A Promise Through The Bars: The First Series

by Lemon Leopard

Princess Snow White, a title dead to her, is imprisoned one fateful night. For twelve years, she struggles to survive in her cell, slowly losing her faith, her hope, and finally her will to live. Just as she is about to end it all, a woman named Sara is thrown into the cell near hers. Sara asks Snow White to do her a favor. A favor that may change everything.

44. Chapter 44 A Thawing Hope

Chapter 44 A Thawing Hope

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The men stir. There is rustling of possessions, flapping of furs, and crunching of snow as the men wake up and start to break down camp. Thank God. The morning couldn't have come sooner. Day thirty-eight. Knowing that we will be moving soon calms me. Surprisingly so. I yawn, roll onto my side, and pull the pelts up to my cheek. The warmth soon cocoons me from my cheek to my feet. I tuck my knees to my chest and snuggle into the warmth. I pray they let me sleep for a bit longer.

"Damn, my head," Wessel says, his voice growing more distant. "I haven't drank like that in a year."

Someone chuckles. "I've got some herbs for that." Torrance. Maybe he'll spare some of those herbs for me. I hope so…

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"Good morning, my dear!"

I startle awake, my eyes flying open. There Torrance stands over me, grinning. His smile turns apologetic. "Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you."

"Hmm." My head is still heavy and aching, but it's not as bad as last night. "Please don't apologize. I startle too easily." I press my hand to my forehead, my voice hoarse. The least I can do with my wretched self is to be kind. "I'm more than glad it's morning."

"Same here!" Torrance crouches before me, extending his hand to me. "Here. I have some herbs for that headache of yours." I glance down at his hand. There are bits of dried leaves in his palm, some a brown color and the rest a strange red brickish color. "Wash them down with some water," the healer says.

"Mm, thank you." I push myself into a sitting position and hold my palm out to Torrance. He helps me brush the crushed herbs out of his hand and into mine.

"You're most welcome, my dear. They should kick in for you at midday."

"Alright," I say and throw the herbs into my mouth. As discreetly as I can, I tongue at my palm, collecting the last bits of leaves from it. "Mm, not bad." I move the herbs about my mouth with my tongue while I pick up my skin, pop the cork out and take a swig. The herbs are almost tasteless, though they have an earthy hint.

"Rukskat and butterbur. Best remedy for the worst of headaches," Torrance says and grins.

I snort and raise my skin to him. "Here, here!"

Torrance and I both laugh, though he laughs more enthusiastically than me. As our laughter ebbs, I look about camp. Wessel is off by his horse tying his packs to her. Locke is carrying his saddle over to Abasi. Sundance stands between Abasi and Phoebe, saddled and looking all packed to go. Ylva and Eric are not with them. My heart creeps to the edge. I look all around camp. Torrance stands beside me, his brows furrowing. The fire has died, leaving behind the largest pile of charred logs I have seen in a long time. I look all about the oasis and at the trees. There's the bank of the frozen lake barren of any life. Eric and Ylva are nowhere in sight!

"Are you alright, my dear?" Torrance asks me.

I look up at him, worry in his eyes. Panic rises in my throat. "I don't see Eric and Ylva anywhere. Where did they go?" I fight to keep my voice steady.

His worry vanishes with a grin as he points over his shoulder. "Eric went off with his horse to fill our waterskins and to scope out the land ahead." He drops his hand to his side. "Don't worry about them. They'll be back."

I heave a sigh of relief. They'll be back. Eric will be back. "Thank you, Torrance."

His smile softens. "You're welcome." His eyes shift to my furs and blankets and back to me. "We tried to let you sleep for as long as we could, but you should pack up. We'll be heading out when Eric and Ylva return. I can help you pack." He motions to all my bedding.

My heart softens for the healer. How kind of him to let me sleep longer. How kind of them all. "I appreciate your offer, but I can pack my own things." I glance down at my furs and blankets. These are just about all I own in the world now. "Since Eric and I are sharing the same horse, I can only pack so much until he gets back." I look up at Torrance and shrug my shoulders, offering him a small smile. "There's not much to pack anyways."

"Yeah, I see that," Torrance says, keeping his smile, though there's a hint of sadness in his eyes. He sees this is just about all I have in this world.

My heart grows too tender, causing it to ache with my head. My smile grows bigger. "You know, it's a funny thing." My hands come together, discreetly fingering Sara's tarnished silver ring about my right forefinger. "I had…just about anything I wanted before I was imprisoned." I wish I could be completely honest with him…but with Eric here, I cannot tell Torrance I was the most wealthy and spoiled child in all of Tabor. "I didn't become truly greedy until I was imprisoned. You would think being stripped of all your earthly possessions would bring about some kind of—" I shrug "—epiphany, if that's the word for it, but it made me bitter and angry for all I had lost, both living and inanimate." Shame comes over me. I avert my eyes to my hands, feeling the warming silver between my fingertips. I used to miss my dresses and my jewels, my books and my toys, my silken bedsheets and my fluffy pillows. "To go from comfort to squalor in one night, it was…I had a hard time letting go of everything. I had a hard time forgiving those who I believed responsible for my imprisonment."

"I don't blame you," Torrance says. I peek up at him. He shakes his head, his face stiff with anger. Anger not for me, but for those who imprisoned me. He sits down on the snow before me, crunching the snow beneath him. "I'd feel the same exact way if I was in your place. At least you forgave." He gives me an earnest smile and rests his hand on my knee. "I didn't know you then, but I know you now. You're not a greedy person."

