18. Not Strong Enough

18

NOT STRONG ENOUGH

The bedspread was black satin, its shine matching the sleek, onyx headboard that was an extension of the obsidian wall, glistening against the saffron glow of the fireplace across the room.

Finnian pressed his back against the stained oak door, grateful Cassian teleported him into a room and left.

Terror frayed at his nerves. He clenched his hands to control the trembling in his fingers.

A polyphonic stream of voices filled the vicinity of his skull.

You must right your wrongs.

Naia’s name ran rampant amongst the mortals.

Mira had fallen.

Now, all he needed was to find Father.

You must.

How? Strapped to Cassian, how could he sneak off to Moros?

You have failed.

No, he still had time.

Father is already disappointed in you.

He could figure something out.

What makes you think he wishes to see you?

Naia is happier without you.

You ruin everything ? —

He gripped the sides of his head and squeezed his eyes shut. “I don’t. I don’t ruin everything.”

The hum rang louder in his skull; a buzz rattled down his jaws and seized the nerves.

He slumped down on the door and tucked his head between his knees. Staring through the dark at the floor, he gripped his nape.

“I don’t,” he said again, hoping the words would slow his racing heart.

“You’re pathetic.”

The voice cut in the room and Finnian snapped his head up.

Someone stood in the corner, their frame short and dressed in a gray frock coat.

Finnian’s stomach turned to stone as his thirteen-year-old self moved out of the flickering shadow of the firelight.

He stared down at Finnian, his expression steely and with a look of indifference. “Every second that passes, the curse sinks its teeth further into your mind. A few days' time and you won’t have the wits to even find Father, much less save him . ”

Finnian’s nostrils flared. “My plan will work. It will work. I will find him, and I will save him.”

“And then what?” He tilted his head, the gesture patronizingly gutting. “How do you intend to escape, hm? You have already failed.”

“No!” Finnian sprang forward and caught the lapels of his thirteen-year-old self’s coat and jerked him forward. “I will make it all better.”

A cruel smirk lifted one side of his mouth. “ How ?”

Sharp, hostile malice flared in Finnian. “I am not the helpless little boy you are. What makes you think I give a fuck about what you say?”

“Because I am always with you, aren’t I?” His younger self spoke with an impassiveness that stiffened the muscles in Finnian’s neck. “You cannot escape me. You need me to remind you of what it feels like to be helpless—forced to watch something you love break apart.”

The glittering walls of the room suddenly felt as if they were closing in, like night itself was swallowing him down its throat.

Finnian released his younger self and stepped away, his hand shaking. “No.”

Standing in Mira’s great hall once more, frozen in horror, watching as she suffocated Alke; the fear burning in him as Father was led away by executioners; leaving Naia at the entrance of the palace, unknowing how long it would be until he saw her again—the memories engulfed him, and the same aches, the same heartbreak triggered in response.

“You are pathetic,” his younger self repeated, spitting the syllables with disdain. “You have no idea where Father is, and your time is running out.” His voice rose. “You will rot here with your shame.”

Finnian’s stomach pulsed with nausea. He ground his molars and leveled his thirteen-year-old self with a dangerous look. “I will burn down the entire Land of the Dead if I must.”

His younger self huffed out a contemptuous laugh. “Nothing burns here without Cassian’s permission.”

“I will find a way!” Finnian shouted, his composure snapping.

The hum screeched louder, the sensation spasming the nerves inside of his brain. An itch he could not reach reverberated in his cheeks, down his neck.

He winced and let go of his younger self, throwing his hands over his ears. The ringing did not cease.

Desperate, he ripped the hearing aid out of his ear.

The resonance screamed louder.

Groaning against the tightness in his chest, he clenched his jaws. He wanted to raze his skin, dig through flesh, and pluck out the parasite eating away at his mind.

Come up with a plan.

Finnian turned away from his younger self, the sight of his smug grin only proving to further piss him off.

Get Father and leave this place.

His hands rested on his hips, fixating his attention up at nothing in particular, and sucked in a sharp breath to calm his nervous system.

I must.

The obsidian walls stared back at him. No windows, no form of expression—no paintings or decor of any kind. His own personal nightmare.

Perhaps this was just another cage meant to provoke the delirium within him.

“And what of Everett?” his younger self asked.

At the mention of Everett, Finnian rotated, pinning his younger self with a glare. “What of him?”

“You would burn the Land down, knowing he is here?” A cunning look twisted in his dark eyes.

It took every ounce of self-control for Finnian not to knock his young self’s head clean off his body.

