Chapter Twenty-Six
I don’t know what I expected him to say, but that wasn’t it.
I draw back, my brows raised. “I beg your pardon?”
He grinds his teeth, looking everywhere in the ballroom but at me. “Did Henry put you up to this?”
I cough out a dry laugh. “It’s been three months since we’ve spoken, and those are your first words to me?”
The shadows beneath Will’s eyes seem to darken. “You shouldn’t be here.”
His words are like a dagger to my heart. I start to pull away, but his grip tightens on my hand, his fingers desperately clutching my waist.
“Why?” I demand, thick, angry tears forming a lump in my throat. “Because I’m not like you?”
His expression softens, and he shakes his head, blinking as if to clear himself from a daze. “Aster, that’s not what I—”
“For your information,” I snap, “Henry invited me because we’re… friends.” That word sounds strange coming out of my mouth, but it feels right. True. “Unlike you and me. And furthermore, I’m not just here to make your life miserable. I’m not even sure why you asked me to dance when it’s obvious you have your choice of more suitable partners. At any rate, I’d rather not speak to you at all. I’m only here because the Order asked that Henry and I keep an eye on the prince tonight.”
Will snorts. “You’re doing an excellent job at that.”
His nonchalant response sets my teeth on edge. “You already know,” I whisper, my voice shaking with barely contained fury. “You know I joined the Order.”
“Of course I know,” he nearly growls. “ Someone bothered to write me back.”
His fierce green eyes are full of hurt as he watches his brother dancing a few feet from us. Trudy Birtwistle clings to Henry, who appears to be attempting to put as much space between them as he possibly can. I feel a stab of guilt for not stepping in, but after having spent the past three months angry at Will for leaving, angry at myself for missing him, I can’t see past the rage clouding my vision.
“Look at me,” I demand, my voice breaking. “Dammit, look at me , Will.”
His gaze snaps to mine, and at once, I forget what I was going to say.
“What?” he asks roughly.
“What?” I echo, my voice harsher than I intended. “You lied to me. Kept secrets from me. When were you going to tell me about the Order? About everything?”
He looks away again, his throat working. “You don’t understand.”
“You’re right,” I say quietly. “I don’t understand.”
He tilts his head, his green eyes roving my face as if checking for some kind of injury.
“I thought…” I sigh, my rage cooling into hardened apathy. “It doesn’t matter what I thought. I spent every day of the last three months wondering if it would be the day I caught word you had died. And then, tonight, I was stupid enough to think you would come to see me. That you missed me, too.”
“You missed me?” he murmurs, prompting me to meet his gaze. His eyes are wide, brimming with an emotion I can’t put into words.
My cheeks blaze with uncomfortable heat. “That’s not important,” I say quickly. “Instead of seeking me out the moment you arrived—and I see why, now, because it appears you were preoccupied—you sent me that bouquet and—”
“A bouquet?” He frowns, his brows drawn. “I didn’t send you any bouquet.”
His admission is like a splash of ice-cold water to my senses. My heart twists. “Then who—”
The music stops, my voice carrying over the sudden silence. A few Nightweavers cast me hateful looks, but then Henry is there, blocking the rest of the partygoers from my view. He peels Trudy off his arm as if she were, indeed, a leech.
“Time to switch partners,” Henry says, shooting me a pointed look.
I don’t look back at Will as I take Henry’s proffered hand. But as Henry sweeps me into another, jauntier dance, I glimpse Trudy over Henry’s shoulder, standing alone, with Will nowhere to be seen.
“I don’t know about you,” Henry says, “but I’m damn near sick of dancing.” He steers us toward the edge of the ballroom. “Care for some fresh air?”
“Do you have to ask?”
“I was being polite.”
I roll my eyes. “I thought we discussed that.”
His lip quirks. “And what did we discuss?”
“That you shouldn’t.”
Henry laughs, taking my hand and nearly dragging me through a set of open double doors, onto the lawn. Once we’ve made it out of earshot of the guests lingering outside and are secluded by the rosebushes of the east garden, Henry releases my hand.
“So?” he asks, straightening the lapels of his tux. “What was that all about?”
“What was what all about?”
He gives me a dull look. “Did you dance with another prince tonight?”
“Oh,” I murmur. “That.”
“Yes.” He smirks. “That.”
I shrug. “You tell me. It’s not as if I expected him to… well, notice me at all.”
Henry laughs sharply. “Notice you?” He laughs again, offering his arm. “You seriously underestimate yourself.”
“I do not!” I insist, taking him by the arm and allowing him to escort me through the garden at a lazy, comfortable pace.
He quirks a brow. “Whatever you say.”
In the distance, the golden lights of Ink Haven shimmer as if swaddled in a blanket of Manan . The balmy night air is bereft of ocean brine, infused instead with the sweet aroma of flowers and pastries.
“My brother…” Henry shakes his head. “Every time he returns from battle, he seems different. But this time…” He lets out a low sigh. “I’ve never seen him like this.”
I wrinkle my nose, ignoring the emotion clogging my throat. “He’s an asshole.”
“He’s just come home from war.”
“I’ve spent my whole life at war,” I snap. “That’s no excuse for being an asshole.”
“You’re kind of an asshole, though.”
I dig my elbow into his ribs. “You tried to kill me!”
He chokes out a pained laugh. “I’m kind of an asshole, too.”
I don’t fight the smile that touches my lips. But as we pass a cluster of white lilies, my smile fades. “Henry?”
