MARKS- Chapter 27

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Ward’s words hang in the air, as thick as the humidity around us. They’re not only truth; they’re an accusation. My arm is still caught in his hand. I want to yank it away. To run far away from here. From my memories. From myself.

Instead, I start to cry.

I force myself to look at Ward. At his eyes, which are wide. Here he’s granted me protection and friendship, and I’ve betrayed him with my secret. I don’t want the King to find me, and like a coward I’ve hidden here, refusing to get involved because it might cost me too much.

Ward will never forgive me.

I stare at my arm, forever branded with my worst sins. I jerk hard, and Ward releases me. The pressure in my chest builds until I think I might explode into a million pieces. I’m not worthy of this power I have. And I’m certainly not worthy of a family, even one I’ve adopted as my own.

What have I done?     

I push off my feet, but Ward’s arms come around me, stopping me. He’s risked his life more than once to find me, and I have repaid him with nothing but lies. I wait for him to yell or hit me. To shake me and scream and ask why I’ve done this.

But he doesn’t do any of it. Just locks his arms around me like a fortress he dares me to leave. All my life I’ve been running, and never been able to get away. From any of it. And finally, after years of raging against it, I finally surrender the grief I’ve tried to keep buried for years and my sobs come fast and ragged. I look down at my arm, trapped now between my body and Ward’s. The marks on it are blinding. That’s why I’ve hated my power. Because it killed them. Because I couldn’t save those I loved the most. Because I’d have rather died with them than live alone.

And now the King has won, because I let my fear keep me from using the one thing I have that could help. I bury my forehead deeper into Ward’s chest, as if I all my sins can dissolve into his goodness, and be no more.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper.

“It’s me who should be saying that.” Ward reaches a hand and smooths down my hair. “Your brother didn’t die from the plague, did he?”

I shake my head. “The King killed them all. First Papa. That’s when we went into hiding. But he found us. He killed Mama and my two brothers. I watched it all. I ran with my baby sister, and I couldn’t care for her, so I had to give her away, too." The truth sucks the air from my lungs. "He took them all from me.”

Ward’s grip on me tightens, and I wish his arms alone could keep the pain from tearing at me. I should’ve never been trusted with my power. It shouldn’t have come to me. I’m not good enough. “I’ve let him win,” I sob.

“He hasn’t won, Gretta. You’re still here, living life and not letting him stop you. You defy him with every breath you take.”

But I haven’t. The King has sucked me dry. Spilled all their blood. “I don’t have anybody.”

“You have me. And my family.”

A hand squeezes around my heart. “They’ll hate me now. I could ‘ve written Nolan’s safety and I didn’t. I could’ve done a million things and didn’t.”

“We know what it’s like to live in fear, Gretta. They’ll not hate you.”

I tuck myself further under his chin. “Do you?”

He chuckles. “Oh Gretta, I have to go every day and do what he tells me. The wrong you think you’ve done to me doesn’t even count as bad compared to that.”

But Ward’s goodness defies the King more than my words do.

“I thought you hated me because I was a guard,” he says.

I shake my head, still tucked against his chest. “You can’t help that.”

“You can’t help what you are, either.”

I suppose not. But I haven’t done any good with it like he has. “You’re the bravest person I know, Ward,” I whisper.

His fingers trace down the tangles of my hair. Then he steps back. “I need to tell the others, Gretta.”

My eyes go wide.

“Not so we can use you. They need to know to protect you should anything ever happen, especially if I’m not here.”

I hate the idea of them knowing. “What if they don’t want me here?”

"I want you here, Gretta, and I’ll not let them kick you out.”

His gaze is stern. He means it. I nod then glance to the tunnel, wondering if I’ll have the courage to walk to the truth that awaits me.

“Why don’t you stay here?” Ward says. “I’ll pull the ribbon so you’re alone, and send Blair down with a towel.”

I’d rather drown than face them. I nod and Ward squeezes my arm once before he leaves. Alone, I undress and leave my clothes in a heap on the rock floor. I stand naked on the water’s edge, and honestly, the truth Ward is telling everyone right now exposes me more than my own unclothed body does. I could saunter up the tunnel right now and not feel as vulnerable as I do having them find out what I am.

The water feels like an embrace, warm and inviting, as though now that the truth is out I can rest and not run anymore. I hate running.

And hiding.

And chasing freedom that never seems to come.

I suppose having everyone know and hate me is no worse than not being fully accepted. Minutes pass and I stop thinking about my words and my family. I float on my back and think of colors. Of the golden flecks in Ward’s hair when firelight bounces off it. I think of Liddy’s hair, brown the color of pine bark, and so much like Nolan’s. I think of my own Papa’s hair, golden like sunlight across a pond in summer. And Lucas’, which was even a shade lighter. I think of black the color of winter nights and how it’s different from the black of darkness when I’m in the unlit tunnels here, and different even from the black of the lines on my arm.

I hold my arm over my face and study the lines, now glistening with water. Three marks that mean death and mercy at the same time. I wonder if death had a color, if it would be something other than black. Life should be more than one color. If the saves on a Lyran’s arm spring up black as well, surely death cannot be just that color.

If I were a color, what would I be?

A throat clears, and I sink down into the water.

Blair stands on the shoreline and gestures to the towel in her hand. “Do you want me to leave it for you?”

Running from her won’t make it any easier. I shake my head. “I’m done.”

She gives a small smile that can only be polite. My steps are wobbly and uncertain. When I step naked out of the water, it isn’t my body I’m nervous about Blair seeing, but the marks on it. They represent a power I’ve not shared with her. They’re marks of selfishness now.

I can’t look her in the eyes but know I must, else she’ll never stop thinking me a coward. Running from shame is ten times worse than running from responsibility. Blair hands me the towel, her eyes not telling me anything. I rub the fabric over my body, wishing I could wash away all the regret I seem to wear like a second skin.

“I brought you a clean dress,” she says.

Either a gesture of mercy or because someone wants the dress I wear back. “Thank you,”

She hands me a clean shift as well, which I pull over my shoulders. The dress Blair gives me is dark green, like pine needles against fallen snow. Without me asking, she laces up the back. I tug the sleeves of the dress down, but Blair grabs my arm. Then her fingers skim over the lines there.

“Oh, Blair, I’m so sorry.”

Her eyes rise to meet mine. “You’ve done me no offense.”

“I could’ve saved Nolan.”

She presses her hands to the sides of my face. “But you did.” She grabs my arm. “You may not have a mark for it, Gretta. But rest assured it was you who saved him.”

Her words crack open a dam inside me. One I constructed years ago of lies and guilt and unspoken words. I’ve saved someone. Someone who is like family to me. Someone who is family to Ward. And if that’s my only reason for being here, so be it.

But that reason may be over, my purpose used up. If that’s true, then what now?