I barely muster a smile. Is he right? I look down at my hands and pull them apart, seeing the beautiful tarnished silver wrapped around my finger. Perhaps…no, I am still greedy as hell. I've been the most greedy with Eric. "I'm not so sure about that, Torrance." I tuck my hands in my lap and force my gaze up to him.

His smile lessens, but it does not abandon him. "Really? Is this the same woman who made a sled out of skis and pushed my brother's ungodly cumbersome, comatose body on it through the snow!?" One chuckle escapes me. "Is this the same woman who sacrificed her toes for him? Who almost died to save him!?" My face falls. Little does Torrance know that I saved Eric for a selfish reason—and with an evil power. Hell, those are memories that I'd be more than happy to forget! But I'll never forget them. At least Eric is alive.

Torrance's smile falters, but he forces his grin bigger and squeezes my knee. "There's nothing wrong with being grateful for what we have, both living and inanimate." He nods down at my lap. My brows furrow and I look down at my lap. No, not my lap, but my hands—Sara's ring, he means. "The hallmark of a greedy person is ungratefulness. You've been nothing but grateful for the smallest things that I wouldn't think to thank someone for." He releases my knee and presses his hand to his chest.

Somehow, somewhere, I find the strength to lift my mouth a fraction. "Speaking of gratitude, thank you for letting me sleep longer." My smile grows, my heart swelling with gratitude. "And thank you for sitting down with me, for listening to me gripe about my…my past." My heart aches. What a lie.

Torrance shrugs nonchalantly. "Well of course! Sleep is one of the best remedies for the morning after inebriation. Especially after all the ale we drank last night." He chuckles.

"Right." I force myself to chuckle, minding how hard I chuckle to spare my head from too much rattling. No, this lie wasn't about my past at all. My admission was spurred by my guilt. Guilt for how I have wronged Eric…and for turning my back on my people.

As soon as Torrance's laughter ebbs, I quiet mine as naturally as possible. Torrance's smile remains, so I force mine to stay.

"Alright, my dear," Torrance says, patting my knee. "I'll stop talking to you now and let you pack up." He pushes himself to his feet, towering over me with his lithe body. "If you need any help, just call my name and I'll come running."

My smile grows. "Sounds like a plan."

Torrance and I laugh as he turns and ambles through the snow to join Wessel and Locke. My laughter ebbs with my next four breaths. Best to start packing. I reach for my gloves tucked in my—my belt is missing! "Oh!" I remember! I left my belt in the trees when Eric startled me. As for my gloves, I'm sure they are lost somewhere in my bedding. I scramble off my bedding and turn about in the snow—I halt. There Eric is far across the oasis bounding through the snow with Ylva trotting close behind him.

Despite the great distance between us, his eyes lock with mine. "Greta!" he calls. My heart flutters and constricts. Hearing him and seeing him is a miracle, but hearing her name carrying across the oasis…hell, I can hate it all I want, but I alone am to blame. Not only am I disgracing Greta's name, but everytime he calls me by her name, it's another act of cowardice on my part. I should correct him…but I can't lose him. Not now. Not yet.

"Lass!" he says as he passes by the frozen lake. The snow crunches louder and louder with each stride Eric and Ylva take.

My stomach twists terribly, but I force myself to smile. "Eric! There you are!" Both guilt and joy batter me, mixing in a strange way that leaves me desperate to get up and run into his arms. I force my knees to stay in the snow. He bounds across the last of the oasis, his rucksack jostling on his back and a corked waterskin clutched in his grip. He's grinning like a miner who just found enough gold to retire with.

"Lass, glad to see ye!" He stops before me, breathing fast and heavy from his rush to get here. Why did he run here?—"Ye've got to try this!" He uncorks his waterskin and stoops to me, offering me the skin. "Drink!"

My smile wanes as my brows furrow. "I…." My stomach churns. I almost feel as if I shouldn't take the skin from him, but he ran all the way here. He wants me to try whatever is in his skin. It's most likely water.

"Please," he says, his eyes bright with dangerous hope. "Try it. Tell me I'm no' off my head!"

"Uh…" My eyes drift down to his waterskin and back up to his blue eyes. Whatever is in that waterskin has lifted his spirits to the tallest mountain peak. "Alright." My hand trembles as I reach out to him. Something stirs in my gut, warning me to not drink from his waterskin. Why? My hand almost stills midair, but I force my arm straighter and grab his waterskin.

"Take one sip," he says as he drops to his knees and gently pushes his waterskin closer to my mouth. "Tell me I'm no' off my head." He stops pushing the waterskin towards my mouth when the rim is a breath's space from me. He folds his hand over mine. "Please tell me I'm no' off my head," he whispers.

My brows furrow more. "What has gotten into you?"

The corners of his smile soften. "I pray a blessin'. For yer people…and ye."

A blessing for my people and me? I glance down at the rim of his waterskin. It glistens in the grey daylight, wet with either water or his spit, or both. I swallow and bring the rim to my bottom lip. If it's water, I'm thirsty anyways. I could use the drink. I tilt my head back slowly and carefully. Chilly water flows into my mouth and washes over my tongue. I tilt my chin forward and pull the waterskin from my lips—I freeze up. My eyes widen. I close my mouth and swish the chilled water about with my tongue, slowly warming it. This water…it's…wet!

Eric's smile grows, his eyes so bright with hope that it's nauseating. "I see it in yer eyes! Ye taste it!" He steals a kiss from my wet lips. "That's yers. Torrance, Wessel, Locke!" He leaves his waterskin in my hand and springs to his feet. I look at the three men beyond the pile of charred logs. They stop their conversation and look our way. "C'mere!" Eric says, waving his hand for them to come to us. "Hurry!"

