Secrets We Keep: Chapter Fifteen

The world looked down on Credence in judgment.

Ajo and John didn't hold the smallest concern for the life that had been taken.

Out there, in the real world, the woods were stained with blood, held captive by a cold, unfeeling king.

And she had been gallivanting with him.

The time she and Ajo spent together, all those moments of laughter and poetry—it was a lie. Behind her back, Ajo's reign of terror carried on.

She couldn't help but feel that she now shared responsibility for it.

She could have stopped him, she could have saved a life.

Instead, she was an accomplice, albeit unknowingly.

Ajo had made her that.

She couldn't forgive herself for sitting by, creating sparks and flowers, while real lives were suffering. No matter how kindly he treated her, if Ajo could not be a just king, Credence would have to stop him.

She was in her bedroom in the tavern, searching the pages of Ma's book. She stopped when she reached the torn page of the Soul Bind spell.

'POWERFUL MAGIC. TOO DANGEROUS—DO NOT USE EVER.'

If only the page was intact. Credence could use this sort of spell now more than ever.

"Credence?"

John's voice was muffled, coming from the tavern's front room. Credence had no interest in greeting him.

"We need to speak."

"I want to be alone!"

"Come out, please."

She knew he would wait until she came to him, no matter how long it took.

With Ma's book clutched to her chest, Credence met him with a hateful look on her face. John's tail was tucked between his legs, and he bowed deeply when he saw her.

"Did Ajo command me to forgive you?"

"My lady—"

"Stop calling me that," she hissed. "I will not keep company with murderers."

"You have little choice in that."

"Ajo promised I could leave whenever I please."

"And his promise still stands, but you will not be without the company of killers, no matter where you go."

"Ajo will continue to hunt me?"

"I mean life is brutal, and the world is full of death. You'll find it a difficult task to meet one who hasn't taken a life."

"That's not true."

"Your family never partook of meat then?"

"We were never cruel."

"Call it survival, call it defense, call it an act of whimsy. It's all killing. Even you are not free from its stain."

"What I did was necessary."

"Ah, but how is keeping the king's peace any different than overpowering an enemy?"

"I didn't enjoy it."

"Liar."

"I choose mercy," Credence hissed.

"When you should be embracing your own greatness," came the scathing reply.

"You're not going to convince me, John. A king should never rule with death. His subjects shouldn't live in fear."

"Many of his subjects don't," John replied. "Many of them barely realize they are ruled at all, but see their lives through, content and at peace. It's only a handful that choose to stir his wrath. For one reason or another they breed contempt, and it's not always out of honor or goodness. You think there are not those who wish to take the throne out of their own lust for power? You think there aren't subjects living in the woods who wouldn't spill just as much blood—or more—if it brought them glory?"

John clucked his tongue.

"What would happen if a king chose not to quell such rebellion? It would grow, of course, into an army, and all those good-natured, peace-loving subjects would be dragged into war. Those otherwise happy lives would find themselves inside a battle—and they would die because of it. But what if they somehow reached victory? Would the new ruler be kind, or even more foul? Would they thrust the woods into more peril, until another rebellion rose? And then another, and another, until the throne becomes a symbol of endless greed and bloodshed? You need only look at the history of humans for that answer. They've been at it for so much of their existence they've forgotten a world at peace."

His tone, which had taken on an air of lecturing, softened.

"In the end, it's safer—it's more kind—to cut down a few potential threats, because they not only threaten a ruler, but the entire kingdom. A message must be sent, to douse the flame of war. You say they are innocent, but I've seen the danger in people's eyes when they begin to believe they are better than their rulers. I'm merely making it known to all would-be usurpers that my king is not interested in war."

The wolf grinned.

"And if it makes any difference to you, I use every part of my prey, just as your family did with their meat."

"Ajo is not the rightful ruler of the woods," Credence argued. "The Queen is."

"He was always meant to take her place."

"So usurpation is acceptable when it comes from family?"

"Well, yes. Because it's not usurpation. It's succession."

"That's a poor argument, John."

"The Queen promised him the throne. Should she deny him his birthright?"

"If he makes a terrible king, yes. The Queen never hurt the subjects of the wood."

John released a mean laugh. "How wrong you are."

He approached her with caution.

"After all you've seen, I thought you had come to understand the way the world works."

Credence wanted to disagree but stopped herself.

"John...the next time you encounter a suspected traitor, I want you to bring them to me. Alive."

"Does that mean you will stay?"

"I'm not sure."

"Is it wise to bring a potential threat here?"

"It's just. I will hear their side and pass judgment when I know the full story."

"Of course, to do that...you would need to be a queen."

Credence did not reply, but John nevertheless lowered himself into another bow.

"As you command, my lady."

"I haven't forgiven either of you."

"Of course." He paused. "May I say something? Not as a servant to his ruler, but as John to Credence."

The question caught her off guard.

"Yes, you may."

"Would it remain between us?"

"Speak, John."

"If you become his queen...do not forget yourself. Be his queen on your terms. You have both changed, though you may not see it. Just be sure that change is equal."

Credence scoffed. "Why the sudden concern? You hate me."

"I did. It's true. There was a time when I'd have given my life just to see yours ended first. But now...I just want you to be careful. And wise. I know the enchantment of first love, how it can cloud your mind."

"What do you know of love?"

"You think I've never felt it?"

His tone was serious. It was an odd thing to think of John ever being in love. Vicious, despicable, violent—these were the words Credence attributed to him.

"I know that rush of excitement, the longing for another," he said. "Love is potent. Just be sure it's not only the flutter of your heart that guides your actions."

"Who makes your heart flutter?"

"My wife."

Credence balked. "You have a wife?"

"Had. She died."

"Oh." Credence couldn't think of the proper answer. "I'm sorry."

"You don't know how good it is to hear you say that. Your brother took her down first—no, second. It's been so long I can hardly remember. But I remember her eyes. How she stared at me, helpless..."

His voice trailed off. Credence could not believe his words.

"Josiah...killed her?"

"You think my hate for you was born because you and your brother bested me in a fight? No, Credence. It was because of what you took from me in that fight."

Credence made an unconscious step back. A part of her wanted to comfort him. Another part wasn't sure she would mean it.

"I don't know...how to make that right," she said.

"Didn't tell you so you would make it right."

"Why did you tell me?"

"I guess...for her. For her memory. What happened in the woods was only nature, pure and simple. My pack was hungry and needed to eat. And you and your brother needed to survive." John closed his eyes. "It's taken me considerable time to accept it, and longer still to forgive you both."

"You...forgive me?"

"A wife for a brother. A gruesome trade. Perhaps one day you'll forgive me in return."

Credence studied the wolf before her.

"You've changed," she whispered. "You're not the John I left at the cabin."

"And you're not the Credence who fell for its enchantment." He chuckled. "I told you, time heals all."

Something passed between them. A recognition of the hurt they'd given to each other. In that moment, a secret burden was lifted, and left in its place was a dull ache of nostalgia.

They were not friends, and never would be.

But now they had a shared loss, and it brought them into something possibly deeper than friendship.

The respect of an old foe.

"You stayed your hand in ending my life once," he said. "I hated you for that, too, because at the time I welcomed death. But I learned to be grateful for your mercy. I do not want to become like my brother, and die with a pair of children watching, too scared or disgusted to take pity on me."

"You don't have to be," Credence answered. "You could leave the pain of your past."

John huffed.

"Some pain is meant to be suffered. But...if there is ever anything you wish of me, you need only ask. Not because you are my lady. Not because you are my potential queen. Because you are Credence, and from the blood we've shed and the loss we share, our hate has become the honor that binds us."