Chapter 17. Consequences
“Thank you . . . Eachan.” The voice was gravelly and deep. “We will come soon. Can we trust you to hold her there?”
“Yes, of course.” Eachan twisted one side of his mustache.
“Then we shall see you shortly.”
“H—how long?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Keitus drawled. “Two or so hours, perhaps.” He laughed, causing Eachan to cringe. “Why? Do you have somewhere you’d like to go?” More laughter, then the fire beetle in front of Eachan burst into flames, ending the conversation.
Eachan leaned back in his chair, resting his trembling arms on the surface in front of him. What had he done?
He pounded his fist on the desk, angry at himself for his moment of weakness. He’d done his job, that’s all.
But moments later, the doubt returned, and he didn’t want to be alone anymore. Eachan returned to the main room and leaned over the table where Duana and Aloren sat, conversing in hushed tones. The girls ignored the angry yells from outside. A sudden pain in Eachan’s chest made him catch his breath. Was it from the guilt? Or was this a real pain? He wasn’t sure.
“Father?” Duana said, looking up at him. “Father, what is it?”
He shook his head. He couldn’t meet her eyes—what would she say if she knew he’d practically thrown her new friend to such disgusting creatures as the Lorkon? And what would she say when he explained he had done it for her? Would she believe him? He turned away.
“Nothing . . . It’s nothing.”
She pulled him back. “Have you been crying?”
He took a deep, shuddering breath. “I’m fine. Just—just thinking about your mother again.”
She nodded. “Let me get you a bowl of soup—there’s some left.” She disappeared.
Eachan avoided looking at Aloren. She’d most likely see the betrayal in his eyes. And why was he thinking of it that way? He hadn’t betrayed her—he’d done his duty. Protected his family.
Aloren stood, staring at the door. “The pounding . . . it stopped.”
He cocked his head to the side, listening. She was right. Not one sound came from outside.
“Why?” she asked.
He didn’t answer. He wasn’t sure he cared.
Duana finally returned and made him sit at the table. She placed a steaming bowl of carrot and potato soup in front of him, and his mouth watered at the smell.
“Eat.”
He grabbed her hand, bringing it to him, then pulled her into a hug. “Thank you for being my daughter, Duana. I love you.”
She laughed. “Why so serious?” She patted his back when he didn’t answer, probably sensing his melancholy. “I love you too.” She paused. “Please eat your soup.”
He smiled at her insistence and focused on the bowl in front of him, not listening to the girls’ conversation. The soup was perfection itself—Duana had quickly exceeded her mother’s talents at cooking. He savored each bite, willing the clock to speed up until the Lorkon arrived to get Aloren.
He’d nearly finished eating when Duana sat next to him. “I’m bringing the dishes in from the porch.”
His back stiffened. “No, absolutely not. You saw what happened last time.”
“We’ll need something to put the food on later—we can’t let them starve.”
“I’d rather they starve than you come in harm’s way.”
She patted his arm, trying to calm him. “No, that’s not right. It’s our job here—to take care of them.” She stood. “Come see. They’re perfectly fine now.”
He dragged himself to his feet, following her to the window. She parted the curtain for him, and he looked through the glass. She was right. Only a few women were outside, and they weren’t even close to the porch.
He watched his daughter’s face. She was eager, awaiting his permission. Saying no to her had always been so difficult for him. He sighed. “Are you sure?”
“Of course I am, but I will do what you think is best.” She looked up at him with such an expression of trust that his heart softened.
“All right, you may get the plates. But the door will stay open, and I must be right next to you.”
“Okay. You block the way to make sure no one tries to get in.”
He agreed, helping her pull the table back. Aloren stayed near the entry to the kitchen.
The way no longer blocked, Eachan inched the door open, watching through the widening crack. So far, so good. He stepped onto the porch and checked the area. The women ignored him as they usually did. It felt okay, so he moved over to make room for Duana, then backed up to stand in the frame. He kept his eyes on the women in front of them, watching for any sudden movements.
He noticed a short creature walk around the side of a building down the street. What was it? Then another quickly followed, and another. Pretty soon there were close to fifty of the creatures. Eachan grunted in frustration when he recognized the little beasts—Dusts! He hadn’t seen one in fourteen years, at least! Why would the Lorkon bring them to Maivoryl City?
Duana was on her second trip to the porch when suddenly, one of the women screamed. Eachan startled, trying to see what had made her cry out. He hated it when women screamed. He looked where she was staring and saw the reason for her fear. At least twenty men were rushing at the town hall from the side, where he hadn’t seen them. They were holding knives, sticks, and pitchforks. They jumped the porch and fell onto Duana before Eachan even had a chance to react.
He roared, jumping into the middle of the men, flinging them off his daughter with a strength he didn’t know he still possessed. He punched, kicked, and clawed his way through the people until he finally reached his daughter’s motionless form.
With a yell that would burst an eardrum, he pulled her from the ground. The villagers scattered in fright. He swung around, punching and kicking them even farther away, roaring again. He jumped through the door, still holding Duana, pushed another villager off, then slammed the door shut.
Eachan fell to the floor, cradling his daughter in his arms. Blood—blood was everywhere. He couldn’t focus on it, could only watch Duana’s face. He barely noticed Aloren rushing around him, checking the wounds.
Duana’s eyes fluttered open. “Papa . . .”
Then her body became limp in his arms.
He pulled his daughter close and wept.