Blind Warrior (The Weavers Circle 3)

“He managed to return home and finish preparing a few things for the next incarnation of the Circle. We didn’t know he’d written that line in the journal. He didn’t know you were trying to save all your brothers,” Jo finished.

“So he died thinking I had.” Grey’s belly hurt with the knowledge. He placed a hand over his gut as if to soothe it.

“It’s heartbreaking,” Wiley whispered. “Every time I think about what you guys must have gone through in the past, it breaks my heart.”

And Wiley had such a kind one. Grey tried to smile, so glad the man had come into their lives.

Someone touched his arm and the soft, flowery scent let him know it was one of the goddesses, Willie. “You wouldn’t have done anything to hurt your brothers, Grey. Not then and certainly not now.”

He turned his smile in her direction. “Thanks. I still hate knowing the Earth Weaver died thinking that. He must have been devastated. They must have all believed that in the end.”

Everyone was silent as they all processed this information. Grey’s heart was breaking for his lost brothers, particularly the man who’d been left behind. What must that have been like? All his brothers dead and all alone. It gutted Grey. To know he’d taken care of the spell books and journals and closed things up by himself, grieving the whole time. And scared—he had to have been so scared.

“Have you found anything else in those journals? Any mention of a John?” Grey asked in a rough voice.

Clay grunted. “No John and not anything that really helps us, but I still have a lot to read. I wonder how many times we dealt with this pestilent.”

John had been calm and confident. He’d seemed genuinely sorry about the loss of Grey’s sight, but he’d also seemed to know them well, like he’d dealt with them more than once in the past. “John said the attack here didn’t come on his order and he apologized.”

“Yeah, I’m not buying it,” Clay drawled. “We can’t trust the pestilents.”

“He’s right,” Jo said. “They will say anything to get what they want. This was another way to get to you.”

“And unfortunately, it worked in the past.” Grey raked a hand through his hair.

“Why’d you leave in the first place?” Clay asked.

“Got a script filled for painkillers. I’ve been having headaches and flashes of light.”

“Maybe your sight is coming back.” Wiley sounded as if he were practically bouncing in his seat. “Flashes of light have to be good, but I’m sorry they’re giving you headaches.”

“The meds helped. I’m fine. I still want to do the spell when those ingredients come in.”

“Of course we will,” Clay started firmly. “Did John say anything else?”

“No, that was about it. Just that they want a truce. They’ll stop killing humans and Weavers if we stop killing them. And yeah, I didn’t believe a word of it.”

Clay put his hands on Grey’s shoulders again. “I’m sorry I didn’t come to you right away when I read that and sorry you heard my thoughts and worried. I promise to not keep anything like that from you again.”

“Don’t keep anything from me. I’m stronger than you think.”

“Oh, I believe you’re strong. You’ve dealt with your blindness in a way that fills me with awe. I don’t think I’d be as good with it as you are.”

Grey shrugged. “Just doing what I can, that’s all.”

Clay moved away from him and Grey stood there, his gut a fucking mess because he still knew that in the past, he’d been responsible for all their deaths. That wasn’t something you ignored.

“You didn’t betray anyone,” Jo said softly. “Don’t let this get to you.”

“Yeah, Grey.” Wiley came up and hugged him. “What happens now is more important than what happened back then. You’re a good man, a good Weaver.”

He hugged the small man as everyone started speaking again, but nothing any of them said would help.Chapter 19Grey needed space.

If he stayed in that room a second longer, he was going to be sick. He needed away from the voices in the air, the voices in his head, and the thick miasma of pain and sadness. If he could’ve run from himself at that moment, he would have.

But he couldn’t run. Not like he wanted. He would have tripped over a brother or run into a chair or the wall. He resented his need for Cort’s hand on his elbow as he unsteadily worked his way out of the family room following that painful conversation. The words “I need air” might have been muttered, but he wasn’t sure any longer if he managed to say them or if they were only in his head.

“Grey,” Cort started when they stepped out onto the back patio, but walking outside and getting away from the others wasn’t enough. He needed more distance. He needed to walk until his legs ached and trembled. There had to be something more than this suffocating guilt.