A Chorus of Grief
By night, I was numb.
Rooksgrave's occupants had settled easily into Amon's home. There was plenty of space, and the brownies appeared almost gleeful as they whipped through the halls, drawing baths and delivering meals. But the sound of the house was that of tragedy—coughing, the hiss of pain as a burn was treated, the chorus of weeping.
I was untouched, and yet if Jonathon had asked, I could've pointed to my chest and sworn to him that something had been carved out. I must've been bleeding, infected, a wound festering.
"We will be back before dawn, my star," Amon murmured, frowning at the plate of food I'd ignored.
"No, I'm coming," I said, drawing the warm coat he'd placed on me hours ago tighter around my middle.
"You cannot," Amon answered.
"I wasn't asking."
"I'm not—"
"Amon, enough," Jonathon whispered.
We were back in the bedroom I'd woken in, the light all wrong by evening. The whole day wrong. It had been unsettling to wake without Auguste after the amazing night, but this was…
This can't be real. If it is, then I…
"Esther, the fire won't have burnt the manor down, but it will have done damage. It will be dangerous and probably impossible for you to move through since you're—"
"Only human," I said, frowning. I hadn't lifted my gaze from my lap in what I thought must've been hours. I didn't want to see the room around me. See three faces instead of five.
Jonathon crouched in front of me, forcing himself into my periphery.
"If you come, you'll have to remain outside, and then someone will need to be with you to be sure you're safe. We don't know that Birsha won't attack again. Magdalena and the brownies only just got wards up here." Jonathon let out a long sigh, one hand rising slowly toward my face. I didn't move until he touched me, electrified by the sudden connection. Tears rose up, my throat closed, my heart was collapsing in my chest. "Oh, Esther, I know. I know."
My whole body hurt from fighting Mr. Tanner, from crying until I couldn't breathe, and it was all going to start again if Jonathon kept touching me like that.
"I can stay here, or Mr. Tanner will wait with you outside—"
"No. No, you're right. I can't do anything, and Mr. Tanner is strong, he might be able to…" To find them. For better or worse.
"Auguste is strong too," Jonathon whispered, and some of the horrible tension in me unraveled as he pulled me against his chest. We both still stank of smoke, an especially deep and earthy scent, something to do with the ifrit fire demons that had attacked.
"Mr. MacKenna is slippery," Amon added.
"He can't be caught," I said, nodding against Jonathon's throat.
"We will search all night, my love," Jonathon whispered against my forehead.
The answer was caught in my throat, pinched between anger with myself for being useless and the knowledge that what I wanted to say to Jonathon, I'd missed the chance to say to Auguste and Ezra, perhaps for—
"Hope, Esther," Booker said, cutting off my thought.
I nodded and straightened, at least to pretend so that they didn't try to make my burdens theirs. Jonathon was Auguste's friend and something a little more maybe. Ezra was Booker's. And Amon would bear any pain of mine as his responsibility.
"Just be safe," I whispered, blinking at the three of them. "Please. I can't—You can't—"
"We'll be back before the morning," Jonathon repeated.
I nodded again, the movement puppet-like, and not one of them appeared reassured, but they headed for the door. I slumped as they left, one knowing glance from Booker in parting.
The sight of the food on the plate waiting for me still made me queasy, but the idea of remaining here doing nothing until they returned was so much worse. I forced myself to eat, tasting nothing and chewing only enough to swallow, picking up the plate and rushing the meal as I headed for the door.
There was a brownie hustling down the hall as I opened the door, arms full of linens.
"What can I do?" I asked. I thought it might ignore me, too busy in its own task, but the small woman just turned on her heel, brown eyes glinting with almost manic excitement.
"Much. Come."
Just like Cork, I thought, with a pang that almost dropped me to my knees, but instead, I set the half-eaten plate on a chair and hurried after the brownie. Movement, orders, directions. It would keep me from going mad, at least.
* * *