Cassian sat at the table, quietly picking at his food.
"How's the food?" Garrett asked.
"Good."
"Really? You don't look like it."
"It really is, seriously," Cassian assured him, forcing a quick nod.
The meal was fine, but he couldn't wrap his mind around what Materdea had told him earlier. Her answers had felt vague, even more so than usual.
"The people who know about it don't want it to be known."
He couldn't decipher what she meant by that, but he disliked the implications. Who were the people in question? The Archon? The temple? Or perhaps the entire empire?
A cold sense of isolation settled over him. He hated feeling so cut off, unsure of who he could actually trust. What had happened to make his mark so dangerous? Cassian glanced down at his hand, tracing the jagged pattern on his skin. Was this the reason they tried to have him killed? Because of this mark? If so, what made it so special? or so catastrophic?
"Odd mark you have there," Garrett remarked suddenly.
Cassian blinked, snapping his eyes up. "What?"
"Nothing. I've just never seen a mark like that before," Garrett said with a shrug. "Then again, who am I to talk? I've barely seen any marks at all. Not many people around here have them. Aside from Chief Aziel, no one in Eveldor bears a mark."
"Why is that?"
"What, you think we can just hold an Awakening Ceremony here?" Garrett scoffed lightly. "That stuff costs a fortune. You have to travel all the way North just to take the test. It's too expensive, so we stay here, farm, and hunt."
That made sense.
"You said the Chief has a mark," Cassian said. "Which one?"
"Dunno. It just looks different from yours, that's all I know. He barely uses it anyway."
Maybe the Chief could help.
Perhaps he could ask Chief Aziel for guidance on channeling it's power, or see if the man knew anything about the Mark of the Conqueror.
"Perish the thought, boy," Materdea's voice chimed sharply in his mind. "The things we discuss stay strictly between us."
"Really?" Cassian shot back mentally. "Because you made it abundantly clear you wouldn't teach me anything useful. So I've decided to look elsewhere."
"Think about it, boy. They tried to execute you when you were completely ignorant. What do you think they will do now that you know what it is you carry?
I'll tell you right now they won't throw you a party. Not the one you expect at least"
He hated that she was right. He couldn't risk telling anyone. In a land full of strangers, a single misstep meant ending up at the bottom of another pit, and he might not be so lucky to survive a second time.
"He has his mark on the back of his hand, too," Garrett added offhandedly.
"Does he now?"
"Yup." Garrett set down his utensil and looked at Cassian. "You're probably sick of sitting around the house all day, aren't you?"
Cassian didn't deny it.
"Come hunting with me today. It's good practice, plus it gets you out of the house."
"I can come?"
"Yeah. We leave as soon as you finish eating."
The hunt wasn't anything spectacular. They spent most of the afternoon checking the traps Garrett had set previously and scanning the brush for game.
"The forest is usually much more bustling than this," Garrett muttered for the third time.
Cassian didn't mind. He didn't even care whether they brought back a kill; he was just grateful to be outside beneath the open sky. Oddly enough, he would much rather this than nothing at all. Free time meant he could think, and he didn't like the places his mind wandered.
Garrett was carrying a heavy leather satchel, one he had quietly packed before they left the house. Its contents had remained a mystery.
Their path through the woods began to look strangely familiar.
Cassian stopped as the dense foliage parted, revealing the distinctive tiled roof of the shrine he had found.
"What are we doing here?" Cassian asked softly.
Garrett didn't answer right away. He walked over to the stone altar, unslung the Satchel from his shoulder, and pulled out its contents: fresh food, arranged neatly as an offering.
He then produced a few sticks of incense, lit them with a quick spark, and placed them gently in the ash basin.
Only when he turned around did the silence break.
"Livia. My wife," Garrett said, his voice unusually low.
"She was from the North. She believed in Korvus... oh, so very much. Then she got sick, and she died."
Garrett looked down at the smoke curling into the air. "I sat beside her corpse that day and begged him to resurrect her. I prayed until my voice gave out. Nothing. Not even an omen. So I stopped believing."
He paused, adjusting the strap of his satchel
"Now I come to this temple every day and leave offerings. Just so Livia is at peace, wherever she is. So she can look down and think, Look at that—even though you took me from him, he still has the decency to worship you. Even if it's just pretend. A kind of insult I guess?"
"I honestly don't know why I do it, but it brings me peace. Makes it easier to live with"
Cassian stared at the altar, a heavy quiet settling over him. He understood Garrett far better than he realized. How could he not? He had stood in the exact same spot as Livia.
He, too, had been abandoned by Korvus.
"Sounds silly, doesn't it?" Garrett offered a faint, self-deprecating smile.
"No," Cassian said softly. "I think I know exactly what you mean."
Neither of them said another word on the walk back, letting the quiet of the forest carry them all the way home. He almost felt bad about eating the offering, almost.