"Why?" I asked. "Don't I have a right to the truth?"
"With truth comes responsibility, and you don't want that."
When I pressed further, he boomed back, "Never ask again. Never!" It was the only time Darrow had ever yelled at me. The questions remained though.
Until now.
Truth brought more than responsibility. It had thrust upon me impossible choices with terrible consequences, and a lump in the back of my throat that swelled with every new revelation. Darrow had been right before. I didn't want this.
Pushing down those thoughts yet again, I said to Simon, "We shouldn't go to your base. Sir Henry's threats--"
"We have to go there, to figure out what Endrick did to your neck. Head west, to Silven."
"Silven?" Why did that sound familiar? I'd paid attention to my past geography lessons only enough to know that the small town sat too high on the cliffs to serve as a fishing village or a trading port. Most of the town's income came from sheep farming. A certain smell came with that business, enough to keep Dominion soldiers at a distance. Which, I supposed, made it an ideal place for the rebels to hide.
Simon took a measured breath before continuing, "If we ride along the northern border of All Spirits Forest, we should be safe."
All Spirits Forest. The spirits of those who had died in the War of Desolation wandered there, amid blackened trees that had been destroyed by fire so hot the earth beneath it could not heal. If the spirits considered you an enemy, you would never leave. Simon might be safe, but I'd absolutely be considered an enemy.
"How are you feeling?" I asked.
"I've been worse."
I chuckled. "Not unless your limbs have been lopped off in past fights, you haven't." His right hand had been resting near my leg. I took his hand in mine and folded that arm around my waist instead. His fingers pressed into my side, maybe as a romantic hint, or maybe to keep his balance. I knew he was worse off than he would admit, and it'd take us all night to reach Silven.
"How are you feeling?" Simon asked.
I'd just severed ties with the only home I'd ever known, and still didn't know if it was the right decision. "I've been better. I'll never return to Woodcourt."
"Of course not. Nothing is there for you anymore."
"Nothing was ever there for me. I know that now."
"Not your father. But what about your mother? I remember you were always close with her and there was no one in the world she loved more than you."
His words stung, though he'd never have intended that. All I could do was bite on my lip and keep moving forward, hoping he couldn't see enough of my face to read my thoughts.
But he seemed to already know at least some of the truth. "Your mother's diary must have told you more than the location of the Olden Blade."
"It did." Thanks for asking. Could we move on?
"How did you find the book?"
"Gerald gave it to me."
Our horse stumbled over a loose rock on the road. Simon drew in a pained gasp, and it was several long seconds before I felt him breathe again. Finally, he mumbled, "Can you slow down?"
"We're still too close to Highwyn."
"Please, Kes. I need to go slower."
I slowed the horse, though it was frustrating to imagine the snails beneath us beating us to Silven. Which they would now.
When he was ready, Simon asked, "Why did Gerald give you that diary?"
His question was far more dangerous than he could have realized, nor was there any way to answer it without that familiar feeling of panic in my chest. Finally, the words spilled from my mouth, like a flood I could no longer contain. "Did you ever wonder how Risha Halderian was able to steal the Olden Blade?"
He hesitated, considering the question. "The Endrean servant must have helped Risha do it, though nobody knows how."