“He is already dead,” he gritted out, slipping his hearing aid back into his ear.

“Because of you.”

A chill froze down Finnian’s spine. The breath hitched in his throat as he shook his head. “That’s not true.”

“How would you know?” His younger self took a step, eyeing him with malicious intent. “You can hardly remember him.”

“It’s the curse. I—” Finnian’s palm came down on his chest where the mark throbbed. “He’s?—”

“A wrong that you will never make right.” His younger self stopped with a breath’s space between them, his voice grating against the buzzing in Finnian’s head.

“I will make it right.”

“You break everyone you love.”

The words hacked through his chest. “ No , I don’t.”

“Alke, Arran, Naia, Eleanor, Isla?—”

“No.” The lie burned his tongue.

Each one passed through his thoughts—every time he’d been on the receiving end of a painful look over something he’d said or done that had hurt them.

“Everett—”

“ Stop !” Finnian shot out his arm and flames jumped from the fireplace and attacked his younger self. The blood-orange pyre devoured him, boiling skin and liquifying muscle down to the pearl-white bones of his face.

The gory hallucination dissipated and melted into vapor.

Finnian’s breaths were shallow as the flames withered out, revealing the empty space before him.

You break everyone you love.

His heart palpitated.

“No, no —I don’t.” His hands lifted into his hair, squeezing clumps in his fists. “I don’t break them. I don’t —” He stumbled backwards, his weight too heavy on his unstable knees, and the backs of his shins smashed into the edge of the bed. He fell onto the cushion of the mattress.

Soft.

Eyelids stitched closed, he removed his hands from his hair and lowered them onto the satin material.

Cool to the touch.

Similar to the satin bed sheets in his old home.

The sense of touch was an anchor, and he used it to guide him back down from the hallucination.

What would I be doing if I were in Hollow City right now?

Triple shot espresso. Down it in a heartbeat.

Gods, I miss coffee.

The frantic march of his pulse slowed the more he reminisced about his old routine and the comfort of his potion room. He imagined sitting at his workbench, surrounded by the pungent aroma of herbs, lost in his own headspace, preoccupied with crafting the perfect dose of hemlock to inflict paralysis rather than death. The potion’s fame skyrocketed in the black market.

The unbearable hum of the curse had silenced. Relief rained throughout his brain. Through a deep breath, he peeled open his eyes and peered up at the ceiling.

Painted along the glossy black exterior were shimmering specks.

Was it a part of the obsidian crystalized into the wall?

Finnian lifted up on his elbows to inspect them more.

They brightened and then dulled, like a beacon of small lights in the distance coming in and out of sight.

Like fireflies.

Finnian’s pulse flickered.

He recalled a memory: strolling along the bank of Augustus’s river, marveling at the moonflowers while foraging valerian. It wasn’t long when Cassian had ambushed him and they’d fought. It was the first time Finnian witnessed the High God relinquish all the souls within his ghouls. He’d chased Finnian around the forest, gutting the stream and tearing down the century-old oaks. A ruined paradise.

Finnian managed to escape, albeit with half of his flesh marred off from Cassian’s dreadful divine power that caused decay. The High God had come alarmingly close to cursing him that day. It was by pure luck Finnian had teleported before Cassian could get his hands on him.

This is how he remembered the memory, but the images invading in his mind of who he assumed was Everett, strolling alongside him, were foreign. A completely different form of reality he had no reminiscence of.

Finnian refocused on the specks, still convinced they were mimicking fireflies.

Why were they plastered across Cassian’s ceiling?

Do you see?

Finnian climbed to his feet on the mattress and stretched his arm towards them.

He siphoned the energy from the pinpricks, stripping away the magic shaping the shimmering particles. One by one, they vanished until it was an all-black, solid backdrop tenting over him.

Finnian’s face paled as the energy flowed into his veins—energy attached to a spell.

They’d been created with magic. His magic. He recognized his energy, the droplets of water living within the river of his own body. He’d been in this room before.

Do you recall that night in Augustus?

Another memory flashed in the forefront of his mind: the late-1800s interior of his townhome; the smoky aroma of singed herbs and the chilled air of the basement that he’d turned into an alchemy station; hundreds of brilliant sparkles surrounding him and…

I recall it every day.

This voice was different, one he was well acquainted with—low-pitched, smooth, somber. A glimpse of ivory-blond strands and a broad smile stood beside him, encompassed by a sea of jewels.

Is his soul here in the Land?

Finnian’s blood went frigid as a demand pinched in his gut. An insistence that dropped in his legs, begging him to move.

