His words stuff me full of mortar, making my body feel heavy.
Laden.
“There’s a hidden … depth packed with more hurts and secrets than I can count,” he says with a swift shake of his head. “How do you manage it?”
I force my lungs full. Convince them to work.
“I ignore it,” I rasp. “Mostly.”
“Ahh.”
He sets the stick on a piece of folded cloth, wiry brows pinching together. “You’ve come for a flush of dragonscale blades, six iron ones, a bandolier, a handful of iron pins—regular size—and you’d like to be fitted with appropriate garb you can carry with you in a small, manageable bag to The Fade where you intend to hunt the bounty hunter Rekk Zharos.”
Well. This is handy.
“Correct.” I dip my head in respect of his abilities.
“Quite a list.”
“Yes, well. I had a house fire. Lost—”
Too much.
The vision of Essi too still on the seater strikes me like a shiv between the ribs, and it’s an effort not to flinch.
“I can see that,” Vruhn tells me, his voice thick with emotion. “I’m sorry, Raeve. For Essi. Regret is the heaviest burden to bear.”
I turn my stare to the mosaic ceiling.
The shelves.
My hands.
“I’m also sorry for your little Nee. I know how hard it was to activate the return fold.”
“Your mental fishing rod is very good at catching things,” I say with a forced laugh, pushing the shackle farther up my wrist to give my skin some room to breathe.
“It is. I’m sorry. It’s more a compulsion than a gift, I’m afraid.” A brief pause, then, “You also want one of my metal mixing sticks to punch that iron cuff from your wrist …”
I look up, brow lifting. His own is hitched in a quizzical arch.
“An idea you got when you walked in here. You’re going to pluck a stone from the shore and use it to tap the linchpin free.” He flashes me a mischievous smile that’s immediately infectious.
“Think it’ll work?”
“I do, though I have something more appropriate that won’t bend beneath the pressure. You also want a few things off the shelves to maintain the vision that you came in here for regular supplies. I can help with that, too.”
“Thank you,” I say, followed by another dip of my head. “Pyrok says hi. He’s right outside.”
“Tell him he needs to lay off the mead. Oh …” His eyes widen, then squint again, like he’s peering through the folds of my brain. “I see why you brought the candlestick rather than make use of your reserves …”
Yes.
That.
“The Fíur du Ath believes I’m dead. My page should state as such. I’d like to keep it that way. At least—”
“For the time being.”
“I’m sure you can understand why.”
“Indeed,” he muses, nodding slowly. “This Sereme is quite a nasty piece of work. I see she’s kept you on a very tight … leash …”
Choker collar more like it. But sure.
All the warmth falls from his face, his eyes glazing with a sheen of tears. “You’re missing something, but you don’t know what …”
A bolt of chill shoots through my veins, boring all the way to my marrow.
“I—”
“Oh … my dear.” His face scrunches, hand clutching his chest as a tear slides down his cheek. “Something so … special,” he sobs, his words a convulsing ache in my belly.
A swift stab to the left side of my chest.
“The answer is within you. In the place where you hide everything. I could help you drain the—”
“That’s enough,” I snap, thumping the candlestick on the counter.
His eyes widen, breath shuddering. For a long moment, he just … stares—all the color leaching from his face, more tears gathering in his eyes that fall freely down his cheeks. Drips of a truth I don’t want to look at. Don’t want to see.
Not when I can already imagine the sad sounds his tears are making just by looking at them.
“I said enough.”
Please …
He blinks, crushing his brow together, not bothering to wipe the trails of sadness from his cheeks. “Of course. I’ll do my best to stop. I just—” He shakes his head, then stands, moving out from behind the counter. “I’ll collect your decoy purchases so you can be on your way.”
My knees almost buckle the moment he’s out of sight, my hand coming up to rest on my hammering heart as he shuffles about his store, pulling things from the shelves.