Farewell

Dinner was a quiet affair. Four place settings surrounded the table, but only three had food. Three chairs were occupied, and a fourth had been pulled out to accommodate Liam, who chose to hover beside Reagan instead, casting expectant looks in his direction every few seconds.

The meal was a light meatloaf served beside a baked potato with duckefett. Reagan hardly tasted any of it, thinking back to the fire he’d started, to the strength of the flames rising from the palm of his hand, to the heat moving from his fingertips up through his wrist.

As dinner came to an end, Reagan exchanged a look with Liam before facing Liam’s parents and revealing his earlier discovery. Silence fell over the table as even Liam’s father froze with his last forkful poised halfway to his mouth.

“Are you certain?” Liam’s mother, Helen, asked. She took her husband’s free hand and looked at the empty seat across from her, where Liam usually sat. A faint glimmer of hope shone in her eyes, even as she turned away to hide it. Her dark hair was the same shade of blackened crimson as Liam’s, though the years had added a sliver of white into the strands.

Reagan nodded. “Thank you for taking me in and hiding me all these years. I’ll leave at dawn, and when we return, I’ll be able to give your son his name back.” I shouldn’t have had it in the first place. The familiar knot of guilt formed in his stomach.

Helen exchanged a look with her husband. Turning to Reagan, she said, “Be careful out there. Of course, Michael and I want to see Liam again, but we don’t want to lose you, too. You’ve kept Liam in our lives longer than we could have hoped, and you’re a part of this family too, Reagan.”

I’m the reason he left your lives in the first place, Reagan thought, but he didn’t voice it. Beside him, Liam moved closer as though he could read Reagan’s mind.

“Do you have a destination in mind?” Michael asked. He dropped his fork down to his plate and withdrew his hand from the table. The years had been less kind to him. All his hair had turned white, and one of his brown eyes had a milky sheen to the pupil.

“When I was younger,” Reagan started. Before we lost everything, “My parents and I traveled to Apolde to visit my godfather. He was working for parliament, and he and my father spoke a lot about magic. He had recently finished studying magic in the capital, and he’d asked to borrow some of my father’s old journals. I remember looking them over with him before returning home.”

Helen tightened her grip on Michael’s hand, looking at him with a worried crease in her brows. She nodded toward Reagan, prompting Michael to ask, “We don’t know a better way to word this but, are you sure Dietfried is still alive?”

“When you first came to us,” Helen jumped in, “You said the man in your closet was wearing a royal guard uniform. Since they came after you and your parents, we’re just worried they could have come for your godfather as well.”

Before Reagan could respond, Michael raised a hand. “We haven’t heard any news from Apolde. While we couldn’t ask about Dietfried directly without risking bringing attention to you, I’ve been asking for news from neighboring towns over the years.” He looked at Helen before continuing, “There have been others, like your family. We don’t know their names, but…”

“What Michael’s trying to say is, it’s going to be dangerous out there, and if you ask around about Dietfried and anyone finds out you’re still alive…”

Reagan shook his head. “You have given me ten years I shouldn’t have had,” he said. Ten years Liam should have had. He felt Liam’s gaze boring into him. “I’ve been waiting for the day my magic is strong enough, and I don’t have much time before I start to lose it.” Like my parents had lost most of it by that day… He didn’t voice the end of his thought, couldn’t bring himself to relive that fear. “I have to make things right.”

“What happened was not your fault, Reagan.” Liam and Helen spoke in unison, then Helen continued, “You were just a kid. There was nothing you could have-”

“I should have protected him!” Reagan yelled, clenching his fists on his thighs. His voice echoed around the small cottage, bouncing off the brick walls. It filled the space between the four of them, sliding across the table, between the cutlery, beneath the plates. “It should have been me, not Liam. It was my family that was targeted. It was me and my parents who were meant to die that day. Not Liam.” A weight pushed Reagan’s head down. He couldn’t force himself to look up. “I have to bring him back. I will bring him back.”

Reagan waited for his pulse to return to normal, cursing the fact that his heart was beating while Liam’s was still. “We’ll leave at dawn,” Reagan said again. “And I promise, I’ll bring Liam home. Even without Dietfried, I’ll scour every library, every archive. There has to be something, and I will find it. I’ll make this right.” He gathered his cutlery onto his plate and pushed it away from him. The lingering taste of dinner had turned bitter in his mouth, and his memories of that day, ten years ago, twisted his stomach into a knot. He ignored the nausea, saying, “I’m going to bed. Thank you again for everything, and goodnight.” He couldn’t look any of them in the eyes.

“Leave your coat on your chair,” Helen said as Reagan stood. “The back is looking a little thin, and winter’s only a few weeks away.”

He did as she asked, then retired to the cot in the corner of the living room and watched the flickering fireplace until he fell into a restless sleep.

Dawn crept over the horizon, reaching for Reagan’s cot. He blinked, his eyes dry. The fire had burned down to glowing embers.

“You were tossing and turning all night,” Liam said, sitting at the foot of Reagan’s cot. In the dim light, he looked so close to opaque, Reagan almost forgot he was a ghost.

Reagan sighed, sitting up. The wool blanket flopped into his lap, causing him to shiver at the loss of its warmth. “I was planning everything I need to buy at the market today before we leave town.”

Liam expressed his doubt with a look but nothing more. He stood and walked around the small cottage. The bed at the other end of the room was occupied by his father. His mother was nowhere to be seen.

He took slow, measured steps. “My whole life has been here,” he said, reaching for the fireplace mantelpiece. His hand went through the trio of toy soldiers standing guard above the ashen logs. “I can’t believe they’ve kept these for so long.”

Before Reagan could respond, Helen came into the cottage, carrying a small bundle wrapped in cheesecloth. “Thank goodness you’re still here. I’ve prepared some provisions for your trip,” she said. She handed the bundle to Reagan, then retrieved his coat from the small table and handed him that, too. “And I mended this and added a warmer inner layer.”

As she came closer, Reagan noticed the dark circles beneath Helen’s eyes and the pallor of her skin. Exhaustion pulled her face down into a frown, but she brushed Reagan’s concerns away.

She used the white wool we bought yesterday, Reagan noted, feeling the warmth of the fabric beneath his fingers. “Thank you,” he said, but the two simple words couldn’t convey the gratitude he felt.

Still, Helen nodded her acceptance, and Reagan turned away to pack his belongings.

The cheesecloth contained a large loaf of bread, some cured meat, and a few boiled eggs. Reagan placed the provisions carefully in his satchel, laying it atop his father’s cloak and the vials of healing salve he’d prepared last month.

“Be careful out there, both of you,” Helen said as Reagan stood, carrying all his belongings at his side. She looked at Reagan, then at the empty air beside him where she assumed Liam would be. He moved to match his mother’s eyeline and smiled, even though she wouldn’t see it.

“We will be,” he said, and Reagan relayed the message. “Even if I have to force Reagan to be.”

Before walking out the door, Reagan turned to give Helen a hug, the first he’d given her in years. He ignored the guilt closing in around his throat, making it hard for him to breathe, and said, “Thank you for everything,” then turned away.

Then, without ever looking back, Reagan walked away from the brick cottage that had become his home.