“Yes?”
I come to a halt, turning to face him. “Do you ever think of it?”
The question is as much a shock to me as it is to him.
He furrows his brows, his voice soft. “Think of what?”
“The…” I hesitate, worrying my bottom lip. “The Deathwail .”
Henry pulls back, putting distance between us—distance I didn’t realize wasn’t there before. His mouth twists into a wrathful frown. “Why would you ask me that?”
I shed the strip of yellow chiffon intended to hide the scar around my throat, snagging Henry’s gaze. Understanding flickers in his eyes, his expression softening once more.
“Right. Before he left for Hellion, Will mentioned you had…” he trails off, looking unsure of himself. “I honestly didn’t believe him. I didn’t realize your scar…” He looks up at me, his throat working on a swallow. “How long?”
“Two months.” My voice is no more than a whisper. “I still… I still feel trapped there, sometimes. It’s worse when I’m—”
“Alone,” he finishes, removing the distance between us, his hand outstretched. Gently, hesitantly, his fingers trace the scar, and I don’t shy away from his touch. “Not a day goes by that I do not think of it.” He withdraws his hand, his mouth pressed tight. “Dorothy helped me through the worst of it,” he admits. “She used to sneak into my room, late at night, before my uncle created the wards that keep the nightmares at bay, and… and she would just hold me. She wouldn’t even say anything. She would just…” His face crumples. “She would just be there.”
“You love her,” I say softly.
His eyes turn glassy with unshed tears. “It was on those nights that I realized I didn’t care where I was, as long as I was with her.” His jaw clenches, forehead creasing as he looks out at Ink Haven in the distance. “And now she’s all alone, and I just wish I could hold her .”
His admission hangs in the air, heavy and full of longing, and I realize there’s more than one way to say, Yes, I love her .
He grimaces, clearing his throat. “Two months,” he says, shaking his head, and I don’t blame him for steering the conversation away from Dorothy, even if it means discussing my time on the Deathwail . “Stars, Aster. No one lasts longer than a few days in those cells.”
“You did,” I say. Before I can stop myself, I reach out, my fingertips grazing the scar that carves a jagged line starting at his temple, down his cheek, my touch featherlight. I withdraw just as my hand brushes his shirt collar.
His swallow is audible. He gives me a look , and I see it—the wound. Not like a physical scar, to be worn with pride, but something… deeper. The kind of wound that never truly heals.
“Sometimes…” He breaks off, clears his throat. “Sometimes I wish I hadn’t lasted twelve days.”
His charcoal eyes find mine, and if not for the moonlight, I may not have seen the tears glazing his scarred face. “They took everything from me.” He looks away, his skin flushed with angry splotches of red. “I never thought I’d meet someone else who could understand. But two months… Aster, how did you survive?”
“Sometimes it feels like I didn’t.” I touch my throat, my fingers skimming the raised flesh. “They were afraid of me. Wouldn’t touch me. They…” A humorless laugh escapes me. “They thought I would bring a curse on them. So they tried to hang me.”
“And?”
“And it didn’t work the first time.”
His eyes widen. “The first time?”
I nod, my chest tightening as I remember the way Owen cared for me after Captain Shade cut me down from that rope. For the first few nights, he didn’t leave my side, even after Margaret ordered him to let me be. “They thought something was wrong with their noose. So they cut me down and tried again.”
“Stars,” Henry chokes out, pain—not pity—flickering in his gaze. “How are you alive?”
I lift a shoulder. I dangled from the mainmast for six minutes before Shade overtook the Deathwail ’s crew and cut the rope. “Don’t know,” I say. “But I…” My throat constricts, my voice coming out thick and strangled. “I felt cursed.”
I think back to what Will said on the train that day, about my ability to see the Sylks. Your ability is thought to be part of a curse. I know I’m not a Shifter, but… could it be true? Could I really be cursed?
Henry takes my hands in his. “I’m glad you lived,” he murmurs, his expression bereft of any teasing.
“I never thought I’d say this, but”—I give his hands a squeeze—“I’m glad to have met you, Henry Castor.”
He smiles softly. “Even though I tried to kill you?”
“Especially because you tried to kill me.”
Laughter bubbles up inside me, spilling out of my mouth. Despite everything, I can’t control it. I don’t want to. Henry appears startled, but only for a moment. And then he’s laughing, too. I’m not sure how long we remain this way, but I laugh so hard my stomach hurts. I haven’t laughed like this since… since Owen.
Just like that, the laughter is snuffed out. I fall silent, grasping my wrist where the band of braided leather forms tiny bumps beneath my glove.
Henry stills. “Aster, are you—”
A branch snaps. The sound of muffled breathing roots me to the spot. I search the gaps in the bushes, convinced I see Captain Shade’s scarlet mask everywhere I look. Has he come to kill the prince, as the rumors suggested? I can’t imagine he would attempt such a thing at the manor belonging to Will, his supposed confidant, but anything is possible. And if he has come, then Henry and I have failed to do the one thing the Order asked of us.
“Is someone there?” Henry demands, scanning the dense rosebushes.
My hand inches for the hairpin at the back of my head, ready to strike, when—
“Got you!” Albert leaps from behind a rosebush, tackling me to the ground.
It happens so fast, but the very second Albert appears, Henry throws his hand out, sparks of electricity skittering through the air. A bolt of light strikes Albert in the back, and his body seizes as he rolls off me, his eyes wide with shock.
He doesn’t blink.