t like the idea of her leaving.
Amberly sat on the floor right where she was standing, pulling her knees to her chest. “Okay.”
Greycen watched her for a long moment.
“What’s bothering you?”
She didn’t lift her head.
“I’m scared.” She whispered. “Not just for me, but for grandmother.” She shifted. “And for you.”
Lowering her face against her knees, she spoke again, her voice muffled.
“I only tried to help.”
Silence stretched, then her voice returned, softer but pointed.
“Is this where you have been hiding out?”
Greycen didn’t answer right away.
“She doesn’t need to know.” The voice murmured, protective. “You don’t need her pity.”
He inhaled through his nose and let the breath out slowly.
“No,” he said at last. “I never wanted to come here again.”
“Stop!” The voice barked.
“This is the place that I was born,” he said quietly, staring at the floor. He couldn’t bring himself to look at her.
The fire popped, sharp in the silence. Its flickering light danced along the wall beside the hearth. In that narrow stretch of glow, something emerged. A tiny figure had been scratched into the wood. No detail. No face. Just a shape, a ghost, faded by time.
Amberly moved closer, drawn to the warmth. The fire felt good on her skin, banishing the damp that clung to her. She sat quietly, eyes fixed on the flames. Orange. Blue. Faint pinks, like a sunrise breaking through the clouds. It mesmerized her.
Greycen finally looked up.
He watched her. Watched how she studied the fire, how the tension in her limbs began to ease, the way her legs loosened from their tight curl, the way her shoulders lowered just slightly.
He didn’t want to disturb the peace. So he stayed silent.
Amberly’s gaze shifted to the figure on the wall. She reached out, fingers brushing the worn wood, tracing the faint lines.
She wondered who had carved it.
The silence lingered. Then, just above a whisper, he spoke.
“I did that,” he said, voice tinged with sadness. “One of the many days I cowered beneath the table.”
Amberly turned to look at him, then back to the carving. Her fingers moved over it one last time.
Her gaze returned to the fire. Her voice was gentle.
“What were you hiding from?”
Greycen felt the breath leave his lungs. He opened his mouth, but no words came.
“Don’t,” the voice pleaded, softer than before. “I’m begging you. Nothing good will come from this.”
He drew a ragged breath, fighting the lump in his throat.
“The absence of warmth,” he said at last.
The silence returned and lingered for a long while.
Greycen busied himself, gathering whatever scraps he could find and feeding them into the hearth to keep the fire strong.
When the task was finished, he turned to her.
“Why don’t you get some sleep?” he said, gesturing toward the bed. “It’s not much, but it’s better than the floor.”
She nodded and walked over, her movements slow, worn. She lay down and turned to face the wall.
Her tears came quietly, sliding down her cheeks, unnoticed by anyone but the fire.
Closing Note
Next release: Chapter 23
Monday at 9:00 AM.
Thank you for reading.
