35. Chapter Thirty-Four
35
William
W illiam dreamed of a black sea and eternal pain. Sea foam filled his lungs. Further and further away, he slipped. Memories of laughter, what he remembered to be his family’s voices, whispered against his ears. He thought what they said was kind, but could not process their words.
Was this it, Elysium? Had the Broken Soul deemed him unworthy and dragged him beneath the waters to suffer?
Then the sea burst into deep blue and he sat up in a hospital bed coughing erratically.
“Nicholas?” Shouldn’t have been the first name uttered from his chapped lips, but William wanted nothing more than to see him, to feel a pulse fluttering beneath his fingertips. But the fae was not there. No one was.
“Nurse,” he called, but the word fell silent when he caught sight of his right arm, or what should have been his right arm.
William urged the appendage to move, and the metal monstrosity obeyed. The smooth metal curled as fingers should, but it was cold to the touch. He ripped his hospital gown from his body, revealing the metal fused with his shoulder. Strings of silver spread like unsettling cobwebs through his skin, then faded.
Memories flooded in of Fearworn, screaming, blood, smoke, fire, and pain. His arm lay in the mud, ruined. His leg, too, lost. He threw aside the sheets to find his right leg glistening silver up to his mid-thigh. These were not prosthetics. They were fae magic, and he did not know what to think of them. Grateful to move the limbs as freely as before, others were not so lucky, but he was more angry. Infuriated that no one asked if he wanted these contraptions. Frustrated that he awoke to some thing connected to him, replacing what had been lost that he strangely wanted to mourn. And worried that Nicholas was not here to explain.
Erratic breaths tore through his chest. Confusion rattled his mind. His eyes strayed about the room. Familiar medical supplies laid atop shelves along the pale blue facade. The paint had chipped and the wooden floor held countless scrape marks. William was utterly alone until the door opened.
“You’re finally awake, Mr Vandervult,” the nurse said with a careful approach. Her eyes lingered on the silver appendages. He covered himself with the blankets. Heat pooled beneath his cheeks that couldn’t be described as embarrassment or anger. This was different, deeper, more.
“What happened?” he asked, voice grumbled and rough. He needed a drink, but he needed answers more. “To Fearworn, to everyone, where am I?”
“Fearworn is dead.”
William laughed, causing a cough to rattle his chest. The nurse shuffled toward the sink. A glass sat on the edge that she filled and offered him. He chugged the cool water, then whispered, “Say that again?”
“Fearworn is dead, sir.”
“How?”
The nurse shuffled her weight from one foot to the other. She spoke carefully, as if worried her phrasing would upset him. “Well, I know little more than what I have heard. Rumors say a shade obliterated Fearworn. Every time I hear a story, it is a little different from the last, but they always say it was a battle of shades that no one could contend with, and we won, thanks not only to that effort, but yours and the other soldiers as well.”
We won. William never thought he would live to hear those words. They were beautiful, unbelievable.
“You are in Millbury Hospital. Our town is the closest to the Deadlands,” she continued.
“How long have I been asleep?”
To have traveled out of the Deadlands would have taken time. The generals would have been careful with the wounded, so it would have been a slow march. More importantly, his wounds were great, the pain even more so. He should have died.
William’s fingertips danced over his chin, sensing neither wound nor scar. This healing was not mortal magic. Wounds such as his were a death sentence, and he swore his heart had stopped, that Death finally got her claws in him and swept him away. To have survived, a fae, a powerful one at that, spared him and connected these peculiar appendages. That couldn’t have been Nicholas, could it? If it were, he would have been here. He would be at William’s side where he needed the fae most.
“About four days,” she answered while carefully looking over him. She refused to touch the prosthetics, fearful of fae contraptions.
“That can’t be. It’d take longer than that for our wounded to get here.” As he said that, the nurse tugged an envelope from her pocket.
“I will call for a doctor. He will be here momentarily. Until then, this was left for you.” She dropped the envelope into his lap and took hasty steps to the door. Under her breath, she muttered, fearfully, “Fae-cursed.”
