It wasn’t yet sunrise when they returned to the shelter of the main tent and the cookfire. Seamus shooed Marin away from the shelves of crockery and supplies as they came in from the cold.
“I’ll make the tea,” he said. “You sit. You’re pale as death.”
She sighed but settled in near the fire, shucking off her gloves and shrugging out of her jacket. “And I imagine you know why. There must have been stories.”
He made a quiet noise in his throat. There had been legends, certainly, but he’d never seen anything like her before. “Gifts take a toll,” he said quietly.
“Mine’s linked to something,” she said with no small measure of conviction. “I know it. I’ve seen it. I just don’t know what it is, Seamus.”
“I don’t know what it is, either,” he said as he started the water for their tea. “But I’ll certainly do what I can to help you figure it out.”
“I think that’s why we leave,” she continued. “Why Thom and I go when we do, when we leave our son here and just…just vanish. I think we’re looking for it and I think we’re looking for you.”
“For me?” He turned toward her, blinking. Why would they be looking for me? Up until a few months ago, I was dead to everyone who loved me. How would they have thought to look? Why would they—
She’s a Seer, Seamus. Things don’t need to make sense to be true.
He cursed under his breath and turned away. He could almost feel her eyes on his back, but she held her peace—for now—and waited.
“I’m sorry,” he finally said. “I shouldn’t be so surprised, should I?”
“I’d like to imagine not,” she said quietly.
“There’s a legend,” he said abruptly. “And as much as I hate to think it, it may be about your son and my nephew, maybe even Tala’s twins and little Angie. About what comes after the end—the dawn.”
“They’re the hope,” she whispered.
“Yes,” he said. “Yes, they are.”
