17. Owen

Owen

Owen stood before the fire in the room they'd been given. After he'd washed and changed into fresh clothes, he tried to warm himself by the fire. The heat was good for his bones, but it did nothing to thaw the numbness from his mind.

As Colt prepared their bed, Owen took out his brush from his bag and smoothed his hair out. It had grown slightly since Gilda had cut it over a month ago, and now grew around his ears. When he was done, he got up and placed the brush on the table against the wall. Then he pulled out his other things. Everything was still intact, from his quilt to his journal to Creatures of the North. But when he opened the book and tried to turn the pages, they stuck together. Most of the writing and drawings were now muddled from the ink running. It must have gotten wet along the way.

A tight lump rose in his throat.

His mother's book was ruined. Picking it up, Owen held it before the fire. He stared at the flames for a long time, his hand inching closer.

"What are you doing?" Colt came up beside him.

"My book's ruined, so I'm going to burn it."

Taking it from his hands, Colt flipped through it. "Some of the pages are still intact. A few wet, but we can lay it out. "

"It doesn't matter, Colt." Owen grabbed the book, but Colt tugged it back. "It's worthless now."

"Owen, it's fine. Pages can dry."

"Let go!" Owen managed to pry it from Colt's hands and stumbled back. Clutching the book, Owen glared at him. "It's ruined ."

Colt blinked at him, then looked away with a painful expression. Owen closed his eyes and hung his head. It was more than his book that was ruined. His heart was wrecked as he thought deeply about Gilda. Here they were, finally out of Vanhelm, in a warm room and in dry clothes. And yet she was lying in a cold, wet grave, dead.

For a long moment, both of them were quiet, then Colt stepped forward and pulled Owen against his chest. It was all Owen needed as he closed his eyes and tightened his grip against Colt's shirt. He breathed in his earthy scent while feeling and tasting the honey and lemon of his energy.

"The only thing ruined right now is my sanity," Colt whispered, "because I'm mad about you."

Hearing his words made Owen puff out a laugh and look up at him as tears collected in his eyes. He certainly didn't deserve such an affectionate, endearing man.

"I need you to not burn your book. Can you do that for me?"

Pulling away, Owen nodded and sniffled. He took Creatures of the North and opened the back and front cover until most of the pages spread out and set it on the table to dry.

As he sat on the bed, Colt bent down and took Owen's dirty boots off for him.

"Are you always going to do this?" Owen asked.

"I'll do whatever you ask of me. "

"But I didn't ask you to pull my boots off." Owen smiled faintly.

"I know." Colt peered up and winked at him.

Owen sighed. This was the comfort he needed after trudging through Vanhelm with monsters after them. With Mordren on his heels. The evil god was close, Owen could feel it. They didn't have much time, which made him feel sick. So feeling Colt's hands take care of his battered feet was just what he needed.

When a loud knock shook their door, Owen jumped, and they both looked over to see Brom peeking around the door. Owen relaxed, but when he realized Colt still held his foot, he pulled it away.

Brom didn't utter a word of it and instead strode to the fire. "Elian's brother is sending a letter out to Luthien tomorrow," he said.

Colt got to his feet. "Did you talk to him?"

"No, I listened to his conversation with his brother, though." Brom shrugged. "Elian has kept his word. He isn't telling Luthien you're here."

Owen raised an eyebrow. "The Wielder said that?" He looked away. Perhaps Elian was changing, but there was still no way Owen could fully trust him.

"We can keep him hidden from Luthien," Colt said. "But not Mordren. What will happen when every soldier at Arrowcrest knows an evil god is marching with an army after Owen?"

"I don't know. That's why we need to get the emberstone made into a weapon fast."

"I've already started shaping it with the tools from Bridge's house." Colt reached for his bag.

"Let me see what you have so far," Owen told him. Colt pulled the emberstone crystal out of his bag and showed it to him, and Owen raised his eyebrows. He knew Colt had been working on it, but he hadn't realized he'd already shaped it into a sizable knife. He just needed to chisel the edges until they were sharp.

"This looks good." Owen stared at the crystal and pondered aloud, "Will this be big enough to take down a god?"

"Only one way to find out," Brom said.

Owen rubbed his chest. "Right. The heart." It was much easier said than done. He glanced out the window as a mist of darkness prickled in his mind. A hatred that reached out to Owen, born of malice.

He wasn't sure how much time they had before Mordren found him.

When Owen woke, the dawn twilight broke gently through the window. He looked down to see his multi-checkered quilt and drew the fabric up to his face. It smelled like Colt now. Not the honey-lemon of his energy, but the scent of his body; mostly of earth and that perfume he sometimes wore.

The fabric was worn and dirty, but Colt must have placed it on the bed that morning after it had dried from the wash. Owen kept his eyes closed, dozing again until he smelled food and heard clattering dishes.

