“I’ll go to the apothecary. First thing in the morning.”
Reluctantly, he made his way to bed, curling toward the wall and feigning sleep. He couldn’t escape his sister’s suffering, the single most unbearable feeling he had ever known. And there was nothing he could do about it.
The Sovereign’s Tournament. The fortress appeared in his vision, and he shook it from his thoughts.
Hours passed. Naomi thrashed and cried while their mother rubbed her back, and all the while Tobias listened, his jaw tight, his insides clenched. Finally his sister’s writhing turned into the occasional flinch, and their mother took to her bed, falling asleep with ease. Tobias waited for her gentle snoring before turning toward his sister, who was already staring at him, her cheeks still wet with tears.
“How are you feeling?” he whispered.
She forced a slight smile. “Better.”
“But not well.”
“I can’t remember the last time I felt well.”
Tobias glanced at their mother—her eyes were closed, her body rising and falling with each snore—then tiptoed out of bed, taking a seat on the floor beside his sister’s low-set mattress. “I’m going to the apothecary tomorrow. I’ll get you some valerian root.”
“Don’t bother,” she grumbled. “It does nothing but put me to sleep.”
“Would you rather be sleeping or suffering?”
“I’d rather be dead.”
Tobias faltered. “You don’t mean that.”
Naomi was quiet, staring off at something—perhaps at nothing at all.
“Do you ever wonder why it is that Father died in that accident, and I lived?”
Tobias went rigid. “I try not to think about the accident.”
“I think about it all the time. I wonder…why couldn’t I have died with him?”
“That’s an easy question to answer. You’re needed here. To annoy me with your endless badgering. To poison me with your terrible cooking.” He tilted his head, trying to make his way back into her line of sight. “It’s clear, really. You’re alive because I need you.”
Naomi’s gaze flitted back to his, but she didn’t respond.
“How does it feel? The shocks.”
“Like a fiery blade piercing through me, down to the bone. They lurch me awake. They jolt me.” Her eyes glistened. “It doesn’t seem fair. I feel so much nothing in my legs. And when the nothing is replaced with something, it’s pain.”
Tobias hesitated. “What if I promised to make things better—to make you comfortable? Make your life rich, your suffering disappear?”
“That sounds wonderful. And what if I promised to sprout wings and fly away from here?” She chuckled halfheartedly. “You speak of promises you can’t keep.”
“It won’t always be this way.”
“Won’t it?” She smiled, though it was unconvincing. “It’s been two years.”
Tobias went quiet, his mind warped with thought.
Naomi’s face dropped. “Please don’t pity me.”
“Shut up. You know I don’t.”
“It’s that look in your eye.”
“My eyes look like nothing, just big black saucers. Same as yours.”
“You said you wouldn’t fuss, remember? You promised.”
“The only one fussing is you, you loon.” Tobias leaned back on his hands. “I, on the other hand, am a man of my word. Perfectly calm and content.”
Naomi shook her head, laughing under her breath. “I love you, Toby.”
“Don’t call me Toby.” He kissed his fingers and pressed them against her cheek. “Love you too.”
Tobias plodded back to bed, once again turning toward the wall. Naomi drifted to sleep, moaning occasionally in pain, but he remained awake. Every inch of him was piqued and restless, but his mind was the most alert of all, focused exclusively on one thing.
The Sovereign’s Tournament.
His gut twisted in opposite directions as a single phrase repeated in his thoughts: he wasn’t going to enter. He wasn’t going to enter.
I’m not going to enter.
Tobias tore from his cottage and bounded down the hillside. It was early in the morning—the sun was just rising, and his mother and sister were still asleep—but the town would soon begin to stir. More importantly, the apothecary would open shortly.
Time was of the essence. Tobias needed to head into town, purchase the valerian root, bring it to his sister, then travel all the way to the mill for work—and he had an hour, if that, to do it all. He glanced at the sun, trying to slow its ascent through the sheer will of his thoughts, but surprisingly nothing happened. He broke into a sprint.
The path beneath him turned from dry earth to grey stone; he had reached town. The streets were busier than usual, but he ignored the fuss, hunting for the one spot he had frequented far too often for his liking. Finally the plaster walls were in sight, their slate color