Confusion furrows all their brows as they rush to us through the snow. "Are you alright!? Is something wrong!?" Wessel asks as they reach us.

Eric shakes his head, his grin stuck to his face. "Nothin's wrong! Taste this." He brings his rucksack around his body, grabs another waterskin out of it, and passes it to Wessel. Wessel's brows furrow more as he uncorks the waterskin and takes a swig of the water. He freezes up, his eyes growing big.

"What is it?" Torrance snatches the waterskin out of Wessel's hand and takes a swig for himself. As he swishes the water about his mouth, he slows, his eyes widening. "Oh my God," Torrance says with a mouthful of water.

Locke shakes his head at the two men. "Now I have to try this drink." He steals the waterskin out of Torrance's hand and takes a quick swig. His dark eyes pop open. He gulps down his water and looks at Eric. "This water is wet!"

I look at Eric. He nods eagerly. "Aye!"

I gulp down my water. The wetness coats my mouth and my throat and soaks into my belly. This…I haven't felt something like this for five long years. I had no idea how thirsty I truly was.

"Where did you get this water from!?" Torrance asks Eric.

Eric points up at the frozen falls. All of us look to where he is pointing. "I climbed halfway up the falls to the glacier and got some water from there! The fresher water's up there, so I figured I'd fill our skins with that. I didnae realize the water was wet until I felt it on my hand!" He holds his right hand out, shaking it. "When I felt the wetness, I thought I was off my head!"

"Eric, you're not off your head," Wessel says, drawing all our eyes to him. He looks between his brothers, different thoughts in their eyes. Torrance is shocked. Eric is grateful and amazed. Locke seems to have gotten past his shock and is extremely pleased. Wessel's dark eyes cross mine. There's something in them. It's like a fire, starting as embers that crackle and grow and build. The flames climb higher, burning brighter and hotter. It stirs up so much guilt in me. Heavy, oppressive, nauseating guilt. He has no need to say it aloud. Ravenna took the life out of Tabor's water five years ago, leaving it empty and dry. Now, this water is wet and satisfying. It has life.

"How is this possible?" Torrance asks in disbelief, breaking the silence that came over us. "Not that I'm complaining, but…"

Wessel slowly shakes his head and looks up at Torrance. "Ravenna. She made our water and our rain dry with her powers! But it's wet now! That must mean her powers, her hold on our home…is weakening."

Torrance's eyes widen so much. "You can't…" He grins suddenly and shakes his head. "Don't jest with me, Wessel!"

"I'm not!" Wessel shakes his head, his face grave. "Torrance, think about it! Our farmlands stopped feeding us when our rainwaters turned dry! We know that's Ravenna's doing! Now we have this water!" Wessel extends his hand to Locke. Locke hands him the waterskin, which Wessel takes and shows it to Torrance. "It's wet!" He clutches the waterskin to his chest, tenderness and desperation filling his eyes. "If we watered our farmlands with this, I believe crops would spring up," he says so softly that I barely hear him. "We…our people would be fed again."

Our people would be fed again. My heart aches profoundly. My people would be fed again.

"This is very good news. For both your people and mine," Locke says, nodding to Wessel, Torrance and me.

Torrance's eyes shift between Wessel's face and the waterskin he clutches to his chest. Slowly, the disbelief leaves his face. That same fire sparks in Torrance's dark eyes and grows. It burns brighter and hotter with sickening, nauseating hope. "You mean…" Torrance looks down at the waterskin. He carefully takes it from Wessel and cradles it like it is a newborn babe. "Oh my God," he whispers to himself. His eyes widen suddenly and he looks down at me. "Greta, my dear, I—I never thought it possible. I never dreamed it possible, but we…taking back our home from the black queen…" He looks between Wessel and Eric. "Is that possible?"

Panic and dread rise up in me. If she is weakening…then by choosing to run away with Eric, I am turning my back on my people. I am betraying them. My stomach roils. I can't hide behind the excuse that she is unconquerable anymore. My throat tightens. I press my hand to my aching belly for something, anything to soothe it!

Wessel speaks up. "She must be weakening—"

"That's impossible!" The words fly out of me. Wessel and Torrance both look down at me. Disappointment fills both their eyes, though for different reasons. Wessel sees my irrational fear that I will end up losing Eric…and my desperation to keep him.

"How do you know it's impossible?" Torrance asks, desperation and despair mangling his voice.

I shake my head. I'm such a liar. Maacthis could be taking away her power, thus weakening both Ravenna and me, or he is giving it to someone else. That could only be me. Ravenna shared her power with me that cruel, fateful night. Finn begged her to kill me. It was them or me, Finn told her. I used to puzzle over that for so long. I think with us on opposing sides, only one of us can hold this power. But why would Maacthis do this!? Hell, if that is the case, I certainly don't feel any stronger! Perhaps he found some way to take back his power instead.

"Lass," Eric says beside me. I stiffen. He reaches around my back in a half embrace and grips my arms, squeezing me in his attempt to either soothe me or assure me. Probably both. "I dinnae think ye need to shun hope this time." That snaps my eyes to his against my will. He offers me a smile that's so full of tenderness, care, and hope. I've never seen this smile before, and it tears my heart in two. "It might be possible. Ravenna made a deal with some delvir for her power."

Horror grips me. My eyes widen. "What?" My voice is barely a whisper. Is he onto my lies!?