"Do you think he'll eat these?" someone whispered—Brom.

"Put more syrup on it and he will," Colt answered.

"That's the last of my maple syrup, you know."

"You want him to eat or not? "

"And what if he doesn't? You going to shove it down his throat?"

"No," came Colt's snide reply. "But he's got to be hungry. He's hardly eaten since he's come out of that place."

"He is pretty thin…"

Owen's heart dropped. He knew his clothes fit more loosely now, but was he so thin that it was noticeable? He hadn't seen himself in a mirror for some time.

After a few more minutes, he sat up in bed. Colt stood at the small table against the wall, placing a plate of flapjacks down, while Brom sat across from him. They both looked at him before Colt cleared his throat, "Morning."

Owen smiled as he shifted to the side of the cot. When he stood up, he realized he was sore in more places than just his feet, legs, and arms. His back ached, and even his neck hurt. As he took a step forward, he grunted. Colt gestured at a chair for him to sit at, inviting him to eat.

"Thanks." Owen sat in it with a wince. His stomach bubbled as he looked at the stack of flapjacks covered in syrup on a plate in the middle of the table. He pondered Colt's and Brom's conversation about him and said, "Do I look that bad?"

Colt and Brom exchanged looks before Brom said, "What are you talking about?"

"I heard you and Colt talking about how thin I look. Am I very ugly now?"

They both chuckled softly.

"You're never ugly," Colt said, as he placed the plate of flapjacks before Owen.

Brom took a sip from his cup. "We were only worried about you not eating much. It would help you to eat to keep yourself strong. "

"There hasn't been much to eat in weeks."

"But now we have plenty." Brom gestured at the food.

Owen picked up his fork and cut into the flapjacks. When he brought them to his mouth, he suddenly felt nauseous. The flavor was sweet, but as soon as he chewed and swallowed, it was as if his belly was already full. This was always how it felt, ever since Rem had shown his face at Bridge and Agnes's house. And even more so after losing Gilda and going through the Gate.

After forcing down three bites, he pushed his plate away and folded his arms on the table. When Brom gave him a cup of milk, Owen took a tentative sip and found it to be so refreshing, he suddenly wanted to drink the whole cup. It was the only thing he'd enjoyed in some time.

After he was finished, Owen looked down at his empty cup and asked, "Is there a mirror?"

Colt hesitated momentarily before he got up and grabbed a hand mirror from the drawer of the end table beside the cot and handed it to Owen. It was small and cracked, but it would do.

Owen looked at himself. His thick dark eyebrows rose as he looked at his reflection. His face had more dark hair than he'd ever seen. The hollows in his cheeks were deep, and the circles beneath his eyes seemed to drag down his face. He was pale, as if the sun hadn't touched him for years.

He set the mirror face down and looked away. "I look awful."

"Owen, you don't look awful," Colt said.

Maybe I should try to eat more.

He picked up his fork and tried another bite, but he gagged.

"Is it not good?" Brom asked.

Owen made a face. "It's not that…"

"But there has to be a reason why—"

"I'm fine! "

They all went quiet, and Owen regretted his outburst as quickly as it came. He didn't look up at his companions. Instead, he focused on drinking more milk, but after scolding them, he finally said, "I'm sorry. You're right, both of you. I haven't been eating. I suppose I… feel so sick when I think about her . I can't eat, I can't sleep. So much happened at once and I just…" He hung his head, and hot tears rimmed his eyes. "I can't keep pretending like everything's alright. Because Gilda's not here, and I can't help but feel like her blood is on my hands."

He was unable to meet Brom's eyes, as he felt more ashamed to bear his wrongs and guilt before this man than anyone else. He knew that Brom had loved Gilda. He could feel it. And Owen had killed her.

But when he felt a strong hand on his shoulder, Owen looked up with wide eyes. He barely had time to think about what was happening when Brom pulled him into an embrace.

Owen blinked, confused for a moment, and then he closed his eyes and placed his hands on Brom's arms, hugging the man back.

"The last thing you need to do right now, Owen, is to beat yourself up over something that wasn't your fault." Brom pulled away, still holding him by the shoulder, and stared at him seriously. "No man should have to hide away for fear that his innocent life may be taken away from him. Through no fault of your own, mad men have chased after you, driven to kill you. Gilda and I chose to go with you. We knew the risks. And I will choose to stay with you until the end of this all. That I swear on my life, and on my sister Amelia's grave."

The weight of Gilda's death lifted slightly from him, and Owen smiled through his tears. He had heard such words from Colt, and he had needed to hear them from Brom .

He looked at Colt, who smiled painfully at him, and nodded before he cut his eyes back at Brom and said, "Thank you."