William set the glass aside and ran his left hand over the metal arm. When others saw the prosthetics, they would mutter the same. Everyone knew what happened when a mortal dealt with fae. No one would miss that his arm was fae magic. He would be seen as cursed, as someone foolish enough to deal with fae and potentially a threat, depending on what sort of deal he made. Many tales claimed fae objects were possessed by wild magic, that they’d come to life in the night and kill their owners. Once, he believed all that, too. Now, he wasn’t so sure.
Sighing, he grasped the letter that had neither a name nor a seal. His breathing came fast from a hope that this would be from Nicholas, that even if he had not been here, at least he had visited. Upon opening the envelope, William found nothing. No letter, nothing more than the scent of fresh earth.
He jolted at the rattling of the window from a breeze. Branches covered in leaves hit the glass. Green. Color. He hadn’t seen a blue sky in so long that the beauty of it mesmerized him. All he wanted was to throw open the window and pinch a leaf between his fingers to remember what they felt like. He craved to run barefoot through the grass and curl his toes into the soil. He wanted to feel the sun on his cheeks, to lie beneath its rays and bask in a summery heat.
“Mr Vandervult.”
William shut his eyes and breathed deep. Neither the door nor window had been opened, yet Laurent Darkmoon stood at his bedside. The perfect depiction of a fae, so eerily breathtaking that William believed himself dead and this to be the drowning sea of Elysium.
“Lord Darkmoon.” If William could have run, he might have, for Laurent’s presence brought out an instinctual need to flee.
His gray eyes raked over William, and he frowned. “Are you displeased with my work?” Laurent asked.
“I beg your pardon?”
Laurent’s nimble fingers caught William’s arm and forced it free from the bedsheets. The metal reflected Laurent’s apathetic expression.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” He ran his fingers over the metal that William couldn’t understand. Somehow, he felt Laurent’s touch and even the softness of the sheets.
“They are, but I do not know why you gifted them to me.” William chose his words wisely because Laurent wouldn’t take kindly to his uncertainty.
A voice told him to be grateful. He still had an arm and a leg, but another screamed at the loss of his body. Of something that belonged solely to him and he had no say on whether or not they could be “replaced.” These prosthetics were not his, not a part of him. He wanted his body, the pieces of himself taken. He wanted his body the way it was before, then he wondered if that was foolish and cruel to think.
“Nicholas informed me of what happened on the battlefield,” Laurent replied. “You saved him and would have died from doing so. A debt was owed that he could not repay. There are not many fae who can heal. Did you know that?”
“Yes, sir. I hear that High Fae, those such as yourself, sometimes have healing abilities.”
“Luckily for you.” He released William’s arm. “I repaid you in his stead and brought you here to heal.”
“I appreciate the work you put in, but…where is he?” William asked. The abrupt narrowing of Laurent’s eyes warned him to tread carefully. “You may have repaid his debt, but I saved his life. He should at least visit to thank me, wouldn’t you agree?”
Laurent approached the window. Outside, the trees responded to his presence. The branches stretched. Their shivering leaves brushed against the glass. Laurent pressed the tip of his finger upon the window. The tree burst with life, doubling the leaves and shuddering, as if to thank him. It was strange to see such a detached creature create beauty in a delicate touch.
“He has more pressing matters,” Laurent replied. “Nicholas may have slayed Fearworn, but many of his monsters and disciples survived. Upon his demise, they fled like the cowards they are. There are those among them who would seek to continue Fearworn’s destruction, albeit not nearly with as much success. Regardless, we must get rid of them all to ensure the end, and work toward closing the Scars he opened permanently.”
Nicholas had truly succeeded. He would be celebrated, even by mortals. They may yet write his name in history books. He would love that level of attention.
“Since he is so busy, it seems I will not hear from him,” William muttered, heart aching.
“You will not.” Laurent’s words were heavy enough to bury. “After the courageous battle and your wounds, your generals have agreed to have you honorably discharged alongside your friend.”
He sat taller, hands clenched. Her name nearly slipped from his parched lips. “Ch… Albie? Do you know where he is?”
Laurent gestured to the door. “He is resting down the hall. Now that you are awake, it won’t be long until the two of you return home. I believe this is a congratulatory message.”
A mixture of both. As excited as William was about returning home, he also wanted to speak with Nicholas. At the very least, he wanted to see him. He yearned to bask in the light of Nicholas’ crooked smile, his devious words, and avid touch. Though he would never say it aloud, he even wanted to hear Nicholas’ bad riddles accompanied by a charming laugh that rattled his bones. He… missed Nicholas. He wanted him near so badly, a craving like no other, and he felt he may stop breathing without him.