His smile falters, but he keeps it. That sickening hope brightens his eyes. "That's how she got her power to take life away and put it wherever she wills, right?" He nods to me, pleading with me to affirm his question. Why is he asking me this? Surely he already knows the answers! His smile falls as he looks up at Wessel and Torrance. "Those who make deals with delvirs can do it one of two ways. They can sell their soul, or they can imprison the delvirs. If she can make more than one deal with any delvir," he looks down at me, "then I'm guessin' she's a master at imprisonin' them, but imprisonin' them is a great way to piss 'em off. She might have pissed off this delvir that she made the deal with…and he's found some way to take his power back from her without gettin' himself killed."

"What?" Torrance asks, turning to us. "Getting himself killed? What do you mean by that!? Can we kill demons, er delvirs?"

Eric lets go of my right arm as he sits back on his heels and looks up at Torrance. "If they have a corporeal form, aye."

"You mean if they have a body?" Locke asks, tilting his head, his curiosity peaked.

"Aye." I look down at Eric, catching his last nod. "The body was never meant to die. The soul was never meant to be separated from the flesh. That's why delvirs who have died like to possess their victims, such as skinwalkers." His hand returns to my arm and squeezes me, though he does not look at me. Does he realize he grabbed my arm? "If the delvir is imprisoned, then he is at the disadvantage. That old hag probably imprisoned this delvir with a prayer for mercy and protection from the Maker. If this delvir attempts anythin' to harm her, then the Maker will smite down his body. Nae delvir who is livin' wants to die…and those who have died want to live again."

"Tsk!" Torrance scoffs. "Maybe they shouldn't have rebelled against our Maker in the first place."

Eric shakes his head. "Nae delvir regrets rebellin' against the maker. They just hate him all the more for bein' cut off from heaven."

Torrance scoffs again. "You'd think it's a pretty clear cut choice. Don't rebel against our Maker. Just don't do it!"

"You would think," Locke says.

"And yet we all rebel against him everytime we sin, both small and large," Wessel says, his eyes shifting to Torrance. Heat rises in my chest. Was it not the Maker who abandoned us!?

Torrance turns his head to Wessel, raising his brows at him. "It was our Maker who left us to destroy ourselves!" I can't help but nod once. Torrance is right! At least I am not the only one who sees the truth of the matter.

Wessel nods. "I know, brother, but that does not change this blessing we have been given." That sickening hope flickers in Wessel's eyes again. "With everything Eric has said, then whatever demon she made her deal with, he must be taking his power back from her! He must have found some way to do so without getting himself killed by our Maker!"

"Aye, he must have," Eric says, nodding. He looks at me, his hope so bright in his eyes that it makes my mouth water and my throat tighten with the urge to vomit. "I loathe the idea of any delvir goin' free, but if his freedom means ye get yer home back!—"

"You said this place is not your home!" I press my bare hands against the snow. "Why do you care so!?"

Eric's eyes widen with surprise— and hurt. "Because ye could get yer home back!" He withdraws his hands from me as more pain fills his eyes. "Aye, I said this land isnae my home, but I also said it's hard to feel at home in a place where ye have nae family…" he presses his hand against the snow, almost mirroring me "...but it once was my home." He stretches his other hand across the snow and places it over mine, his fingers tough with calluses, but so very warm. His hand is so warm that it starts to sting the back of mine. He leans towards me, his burning hope hanging on the edge. "But it can be again," he says for only my ears.

My chest constricts. Tears sting my eyes and threaten to fall. The back of my hand stings more and more beneath his. I grit my teeth, keeping myself silent. I want to cry out, but I cannot with Wessel, Torrance, and Locke standing here with us! I drag in a slow, frigid breath and pull my hand out from under his. Eric's eyes drop to my hand and dart back up to my face as I sit back on my heels and fold my hands together, the back of my right hand still stinging.

I barely shake my head at him, telling him such cruel words without speaking aloud. He drops back on his heels, just…staring at me. He looks almost impassive, but I see it in his blue eyes and his slightly parted mouth. He heard my silent words…and I've never seen more hurt in his eyes than now.

"It's a foolish hope," I say, the lies spilling from my mouth like spun silk. I look up at Wessel, Torrance, and Locke. Locke frowns down at me while something invisible crashes down on Wessel and Torrance, sagging their postures and their hopeful faces. Still, I lick my lips and keep spinning the lies. "Ravenna is still too powerful. She remains an unconquerable force, and she will eventually kill every last man, woman and child here." I jab my finger into my knee for each person she will eventually kill—by my inaction. I swallow and focus on the land beneath the snow. It hits me wave after wave after wave, like a heartbeat. The land is humming louder today—than she has in fourteen long years.

The thought of actually facing Ravenna—fear grips me. I cannot fight! I am not a man, nor a soldier! I haven't shot a bow in years! All I am is an emaciated woman who wants nothing more than to shatter the heart of the man she wishes she loved, and she is too desperate to cling to.

Torrance takes a step towards me, crunching the snow beneath him. "Greta—"

"Just because our water is wet again does not mean life has returned to it!" I nod at the waterskin still clutched in Torrance's grasp. "Once something is dead, it stays dead. Feel the snow!" I press my bare hand against the snow. "It's dry as a dessert!" The snow maybe dry, but this land is not dead. Not yet.

"Maybe our water was not dead, but sleeping!" Torrance says, his hope growing. "You know, like how trees lose their leaves in the fall."

I shake my head at the healer. "Please don't hope in that, Torrance. It's a foolish hope!" A pain pierces my heart. It is a foolish hope so long as I run away with Eric…though is it foolish if I choose to face Ravenna?