Yes.

Deities could shape-shift their appearances entirely. Why hadn’t he thought about the possibility before?

Finnian dropped his chin to assess the bed he stood on, as if the satin would peel back its threads and show him the memories it held.

He was your lover.

Finnian lifted his sharp gaze to the door with what felt like venom prickling in his veins.

He hopped off the mattress and started across the room.

He shut his mind off and followed the feel of the invisible thread binding him to Cassian—an intuitive pull in his gut leading him down empty corridors and a wide stairwell. His fingers brushed the engravings of the spindles along the railing with each step. The black stone walls of the hall were etched with small streaks of dancing gold. Black, gold, black, gold—Finnian’s vexation grew from how plain and predictable Cassian’s palace was.

He was your lover.

Finnian’s eyes held onto the large glass door across the foyer.

Everett was your lover.

He swung the door open and stepped out into floral infused air. After twenty-four hours, nightfall had finally graced the Land.

He paced down a stone walkway through the dark botanical garden. Vines coiled around ruins.

He passed underneath an archway with dangling eucalyptus flourished with black roses. Eventually, it led him into a lemon tree orchard. Mint mingled in the air as he breezed by.

Who was Everett?

An iron gate came into view. The scent of fresh herbs stifled the citrus.

Finnian entered the threshold, his sights set on the back of Cassian’s head, his light shade of hair reflecting in the moonlight.

He sat on a stone bench and peered across a bed of sage and rosemary to a winding stream. The silver streaks pierced through the canopy of branches above and glistened on its surface.

Finnian raised his hand, and a flame struck in his palm.

Push him.

He threw his arm out and the flame burst into an inferno, demolishing the greenery in its trajectory. Its hot gust stung Finnian’s cheeks. A hellfire of violet and tangerine devoured the bench, obscuring his sight of Cassian.

What will he truly do?

Finnian clamped his fingers into his palm and the current of fire choked out.

Will he fight with me?

His heart hammered in the base of his throat. A thick veil of smoke rose from the charred remains of the garden.

Harm me?

As it swept away in the breeze, Finnian could see the bench was now empty.

The skin of his nape prickled with gooseflesh. A nefarious energy dropped behind him, and he whipped around, arm cast out.

Before he could activate any spells, Cassian grabbed a hold of his wrist and forced his hand down. “Enough of this.”

“Unhand me!” Finnian fought against his grip, ripping his hand away.

Cassian allowed him to do so, frowning. His brow furrowed over his gaze, heavy and pained as it sifted all over Finnian’s face.

He did what I said.

Finnian glanced around at the grove—the tranquil brook embedded in hawthorn trees, patches of hemlock, the vines of passion flowers ensnaring the iron fence. A peaceful sanctuary for Cassian to sneak off to and find solace.

Push him more.

Another flame flickered to life in Finnian’s palm, and he sent its stream towards the flowers scouring over a row of basalt stone.

“No!” Cassian yelled.

Finnian blinked through the ripples of smoke as the flames torched the white blossoms gazing up at the moon.

Moonflowers.

Cassian strapped an arm around his waist from behind and tugged him off his feet.

The flames sputtered out. Finnian cocked his elbow back into Cassian’s ribcage. The vibrations of his grunt rattled through Finnian’s backside as he pushed off him, breaking through his arms.

Finnian drew up his hand. Energy materialized into the shape of a celestial dagger, tangible and solid in his grasp. He whirled around and his other palm came down on Cassian’s chest, shoving him back.

Cassian’s backside slammed against the iron fence as Finnian positioned the magical dagger’s end to his throat. “Who was Everett?”

Cassian kept his chin lowered, the shadows of the night hiding his profile. A singular curl fell over his forehead.

“At first I thought it was the curse fucking with my mind, but I’ve been here before, haven’t I?” Finnian inched closer, applying pressure on the dagger. “In your palace. In that room you stuck me in. The magic on the ceiling was mine !”

Cassian said nothing.

The breath grew heavy in Finnian’s lungs, of smoke and impatience. He curled his fingers around the collar of Cassian’s suit jacket, satisfied by the wrinkles it caused in the crisp material. “Or was it one of your sick illusions? The curse isn’t acting fast enough and you need Ash’s blood now . For what, revenge? We all know you and Ruelle despise one another. What could she have possibly done to someone like you ?—”

“Enough!” he snarled.

Finnian flinched, his hold slackening a little.

Cassian ripped his head up. Devastation marred his face as tears gushed down his cheeks, fat droplets catching in the creases of his nose, drenching his lips, dripping down his chin. The skin around his eyes brightened red and swelled. Such beautiful sorrow.

