Blind Warrior (The Weavers Circle 3)

Shaking his head, he continued forward. The practice field was the only damn option. The path through the woods was worn down and easy enough for him to maneuver without risking falling on his face even with Cort at his side.

The wind had cooled off, and he could no longer feel the sun on his face. Maybe it had drifted behind some clouds. Maybe it was later than he thought, and it had sunk under the horizon. And maybe the sun was just gone. He didn’t care.

Animals grew silent as he and Cort approached. There was the crush of twigs and leaves under his feet as he steadily put one foot in front of the other. He tried to focus on the smell of the grass and the wind. He tried to think about the feel of Cort’s warm touch as he lightly held Grey’s elbow, prepared to catch him if he tripped.

They were all dead, and it was his fault.

“We’re at the practice field,” Cort said and released Grey’s arm.

Grey managed a few more steps before he grew wobbly. He squatted, thrusting both hands into his hair. He twisted his fingers in the long strands and pulled, welcoming the rush of pain, but it was nothing compared to the pain slicing through his heart. Clenching his teeth, he fought back the loud, keening cry rising in his throat. He could hear it in his head, and it sounded like a wounded animal crying for its mate.

“Talk to me, Grey,” Cort nudged gently. Grey gave one jerky shake of his head. He was still trying to get his mind wrapped around all the turbulent emotions attempting to break out. If he could just ball them up, he could stuff them deep into his chest. “You need to let it out. It’s not your fault.”

The dam broke.

Surging to his feet, he swung around toward the sound of Cort’s voice. “Not my fault? Of course it’s my fucking fault. I’m the one who met with John. I’m the one who made the plans. I’m the one with the enormous ego who thought he could fix everything on his own. And because of me, they all died! Because of me, four of those men sitting in that room were killed.”

“It wasn’t you, Grey. You weren’t even born yet when all that happened.”

“But it was me. It’s my soul. The Weavers Circle has been made up of the same six men generation after generation for centuries.” He waved a hand in the direction he thought the house was in, but he couldn’t even be sure anymore. He’d lost track of everything. “The last Soul Weaver made these deals. Thought he was so smart. I thought I was so smart…” His voice drifted off and he shoved a hand through his hair again.

“You didn’t betray them. No matter what John says. You didn’t betray the Circle. You were trying to save their lives. Save them all from yet another ugly death. That has to count for something.”

Grey shook his head. “Not enough. How could I have not seen the double cross coming? How could I have been so stupid?” He started to pace away from Cort, but his lover’s sharp voice caught him.

“Stop it! Blaming yourself now is stupid. Yeah, you’ve got the same soul as that guy, but you have no idea what he was thinking at the time. You don’t know what he and the Circle had been through to push him to take such a risk. Maybe there were reasons. The aunts said the Circle was already hurt and weakened. He was trying to protect his brothers. Or yeah, maybe he was too cocky. We don’t know, but tearing yourself apart over it now isn’t helping anyone.”

Fisting his hands at his sides, Grey slowly turned toward Cort. His argument made sense, but it did little to relieve the ache for his dead brothers. It didn’t get rid of the revulsion he felt at the idea of them all thinking he’d betrayed them just seconds prior to them all being killed.

“It’s my fault.”

“It’s not your fault.” This time the words came in Clay’s low baritone. Grey flinched. He’d been so lost in his own world that he hadn’t even heard the Earth Weaver approaching.

“Why…why couldn’t you have told me sooner?”

“Like I said, I fucked up, Grey. I should have told you the day I found it. Don’t blame Baer. He wanted to be up-front and tell you, but I talked him into keeping it a secret.” Regret thickened his voice, and some of Grey’s anger faded with it.

“How long have you suspected or known…”

“I found the journal entry my predecessor made about two days before we attacked Ardette.”

“And you still trusted me to protect Wiley?”

There was the sound of crunching grass, and then a large hand landed on Grey’s shoulder. Strong fingers squeezed, digging into tense muscles. “Yes, and I still trust you with all our lives. It was the right thing to do. You sacrificed your sight to protect Wiley. You nearly gave your damn life for him.”