"Wha…Why did you say that!?" Torrance's voice cracks. He holds his hands out, pleading, begging me to answer. He shakes his head at me in disbelief and gestures to the oasis. "THIS IS OUR HOME!" His words echo across the oasis. As the echoes of his words die, his words keep ringing in my ears and in my torn heart.

The healer drops his hands and shakes his head at me. "I know you've lived through fourteen years of hell. I know you've had everything taken from you, but that's the past! Why do you keep insisting that this is hopeless!?" He takes another step towards me. Eric springs to his feet and comes between Torrance and me, stopping the healer in his tracks.

Torrance huffs and rolls his eyes at Eric. "For Maker's sake, Eric, you act like I'm the queen's sick brother! I would never harm her!" He throws his hand my way and clasps his hands together in supplication. "Brother, you know her better than I. Why does she keep saying this is hopeless!?"

"Torrance." Wessel comes up to Torrance's side and rests his hand on the healer's shoulder. Torrance's shoulders drop.

"I know ye would never hurt her," Eric says. "Right now yer actin' with yer heart, no' yer head."

Torrance breathes in slowly and deeply. "I'm sorry, but…" He shakes his head and clears his throat. "Eric, if your home, your people were being oppressed by a tyrant, would you want to hear that fighting for your home and for your people is hopeless!?"

"Nae," Eric shakes his head, "I wouldnae, but dinnae blame her for somethin' she cannae be blamed for—"

"I'm not—blaming her." Torrance sighs and peeks past Eric at me. "I'm not blaming you, my dear. I'm just surprised at you. Do you love this land?" Torrance holds his hands out to the snowy oasis. "Do you love our people?"

"Yes!" I answer, no hesitation. I clamber to my feet and step to Eric's side to face Torrance. "I love our land, and I love our people more than that. The thought of either dying…" Deaths that I would be responsible for by my inaction. The guilt and the shame come over me and become too much. I drop my head and screw my eyes shut, fighting against my tears.

"Torrance, brother," Locke says, snow crunching beneath his feet. "There will only be hope for your people and for your land if we leave this oasis now and stop wasting good daylight."

Torrance breathes in deeply. "Yeah, right…we should get going."

Snow crunches beneath three pairs of boots as the three men turn and trudge away to their horses. Their steps recede far enough. I force my eyes open, but I keep them downcast while I turn and go to my bedroll and furs. Locke is right in some way. If there is to be at least hope for Greta, we must leave this oasis now. I drop to my knees and start rolling up my bedroll.

Snow crunches beneath heavy boots as they near me. His presence comes over me like a bear's looming shadow, almost causing me to still, but I force my hands to finish rolling up my bedroll. He crouches beside me and grabs my furs and blankets. "Ye alright?" he asks me as he folds and rolls up my blankets and furs.

"I'm fine," I say, my answer curt. I wince as I tie off my bedroll. I did not mean to sound that way, but apologizing to him now would seem suspicious. God, not apologizing to him pains me more! I tuck my bedroll under my arm and push myself to my feet. I turn my back on Eric and clamber through the snow to Ylva. I set my bedroll gently on her rump, just behind Eric's bedroll, and secure it with two spare saddle ties. I'm not sure what caused such a change in Torrance. I never asked him. He goes from believing it's best to run away and lead his own life to now hoping that this land and our people can be saved…My people. My people who I am choosing to abandon…just as I loathe that day Eric will abandon me. Eliza's plea, Wessel's warning, Eric's newfound hope and Torrance's sudden zeal—it all wrings my heart. I breathe in a shaky breath, fighting to keep my tears back.

"Lass," he calls me. He wraps his arms about me from behind and eases me back into his solid front. A sob escapes me. I clamp my hand over my mouth, stifling myself just as my tears fall.

"There is hope," he says softly. He tightens his arms about mine, folding me in my arms and his. "I know there's hope! I give ye my word there is. There's hope for this land and for yer people that wasnae there yesterday. Believe me. Please trust me in this." He presses his mouth against the top of my head, against my scarf. "I'm sorry for what I said about yer home before, about pityin' it but no' mournin' it's comin' death. This land cannae die." I choke on another sob, my hand barely stifling me. "It cannae die for yer people's sake and for yer sake." He takes his arms from me and turns me around to face him. I squeeze my eyes shut, just sparing myself of his face. He grips my arms. "I doubt this is the only water that has life in it again. Others are goin' to notice. Duke Hammond will notice if he has no' already."

"You got it from the glacier," I sob into my hand. I sniffle back the water draining from my nose and take my hand from my mouth, fighting to compose myself. "It was frozen. The snow is still dry." I motion down at the snow beneath our feet.

"Aye, but it's gonna spread!"

I gasp on another sob, my tears flowing freely. "What if it doesn't!?"

"Even if it disnae, we'll save some of the water from the glacier and take it to Hammond's fortress. I'll take it straight to the Duke himself! If any man there has an ounce of the hope and courage Torrance has, he'll fight for yer home. Lass…" I keep my eyes shut. The air shifts against my face. His warm breath touches my chilled lips, stinging them. "Ye know I came here with my brother. We exiled ourselves from our clan so that we could come here and push back the evil tryin' to invade this land and dominate yer people…We—I failed. I failed him. I failed Sara, and I failed ye…I failed ye before I even knew ye. I cannae fail ye again. I will fight for yer home!" He squeezes my arms with that gentle strength of his. "I will fight for ye. I will fight for ye with everythin' I have." I shake my head, but he presses on. "With all my heart, my soul, my strength, I will! Til my last breath and after it, I will fight for ye!"