An ache splintered down Finnian’s chest. His breath locked in his diaphragm, stunned by his own pain.

The dagger dissolved in his grip and he lowered his hand.

“I am not strong enough for this,” Cassian said.

Finnian searched his broken gaze: two vibrant, golden hollows brimming with anguish.

He was overcome with a harrowing displeasure by the sight. Suddenly, he regretted everything. Storming out of the palace and provoking Cassian this way. Finnian wished to hug him, hold him, assure him everything was okay. He couldn’t make sense of the feeling of grave concern awakening inside of him, of the innate need to dive deep within Cassian’s waters and strangle the source of his pain.

“Who is Everett?” Finnian asked again, softening his voice.

He knew, but he needed to hear the words from Cassian.

“It was all a mistake. I shouldn’t have…” Cassian shook his head, sniveling.

The cracking in his voice punctured Finnian’s heart.

Lightly, he took a hold of Cassian’s chin between his thumb and index finger, forcing their eyes to meet. “Shouldn’t have what ?”

Cassian delved deeply into his gaze. “I loathe you.” He said it softly, like a poignant vow.

Fresh tears slipped down his face.

Finnian’s jaw tightened, painfully confused by the contradiction.

“I loathe you just as much,” Finnian said back, reaching for the resentment he knew to exist within, but it felt like cupping a fistful of fog. Centuries of it lived inside of him, disdain and contempt that bubbled up and caked his tongue each time he was forced to interact with the High God.

Though, by now, Finnian was well accustomed to the tartness of resentment. It was a taste he could not get out of his mouth each time he laid eyes upon Mira. True, discernable hatred that did not exist standing before Cassian now.

Cassian tipped forward and dropped his forehead on the top of Finnian’s shoulder.

Finnian stiffened from the physical contact, surprised by the visceral reaction to put his arms around him, almost like a second nature.

“No,” Cassian whispered. Tears dampened through the material of Finnian’s shirt. “ I loathe you , and I…”

“ Long for you.” The words pushed up his throat before he knew what he said.

A gasp caught in Cassian’s throat.

It was like the unraveling of a stitch—the graveyard, the triplets, the mage, Malik threatening to carve Eleanor and Isla apart, Everett arriving and saving them, the fear blazing in his eyes as he tore the blades out of Finnian.

Cassian raised his head and pulled away. “What did you say?” His eyes flitted between Finnian’s, ignited with a frantic hope.

You are mine to chase, to fight with.

“ You are Everett.” Finnian uncurled his fingers from Cassian’s collar and stepped back.

Cassian reached out and caught him by the forearm. His fingers dug into his skin tightly, as if he may float away. “What is my name, Finnian? My real name.”

The tender sound of his own name on Cassian’s lips roused something within. He could feel whatever it was pushing out of the casket it was buried in.

His name was Cassian—or Everett, he was sure—but wasn’t. Cassian hadn’t clarified and Finnian didn’t know what he was searching for in his memories. A moment hidden somewhere? Because of the curse? Or because of something Cassian did? He’d said he never should’ve done what ?

Finnian’s mind strained the more he pushed to reflect and remember, activating the buzz to resound at the crown of his skull.

No, no, no.

He yanked his arm free from Cassian. His touch, the sensation, his eyes reaching down and coaxing him—it was too much.

“I—” A stab prodded in the center of his brain, jarring down his spine.

He cringed and hunched over, his palm coming up to his forehead.

You break everyone you love.

Cassian supported him by the hold on his arm. “Finny,” he blurted out, distressed.

If you must call me by a nickname, I would prefer it to be that, rather than Little Nightmare.

A cold sweat lined Finnian’s brow. The smoke in the air lingered. It stuck to his cheeks, his neck. A queasiness rolled in his stomach.

When can I return to see you again?

The memory glitched in the back of his mind against the ringing.

Whenever you wish.

He could see it—laying in a bed of satin, their bodies intertwined, Cassian perched up on an elbow, gaze glittering down at him, the room dark, quiet, with flecks of shimmering particles suspended around them, Cassian’s laughter fluttering his heart, the sound like the bow stroke of a viola. An insatiable longing, a tender devotion, an eternal affection embedded in Finnian’s skin, dissolving into his blood, seeping down into his marrow until he was made of Cassian and Cassian alone.

I like the way it sounds on your lips.

“Cassius,” Finnian whispered. “Your real name is Cassius.”

The barrier encasing his mind fractured, and his memories burst forth like a raging ravine.

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