Page 124

Tommick’s head snapped up, surprised. “You were? But you saved me. Momma said you did. I don’t remember. But…you didn’t look scared when I woke up.” He wilted again, sinking into Orzen’s embrace. “You looked angry.”

Orzen’s gaze drifted across the fire to Silas, leaning against a tree at the clearing’s edge. Firelight painted his pale face in flickering gold, throwing odd shadows across him. He still didn’t look tired at all.

Shady bastard…

“Yeah,” Orzen murmured, tearing his eyes from Silas. “I was angry. Sometimes I’m angry because I’m scared.”

Tommick nodded, small and solemn, as if that made perfect sense. “I think that’s why I’m angry too.”

“But you’re okay now,” Orzen said softly. “You’re safe.”

Tommick’s mouth twisted and he hugged his knees to his chest. “Momma says I shouldn’t hate people, but I hate him. He watched that thing take me.”

The words cracked something deep and old inside Orzen. They were too much like the hardness he’d carried at that age, trying to survive by burying every bruise beneath anger. Not this kid. Not again. He wasn’t going to let Tommick walk away with the same wound.

“You want to know what I think?” Orzen asked. Tommick nodded his curls bouncing, eyes big and intent. “Hate takes too much work. Forget about him. Pretend he doesn’t exist. It might be harder, but it feels freer.”

“I think you’re right,” Tommick said after a moment, chewing another handful of seeds. “I don’t like hating him. I only wish he was nicer. And less strange.” He glanced around, making sure no one else was listening, then leaned in. “You know he talks when he’s up by himself? He thinks I don’t hear, but I wake up a lot, and I do hear.”

Orzen’s spine went rigid. “Talking to who?”

“Someone invisible.” Tommick shrugged, but his voice dropped to a whisper. “He says weird things. About a key. And he says ‘father’ a lot—like he’s talking to his poppa or something.”

He shifted closer, whispering so quietly Orzen could feel the words on his sleeve. “And he doesn’t eat.”

“No way,” Orzen said immediately, forcing a laugh. It cracked in the middle. “He eats. I’ve seen him eat.”

But even as he said it, memory pushed doubt to the surface. Had he ever actually seen Silas swallow anything? He carried food. Prepared it. Passed it to the others. But hunger? Thirst? He’d never once mentioned it.

Tommick grabbed his arm, eyes shining with fear and certainty. “I swear. I notice things. Sometimes he throws food into the bushes when no one’s looking.” He hugged his knees tighter, face scrunched in thought. “Momma says I’m only hungry. But I know what I saw.”

Orzen followed the boy’s gaze to Silas at the edge of camp. Standing apart from the others, like he always did. Pale. Still. Listening for something none of them could hear.

“I believe you,” he said at last.

“That’s why I told you.” Tommick’s shoulders fell with visible relief. “I knew you’d believe me.”

“You don’t have to worry about him.” Orzen patted his hand. “I’ll handle it.”

The boy brightened, stick-sword clutched in both hands.

“I wanna help you.”

“Not this time,” Orzen said gently. “Trust me.”

Tommick sighed like the weight of Naldoreth rested on his spine. “I know. You have to train me more first.” His chin jutted out. “But when I’m a knight, I’m gonna kick his butt.”

A real laugh escaped Orzen, soft and tired. “You’ll get your chance. Just maybe not with him.”

“People like him, then. People who are mean and hurt others. Like your oath.” Tommick’s face turned solemn. Too solemn for someone so young.

He hesitated before asking, “Are you going to kill him?”

Orzen’s breath hitched. The question landed like a stone in his gut. “We only hurt people who hurt others.”

The boy looked him in the eye and nodded once. Then he leaned in and hugged Orzen—quick, fierce, and trusting—and ran back to Branwynn. Orzen stared after him. The trust settled on him like armor he hadn’t earned—too precious to betray. He owed it to him, owed it to all of them, to keep them safe.

As long as Silas walked with them, the boy wasn’t safe.