I burst into weeping and clamp my hand over my mouth. Everything batters me from every direction. Eric cannot fight a war that isn't his! Yet…it was Eric and his brother that brought us so close to victory. When Ravenna made Luke look like a traitor and killed him through my father's enraged, blinded hands, Eric abandoned us and left my people, my home to our dark fate. I've witnessed Eric's ability to push back evil spirits. The Phantom War was a war against demons. After Eric abandoned us, Ravenna must have given up pursuing him. He was no longer a threat to her, but now if he takes up arms against her, he will be a threat again. She will want him dead as she wants me dead. If not more.

Eric pulls me into his arms and tucks me into his chest. My fingers twitch to grab hold of his shirt, but I stop them. Instead, I dig my fingernails into my face and clutch my coat in my empty hand.

If he nearly bought us victory with his blood before…he could do it again. Horror grips my heart. This war isn't his! The thought of him dying to a war that isn't his…but at the same time he may be the only chance to save my people.

When he discovers my treachery, his love will turn to hate. Pure, unadulterated hatred for me—and perhaps once more for my people. He will not abandon just me, but all of us! Not only by my inaction will my people die, but now my lies and deceit will drive our savior away! Desperation grips me and hollows me out. I cannot lose him! My people cannot lose him now—but he also cannot die fighting a war that isn't his!

"Ravenna!" I sob into his chest. "She'll want you dead!" Maybe if he backs down from his oath, if he gives up now for fear of his own life, perhaps I can find some peace in that?

He laughs scornfully, shaking his chest against me. "That's nothin' new! The old hag's wanted me dead for years."

Guilt roils my stomach, throwing a wave of nausea upon me. Of course he isn't going to back down for fear of his own life. He's not like me! He grabs my shoulders and eases me from his chest.

"What're ye doin'!?" He rips my hand from my mouth. A sob escapes me. The cold nips at five crescent shaped points around my mouth—where I dug my nails into my face. "Gods, lass," he says and brushes his fingertips over my marks. They sting when he touches them. I can't help but hiss. His fingertips instantly vanish from my face. I grit my teeth, quieting my sobs. I'm not sure how terrible I look now nor how badly I cut my face, but it hurts. I hang my head, the shame so heavy on me. I can't bring myself to look at him.

"I didn't mean to do this." My voice shakes as I gesture to my face. "I…I didn't know I was." Though hell, it's the least I deserve for my wickedness.

All I see is darkness, but I feel the shock—no, the horror coming from him like an aroma. I'm shocked myself, yet I deserved every bit of it.

His hand gently covers my cheek, minding the five stinging nailmarks about my mouth. I almost recoil from his touch, yet I also want to lean into his touch…I'm not sure what to do. "How did ye no' realize what ye were doin'?" he asks gently, carefully. "Did ye no' feel it?"

I swallow. "I…no, I didn't feel it. I didn't know. It's cold. The cold must have numbed me. I…God, I'm ashamed!" I bury my face in my hands, minding where my fingernails are this time. What he must think of me! "I'm not that kind of woman!" I say into my hands. I fear pain. I couldn't even hang myself because I fear pain so much! No, it was my guilt, the fear of losing him…it got to me. Fear shoots through me. Has this tipped him off to my lies!?

"Ye have nothin' to be ashamed of." He grabs my wrists and pulls my hands from my face. I try to stop him, but he easily pulls my hands down. "It's cold, aye. Yer face is numb…After fourteen years of darkness and hopelessness—" he scoffs. "If I was in yer place, I would've died long ago!"

"Please don't say that!" I sniffle back the water draining from my nose. "Please! You know I hate hearing that."

"I know ye do, but it's true. The fact that yer standin' here now is a testament to yer will! Yer a strong woman, and I'm tellin' ye, this isnae a hope ye need to fear!"

A sob leaves me. He knows I'm afraid. He knows.

"Will ye look at me?" he asks me. He presses his fingers beneath my chin, but he does not force me to lift it. "Please?"

My heart races and aches. I can't bear to look at him! My shame, my embarrassment, my guilt—My legs tense and fill with so much pressure that begs to run me away from here. At the same time, I'm desperate to stay with him and savor his care, his love, and his gentle strength for the rest of my days. If I am to keep his care, his love, and his gentle strength for at least a moment longer, I have to look at him. I cannot raise his suspicions. God, now for my people's sake, I cannot raise his suspicions!

I drag in a deep, shaking breath. I scour the depths of my black soul for any scraps of courage to raise my chin and open my eyes. I find scraps. For my people, I must look at him. For Greta. For Eliza and her precious baby.

I suck in another frigid breath and lift my chin high. For Annabelle. For little Benny and Mary and Stephen, and even Louis. For Geoffrey. For Sara. I scrub the straggling tears from my eyes and force them open. Eric is looking down at me, his face twisted with pain and sorrow. If he knew my true name, he wouldn't feel an ounce of that.

He parts his mouth and draws in a short breath. "I know we're askin' a lot of ye to hope in it. I lived with despair for years. I'm tellin' ye now, despair does for death what hope does for life! Findin' ye in that dark forest, havin' ye in my life…I'd rather live and die in hope than despair." My chest constricts. If he knew the truth—"I pity the lad and the lass who chooses despair over hope because they're afraid that their hope could be wrong! Livin' in fear, livin' in despair—that's a choice. It's a choice I made when my mother and sister were murdered. It's a choice I made again when my brother was murdered. It's a choice I made a third time when Sara was murdered! I cannae make it a fourth time. That's no' a way to live.