“Yes, I appreciate what you have given me,” William said.
“As you should. You will not receive such grand gifts again. Now that I am certain the debt has been paid, this is goodbye, Mr Vandervult.” Laurent smiled, but his eyes were devoid of life. Looking into them made their emptiness peer back into you. Then he vanished.
Alone once more, William wondered why his heart hurt when the impossible had happened. Fearworn was defeated. Charmaine not only survived, but they both were honorably discharged. Their service ended. Soon, they would return home. His injuries, meant to be fatal, were healed. His limbs, though lost, were replaced. As Laurent said, he brought a congratulatory message, but why did William feel so hollow?
He stifled a cry, then another, then he couldn’t stop. William fell upon his bed, haunted by sorrow. Every breath became strangled, choked between sobs and hiccups. He wiped at his eyes, desperate for the tears to stop, for the pain to cease, but it grew and grew, like a sinkhole taking on more ferocious water that eroded away the walls. The lack of Nicholas brought such anguish that William thought he would rather die on that battlefield again. At least there, he believed Nicholas cared, that Nicholas loved him.
“Love,” he whispered.
“Love,” he cursed.
He slammed his fist on the railing of the hospital bed, the silver one, the cursed one. Pain ripped into his nerves, making his arm and shoulder twitch. The power in that arm cracked the metal off the bed to clatter on the floor.
What a fool he was to stand up to Nicholas.
What a fool he was to respond to his taunts.
What a fool was to care, to fall in love with a creature incapable of feeling the same.
Tears did nothing. They would not summon Nicholas. They would not change the past. They were nothing more than a waste of time that brought about a headache, but William could not stop. He wished he could erase all of this. He wished to bottle every moment they shared, weigh that bottle down, and toss their memories into the sea. His feelings would sink and sink, buried under shivering blackness.
The door creaked. He sniffled and wiped at his eyes.
“William?” Charmaine whispered.
She stood in the doorway. Her left arm, wrapped in a cast, hung from a sling. A thin layer of deep brown hair sprouted along her scalp. Scars lined her eyes and mouth where the scales had been, but her face was healing nicely. In another month or so, the scars may be gone entirely. She looked good. She looked like herself, and when she smiled, he smiled back.
She dashed across the room and captured him in a fierce embrace that he was more than happy to return. Right now, he loved that she sought comfort through hugging. He needed one, especially from her. She was warm and alive. His hand slipped around her neck to feel her pulse, to savor the beat against the pad of this thumb, then pulled her back to whisper, “Don’t you dare frighten me like that again.”
She laughed between tears. “Trust me, I have no intention of being transformed into a mindless beast ever again.”
William kissed her forehead. “I love you so dearly, Charmaine. I thought I lost you and I…”
“Oh, I love you, too, you crazy fool,” she interrupted. “You actually came for me.”
“As you would have done for me.”
“Without hesitation.” She blinked the tears from her eyes and settled comfortably along the edge of his bed. He did not miss how her attention trailed along his arm. The silver caught in her eyes, but there was no judgment, no fear, more of a relief that William wished he could feel too.
“Did you hear?” she asked. “We won. William, we won. Fearworn is gone. We’re going home.”
“We’re going home,” he repeated, but the words did not sound as sweet without the thought of Nicholas. “Did Nicholas ever show? Did he visit you?”
“No, I’m sorry. The last thing I remember is you injecting me with the antidote and a little of us running through the battlefield. Then I woke up here. I have seen no one other than the doctor and nurses. I take it he has not visited you, either?”
“Lord Darkmoon was here a moment ago. He claimed to have saved me in exchange for saving Nicholas’ life. Now, Nicholas is to ensure none of the surviving shadowed disciples try to take Fearworn’s place. I will not see or hear from him again.”
“Does that pain you?” she whispered. It would not matter how he answered, because the tears came when they wished.
Charmaine eased him into her arms and said nothing of his stupid choices and foolish heart, though he wished she would. Scold him, call him an idiot, tell him he should have seen this coming, make him feel, feel anything other than this.
William got what he always wanted, and lost what he never realized he needed.