23. Aches of Time
23
ACHES OF TIME
Finnian
The Past
There is something he isn’t telling me.
A guttural feeling flared in him each time he graced the subject of Ruelle.
They did not have the type of relationship where they kept things from each other. They spoke of their troubles, counseled one another, granted advice if need be. And when they disagreed, they always met each other with guards lowered.
Life with Cassian was coming home after a long, mind-numbing day to find him on the sofa, cravat untied and hanging around his neck, all his buttons undone, dozing off to the sweet silence Finnian’s home provided. He’d peek one eye open and give a genuine smile as Finnian sauntered over to lie with him. They’d rest in the quiet of each other’s company for a minute, and then talk throughout the night, sharing details of their days, until it transitioned to hours of kissing and hands pulling at each other’s clothes. Some nights were sensual and slow, and others were sultry and starved.
It became a ritual. Whether they were in Finnian’s home in Hollow City or Cassian’s palace in the Land of the Dead, they had integrated into each other’s lives. Something about that unsettled Finnian the more he turned over Ruelle and her need for revenge in his mind.
He laid in bed with Cassian stretched out beside him. The soft intakes of his breath indicated he’d finally drifted to sleep. Not that deities needed it, but Finnian had learned over the years that when he lulled Cassian into it, he would wake feeling refreshed after the temporary halt to his overworked brain.
The crackle of the fire from the hearth filled the dark room.
Finnian tucked his hand under his head and stared at the ceiling. The obsidian glinted against the glow, and the time they strolled down the countryside in Augustus played in the front of his thoughts.
Darkness only scares those afraid of the unknown.
It had been over a decade since he’d sat on the bank surrounded by moonflowers, listening to Cassian say those words.
He’d felt the walls of his chest heave then, just as they did now.
Darkness. The unknown. All of it petrified him to his core. To stumble in its jaws, unprepared and helpless.
The fireflies had always been something he envied. They had the power to carry the light with them everywhere they went.
He extended his arm upward and a trail of magic glistened like a stream dipped in the cosmos, swirling and grasping at the ceiling.
“ Movere lucem .”
The twinkling specks spread across it. A swarm of dazzling fireflies embedded in the crystal, the luminescence permanently fusing with the obsidian.
Finnian stared at them, his heart brimming as he reminisced—the cushioned seats of the theater hall, how engrossed he had been in the music when Everett quietly sat in the chair beside him, the scent of freshly plowed grass and petrichor as they strolled down the dirt path into the trees. All the efforts on Finnian’s part to entice Everett. He was attractive and Finnian had full intentions of seducing him.
The hand on his throat and the appearance of Cassian looking back at him had genuinely taken him off guard. The shock had frozen through him like a creek during winter.
Now, though, their past as enemies made him smile with nostalgia. He’d always enjoyed pressing Cassian’s buttons and tousling his flawless composure, intrigued to see what lay beneath the surface. His darker side had always appealed to Finnian.
He quietly sat up and snuck out of the bed.
With a swivel of his wrist, his trousers appeared around his waist. He slipped into his linen shirt, not bothering to button it up, and headed towards the door.
He gave a final peek behind him to ensure Cassian’s eyes were still shut before sliding out of the room.
Dusk filled the sky, spilling silhouettes across the Pomegranate Orchard. Slick, inky-black serpents slithered and coiled around the base of the trees. They hissed as Finnian strolled by.
Their jobs were to chase away the souls who did not have permission to enter. Only Cassian could grant a soul the right to eat from his fruit.
The serpents remained idle in Finnian’s presence, and he grinned half-heartedly to himself. He felt like a king as they glided across his path out of his way, prideful of his place alongside Cassian.
Three years was the rush of a breath to a deity, and yet, Finnian caught himself hanging onto every second, committing each of his moments with Cassian to memory. Something he’d been too young and foolish to ever think of doing with Father or Naia, back when he was too self-righteous to believe that time did not yield to deities.
Finnian tucked his hands in his pockets, the gesture creating an odd sense of closeness to Cassian, as if he were there walking alongside him. Cassian retreated his hands into his pockets when he was anxious, or to combat the tension gripping in his shoulders. These little things about him had made themselves a home in Finnian’s mind.
He knew if he asked Cassian to tell him about his past with Ruelle, he would oblige without hesitation. Yet, Finnian had avoided doing so, because a part of him didn’t wish to know. He wished to remain suspended in the blissful existence of life with Cassian.
The twinge in his gut told him they were on borrowed time. He could sense the dark clouds of a storm swelling over their heads. A shortness of breath that felt perpetually caught in his lungs, like he could hyperventilate at a hair trigger’s mercy.
He knew two things: something conspired between Ruelle and Cassian long ago, and Ruelle sought revenge on Cassian because of it.
She’d targeted Saoirse and meddled with the fates of those who directly impacted her and her title. Finnian knew little of the High Goddess, but evidently, Ruelle had hit Saoirse where it hurt.
Finnian thought of everything and everyone he loved. Ruelle could take it all away so easily, but it wouldn’t be enough to push Finnian to break things off with Cassian. Nothing would. So then, what?
If I were the High Goddess of Fate, what would I do to hurt Cassian?
Something squished underneath Finnian’s boot, pulling him from his thoughts.
He stopped and lifted his foot. Sticky globs of the rotted arils stuck to the sole of his shoe. The pomegranate was split and smashed into the soil, oozing bright red and gleaming underneath the arching sunrise that exploded over the jagged peaks of Moros in the distance. A scape of periwinkle, rosewood streaks smeared across what remained of the twilight sky.
Finnian crouched down and examined the shiny red skin and the blackened heart of the fruit.
A savage smile split his lips as he plucked one of the withered arils up and crushed it between his fingertips.
Ruelle could take everything from Finnian, but he would never let go of Cassian.
However, Cassian was more selfless than he was. Cassian was good . He did not have the heart to stand by and allow Finnian’s life to crumble, all because of him.
Ruelle was well aware of this.
I would make him bleed.