"Greta," he says her name and grabs the sides of my neck, his hold of me gentle—yet if he learned the truth now, his hands would tighten around my throat. "Ye've opened my eyes. Ye've asked me to consider thin's that I refused to consider before. I'm still thinkin' about them." He…he means me asking him to forgive Ravenna, Finn, my father, himself, and his father. He strokes the skin beneath my ears with his thumbs as he readjusts his feet, crunching the snow beneath him. "Please choose hope. Even if this hope is in vain, I would rather see ye freed from despair! Despair is a prison of its own kind. Believe me, I've been imprisoned in it multiple times, for years each and every time!

"That's what the delvirs want, lass. They want ye to despair. They want ye to give up and let them win! Dinnae let them win! Yer better than them. Yer stronger than them! I want to see ye free. I want to see ye happy. I'll do whatever I can to help ye get there. Ye helped me. Ye may no' realize it, but ye freed me from that prison of despair. Now let me help ye. Please." He strokes my healed cheekbone with his thumb and steps closer to me, towering over me as a bear on his hind limbs. "I know it'll take time, but let me help ye. Please, let me help ye."

A sob escapes me. I cannot stop my hands from grabbing his wrists. Another sob escapes me. His plea to help free me from my despair is for naught. No, what matters is that he has vowed to fight for me—for a lie! He will hate me when he learns the truth. Then, he will abandon me—in every way. The thought of him allowing Maacthis back into my heart…it shakes me to my core. Though my desperation to feel his goodness pales in gravity to my people's plight, there is still that desperation inside that's screaming for just one touch that is not spurred by my lies, deception, and manipulation, but is urged by pure truth, acceptance…and forgiveness. At the same time, there is something deep inside me that knows…that truth that I had suppressed and tried to remain ignorant to for so long. There is a reason I survived fourteen years of hell despite all the odds stacked against me. Sara's words, Eliza's words, Wessel's words, Muir's words, Eric's, Torrance's…My people's very lives depend on my actions, on who I can persuade to help them…All their lives, whether they live or die, is on me.

"Eric, can you—" I gulp down my spit and clear my throat. I must choose my words carefully. One wrong word…and my people will die. "You said I'd always have your word. Right?"

His brow furrows with confusion. "Aye, always." He swallows, his face softening. "Why are ye askin' me this?"

I brace myself. I've found the words. Maker, God, whoever will hear me! Please, let them accomplish what I need. "You know why." I fight to hold back my tears, to keep my voice even. His eyes open up and glisten with the unspoken truth—My life is cut short and there's not a damn thing he can do about it. "I am just one of hundreds of thousands, Eric. My people are who matter. You matter. If you insist on fighting a war that was never yours—"

"It is my fight. It became my fight when Ravenna and Finn murdered Sara!" he says, the cords of his neck pressing against his skin.

Envy forms a lump in my heart. It shouldn't, but it does. "Fine. It's your fight, but still this world cannot lose you ahead of your time! It will suffer greatly if it does!"

He grips my arms. "Aye, and both this world and I will suffer if we lose ye!—"

"Eric, please, just hear me!" I say as he parts his mouth. He halts for a breath, his glistening eyes looking down at me in disbelief. His breath leaves him, dropping his shoulders and any resistance he had. Slowly, he closes his mouth. Now is my chance to speak. "My people matter. I love them." Something flits across his eyes, but he pushes it away. "Yes, your brother was murdered by my people, and for that I am so sorry!" My tears shake my voice as they nearly spill, but I blink a few times, holding them back. "You turned your back on us and left us to our fate." He flinches, pain gathering in his already glistening eyes. "If you insist on fighting our war, then I need you to give me your word that no matter what becomes of me, of us," I squeeze his arms, "you will not abandon my people lest you know you'll be killed. If you know you'll be killed, then leave us, but if you can survive this, then I beg you! Please help my people! Eric!" The tears well too much in my eyes and stream down my cheeks. My heart is swollen—with hope. Hope that my people can be saved and spared of their coming genocide, but my heart is also being crushed beneath the weight of my shame and remorse. "It was only because of you and your brother that we were so close to victory before! There are many guilty among my people, but also many innocent!" Benny, Mary, Stephan, little Guinevere! "So many innocent people. Children. Babes! Those yet to be born!" The tears on my face grow icy.

He releases a shaking breath and cradles my cheeks, brushing away my chilled tears with his thumbs. "I give ye my word I will no' turn my back on yer people again. Gods, lass, I'm so sorry I did before! Forgive me."

I shake my head. "What you did matters not now, and what you said is only part of what I asked you to give your word on. Say you will not turn your back on my people unless you will be killed! Give me your word on that, too! Please."

He drops his hands to the sides of my neck. "I cannae do that."

My heart lurches for him, but it slams into my sternum. "Why!?" I cry.

Something dark and somber passes over his face as he kneads the sides and the back of my neck with his fingers. "Because I cannae do it again! If I do it, I'd become myself again, a self I never cared for."

"Eric, that's not!—" I sob and drop my head. That's not what I needed to hear him say! "You can't die!"

"Neither can yer land, yer people, and ye."

"Damn it, Eric!" My gaze shoots up to his. "Why do you keep insisting on my life, too!? You know I'll be dead by this time next year!—"

"I KNOW!" His words surround us and carry a shortways across the oasis before they die to the faint wind and rustling branches. That silences me. He looks down at me as he strokes my jawline with his thumbs. Tears tremble in his blue eyes, so close to falling. My heart beats with a deep ache. I've seen him come close to tears before, but not like this. He clenches his jaw and nearly blinks, but he stops himself. If he blinks, that will push the tears from his eyes.

