like a mother to her than Ygritte herself. In that alcohol-induced insecurity, her fears grew with the ever-increasing possibility she might never see Pahjah or her sister again.
When her eyes stung with unshed tears, her drunken brother reached across the table, curled his fingers around her shoulder and drew in his other hand to lift her face so she couldn’t hide them. His clumsy thumb brushed away the tear that fell, smearing the cooling liquid across her cheek when he tilted his face in to study hers.
“It’s all right to feel things,” he told her. “It’s okay to be sad and afraid you might never see the ones you love again. You’d be a monster if you didn’t have feelings, but you don’t have to mourn them. They’re not dead, and you may yet see them again before all is said and done.”
She felt terrible then, as though she hadn’t considered his grief at all in the feeling of her own. Part of it was the alcohol, she knew, but the rest came from the guilt niggling at her conscious awareness. He lost his mother, and if the story he told her was to be believed, if she truly reached through the fires as their house burned down around them to save him, he should have resented her for not saving Galisa when she held a hand out to him.
But he didn’t.
As the tears slipped down her cheeks, over his fingers where he held her chin, she sniffled and tried to look away but he held her there. “Do you ever hate me because I didn’t save her?” She choked on the words as she spoke them. “Because I didn’t save your mother?”
“Sweet stars in the heavens, girl,” he barked, the rising of his voice startling them both as it echoed through the silent, sleeping household. “I could never hate you. No matter what you did. You’re my sister, blood of my blood, and you saved my life. I don’t know how you did it, how such a thing could even be, but you did it anyway. Without you, I wouldn’t be sitting here right now,” he pointed out. “None of the people in this city would be here at all. And maybe a few are missing, a few we loved well and mourned deeply, but my gods, Lorelei, you couldn’t save everyone!”
“Maybe I could have though,” she protested.
“Bah!” Withdrawing his hand from her face, he leaned back in his chair to stare at her. He shook his head, the auburn braids rustling through the waves of loose hair around them before nestling against his cheek. “Maybe you could have and maybe you couldn’t have, but you did what you could, and I, for one, am grateful to be sitting here because of you. However it was you made it possible, I am glad!”
Alcohol made her weepy, lack of sleep filled her with regret over things well beyond her control, things she still wasn’t entirely convinced she had any part in doing. Her awareness of how tired she should be had an odd sobering effect, and even though she was exhausted beyond measure she sat up straight and swore off sleep entirely. She would hate herself for it come morning. She would probably fall off her horse just feet from the gates of Dunvarak and be dragged behind it through the ice and snow until one of her companions noticed and helped her up again, but she wanted to do something useful, rather than lie awake and alone in bed worrying about things she had no control over.
But what use was drinking? What purpose did filling her cup again serve, except to distantly dull and numb fears she would have to face eventually?
“You must be tired,” she said after a long silence. “If you want to go to bed…”
“Nah.” He shrugged up his shoulder and reached for his cup to empty it again. “I’ll stay up with you as long as you want me to.”
“You don’t have to.”
“Maybe I don’t have to, but I want to. I’ve waited years for this time with you. I’m not going to just sleep it away.”
He swallowed what remained in his cup and lowered it back to the table, but he didn’t reach for the bottle again. The bottle was
When her eyes stung with unshed tears, her drunken brother reached across the table, curled his fingers around her shoulder and drew in his other hand to lift her face so she couldn’t hide them. His clumsy thumb brushed away the tear that fell, smearing the cooling liquid across her cheek when he tilted his face in to study hers.
“It’s all right to feel things,” he told her. “It’s okay to be sad and afraid you might never see the ones you love again. You’d be a monster if you didn’t have feelings, but you don’t have to mourn them. They’re not dead, and you may yet see them again before all is said and done.”
She felt terrible then, as though she hadn’t considered his grief at all in the feeling of her own. Part of it was the alcohol, she knew, but the rest came from the guilt niggling at her conscious awareness. He lost his mother, and if the story he told her was to be believed, if she truly reached through the fires as their house burned down around them to save him, he should have resented her for not saving Galisa when she held a hand out to him.
But he didn’t.
As the tears slipped down her cheeks, over his fingers where he held her chin, she sniffled and tried to look away but he held her there. “Do you ever hate me because I didn’t save her?” She choked on the words as she spoke them. “Because I didn’t save your mother?”
“Sweet stars in the heavens, girl,” he barked, the rising of his voice startling them both as it echoed through the silent, sleeping household. “I could never hate you. No matter what you did. You’re my sister, blood of my blood, and you saved my life. I don’t know how you did it, how such a thing could even be, but you did it anyway. Without you, I wouldn’t be sitting here right now,” he pointed out. “None of the people in this city would be here at all. And maybe a few are missing, a few we loved well and mourned deeply, but my gods, Lorelei, you couldn’t save everyone!”
“Maybe I could have though,” she protested.
“Bah!” Withdrawing his hand from her face, he leaned back in his chair to stare at her. He shook his head, the auburn braids rustling through the waves of loose hair around them before nestling against his cheek. “Maybe you could have and maybe you couldn’t have, but you did what you could, and I, for one, am grateful to be sitting here because of you. However it was you made it possible, I am glad!”
Alcohol made her weepy, lack of sleep filled her with regret over things well beyond her control, things she still wasn’t entirely convinced she had any part in doing. Her awareness of how tired she should be had an odd sobering effect, and even though she was exhausted beyond measure she sat up straight and swore off sleep entirely. She would hate herself for it come morning. She would probably fall off her horse just feet from the gates of Dunvarak and be dragged behind it through the ice and snow until one of her companions noticed and helped her up again, but she wanted to do something useful, rather than lie awake and alone in bed worrying about things she had no control over.
But what use was drinking? What purpose did filling her cup again serve, except to distantly dull and numb fears she would have to face eventually?
“You must be tired,” she said after a long silence. “If you want to go to bed…”
“Nah.” He shrugged up his shoulder and reached for his cup to empty it again. “I’ll stay up with you as long as you want me to.”
“You don’t have to.”
“Maybe I don’t have to, but I want to. I’ve waited years for this time with you. I’m not going to just sleep it away.”
He swallowed what remained in his cup and lowered it back to the table, but he didn’t reach for the bottle again. The bottle was
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