The Reaper's Bride

Chapter 16: Owen

Every life taken is a life given, for nature is an endless circle with no beginning and no end, and, at some point, we all meet the ones we love again.

At least, that's the kind of philosophical shit they feed you to make you feel better about losing what matters most to you. The only ones who really know what happens after death can't talk about it.

Like Iris.

Although, if her gods really were there, they would have no doubt welcomed her with open arms.

Once more stolen what was his, as those greedy bastards liked to do. Just like they did with his father, his brother, and his mother. Why not take his girl, too?

Because, you know, allowing someone he loved to live was out of the question.

They ended up in some tavern. Owen couldn't say where.

Someplace in Adamston. He forgot the name as soon as Michael pulled him through the door.

Not long before, Michael was stuck with the job of physically dragging him and the wailing bat on his shoulder away from her corpse.

A bard made a fool of himself. He half-sang, half-slurred something about burning a Reaper.

Not a bad idea, honestly. They could burn him the way she burned. He wouldn't mind.

Michael kicked him under the table. His face was wet.

Owen sighed and tipped back his shot.

It scorched his throat on the way down. Good enough.

This place was loud. Owen usually liked loud. Noise meant he couldn't think. It didn't work this time.

The people liked that drunk bard well enough.

They were dancing. Clapping. Stomping their feet.

Owen swallowed. Someone had to... go to Briar Glen.

That village name alone reminded him of a rainbow of fireworks coloring a sunset. Of full lips pulled apart in a bright smile and loose dirty blonde curls around tan shoulders.

Of bare feet and a pretty green dress twirling around a dance floor made of vibrant earth and a hand reaching for his, asking him to stay for another dance.

How was everyone here so disgustingly happy?

Michael shrugged and lit a tightly rolled-up bundle of herbs. Weird. Owen didn't know he smoked. Okay, then.

Guess everyone had their vices.

The bat hung upside down in its blood-whiskey glass for too long. Owen moved to turn him upright again. Before he could drown.

Bat-Caleb raised his head right before Owen could pick him up.

Someone else they used to know almost drowned once.

She was just a little girl in worn, second-hand robes back then. When he pulled her out of the ocean, she was cold and too still, and, in his panic...

That was the first time he ever asked her to stay with him.

When she opened her eyes, it was the first time she looked at him as anything other than a moron.