Seeing him like this brings my own tears. For his life's sake, he cannot cry for me—but he's already at that point. So am I. I reach up and cradle his cheeks. His skin is cool, and his stubble pricks my palms. "I thought we agreed to take each day as it comes. Together."

He draws in a small, sharp breath. "Aye," he says. It's all he can say without his voice shaking.

My face tenses, trying to hold back a pressing sob. "Then let's do that. Together." I wrap my arms about his neck and force his chin onto my shoulder. He does not want me to see him weep as any man wouldn't…and I'm not sure I want to witness it. This way, he can. He throws his arms about me and buries his face into my neck, into the folds of my scarf. He releases a breath, his strong shoulders shaking beneath my arms with his exhale.

He doesn't weep aloud, but his body trembles with some of his breaths. He tightens his arms about me and clenches my clothes in tight fists. Silent tears stream down my cheeks, this winter turning them icy on my already chilled face. I hold him and let him cling to me. I let him weep silently. I let his body sporadically tremble against mine. I try to not shrink back from the tension in his muscles. There is nothing that he is doing here at this moment that is making him any less of a man.

No, he is a man who has lost everyone he loves. He wanted to keep them safe and give them good lives...and he failed to do that. I do not blame him in any way, nor do I think of him any less than the good man he is, but objectively he did fail. Despite his inhuman strength, his unique ability to fight evil spirits, and his skills in combat, hunting, and tracking, he has still failed. That failure weighs on him…Perhaps it became more poignant when I reminded him that he did abandon my people after his brother's murder. I saw the pain in his eyes when I said as much.

Now, he found me. He has staked everything on me despite my many repeated, cruel warnings for him not to—but I cannot blame him alone for this. I've led him to this point. Guilt and regret strike my heart. To tell him any of this now would be beyond cruel. We've passed the point of no return. When we crossed that point, I'm not sure, but we're here now. Now, all we can do is take each day as it comes. Together.

A horse nickers behind me. Ylva.

Eric sniffles and clears his throat as he lifts his chin from my shoulder. "Aye, I know, lass," he says, his voice husky. He's not talking to me. He's talking to Ylva. One of his arms leaves me, and the sound of skin scrubbing skin reaches my left ear. He's wiping away his tears, and he doesn't want me to see it. I don't want to see his tears. I bury my face into his chest and rub my forehead against him, savoring the sound and warmth the friction creates and the feel of his linen shirt against my chilled brow.

He sucks in a breath and drops his arm across my shoulders. "We've got to get goin'," he says, but he doesn't pull back right away.

"Yes," I say, my voice hoarse. I wipe my tears on my coat sleeve. I don't want to end our embrace, but we have to go. "Yes." I step back out of his reluctant arms, my own feet feeling like boulders. I finally see his face and his eyes. They're red and puffy, the icy blue now a sea blue. He nods and tears his gaze from me as he turns and stoops down to gather my furs and blankets.

"Let me help." I spring to his side.

"Thanks," he says and offers me some of the furs. We both trek over to Ylva. I help him to stow the furs and blankets on Ylva's rump behind our bedrolls. As we do, I look about for the others. Wessel, Torrance, Locke, and their horses are nowhere in sight, but their tracks are.

"They went on ahead," Eric answers the question I hadn't asked aloud. He ties off the last of the furs and looks down at me. "They're waitin' for us to catch up." He grabs Ylva's reins and extends his empty hand to me. "We'll eat breakfast along the way."

"Alright." I take his hand in mine. He tightens his fingers about mine and the three of us start our day's trek through the deep snow.

We tread onward in somber silence. I hate this silence, but there's not much either of us can say at this moment. Though, it fails to change the growing pull in my heart. It yearns to be closer to him. Somehow. Someway. I glance down at our joined hands. His hand dwarfs mine, so much broader, so much rougher, so much stronger, and wonderfully warm. I need to be closer to him. There's not much I can do now with us trudging through knee deep snow, but there is one thing I can do. I move my hand downward in his and thread my fingers between his. His knuckles are so thick that they splay my fingers apart, stretching the stringy muscles and tendons in them. His fingers hesitate for a breath before they fold over the back of my hand.

I glance up at him, catching his eyes as he lifts them to me. He gives me a small, sad smile.

"Together?" I ask him.

He nods once, without hesitation. "Together."

I smile up at him, this smile painfully tender.

It doesn't take long for us to catch sight of the three men leading their horses by their reins. Eric doesn't let go of my hand, nor I his. Wessel and Torrance look back at us whilst we draw nearer to the group. Wessel heaves a breath of relief, but his eyes fall to mine and Eric's joined hands.

"Glad you could make it," Torrance says. Wessel lifts his sad eyes to mine.

"Aye," Eric says. I should pull my hand from Eric's, but I cannot. Not yet.

Torrance waves his hand for us to join them as Wessel looks ahead. "Walk with us," Torrance says. "We were just talking about old times. I think you'd be interested in hearing them, my dear."

I force my smile bigger for Torrance's sake. "Of course!" I say and glance at Eric, catching his gaze before we rush and join the others to regale in their past stories. Torrance and Eric are the most vocal in their reminiscence. Wessel eventually joins in. We even manage to get him to laugh. Locke joins in, too. He laughs when we laugh, but there is something off about him. He almost seems…sad.

"Locke, you alright?" Torrance asks. Even he noticed Locke's changed mood.

Locke inclines his head to Torrance. "I am fine, brother. It is my head that is bothering me this morning."

"I see," Torrance says. "You'll be feeling better come midday."

Throughout the morning and even when midday comes, Eric and I only let go of each other's hands to eat with the others. As soon as we finish, Eric and I both reach for each other's hands and interlace our fingers.