Chapter Thirty-One
Henry gently clears the blood from my eyes, and I open them to find Trudy Birtwistle standing across the table, the flames from the candelabras dancing in the black of her pupils, an empty glass clutched in her dainty fist. Wine. It was only wine. Not blood.
Trudy sneers at the grass stains on my dress, then at Henry’s handkerchief pressed to my cheek, her lips pursed with disgust. “That’s what some might call it, you know. The two of you, off having a romp in the garden—”
“Trudy,” Henry warns, his face twisted with hate as he dabs at the wine dripping from my chin. I remember being on the receiving end of that look and thank the Stars that those days are behind us as he narrows his eyes at her, his voice cold. “You’re out of line.”
“ I’m out of line!” Trudy gasps, drawing even more attention to the three of us. A few Nightweavers watch as she points an accusing finger at me. “This rat —”
“Enough.”
The authority in Titus’s voice is unmistakable. He towers over Trudy, who gawks at him, mouth babbling. She dips into a curtsy so low, she may as well sit on the floor.
Titus’s lip wrinkles, the makings of a snarl. “Aster is a guest of the Crown, and you will treat her with respect.”
“But, Your Highness—”
“Silence.” There is no trace of the haughty, playful prince. Rather, I catch a glimpse of the fearsome ruler who I thought only an hour ago would have filleted the skin from my flesh for sport. “Say another word, and I will have Ms. Oberon cut your tongue from your mouth. Is that clear?”
Trudy nods weakly, and it looks as if she might break down in tears. Now I understand what prompted the rumors of the bloodthirsty prince of the Eerie.
Titus turns his full attention on me, and I feel as if the air has been knocked from my lungs. His blue eyes churn, two whirlpools of fury, but his voice is steady, unnervingly calm. “Are you all right, Aster?”
I open my mouth to answer, but no sound comes out.
“Off you go.” Killian appears behind Titus, shooing Trudy back onto the dance floor. The moment she’s gone, the sinister expression slips from Titus’s face. I take a shuddering breath as he releases me—somewhat reluctantly, it seems—from his attentive gaze, turning to Killian.
“Bancroft!” He and the admiral embrace. “I’ve been looking for you all evening.…”
Someone taps my shoulder. Jack stands behind me, looking more out of place than I feel. He gapes at my wine-stained dress, shaking his head.
“Are you—”
“Fine,” I say through gritted teeth, my nerves raw. “What is it?”
Jack nods slowly, looking unconvinced. “Will’s asked to see you,” he says, his voice low. “He’s waiting for you at the stables.”
“And what if I don’t want to see him?”
Henry rolls his eyes. “Go,” he says, offering me his handkerchief. “You two need to talk things out.”
I take the handkerchief, surprised by its weight. “It’s… heavy,” I murmur, quirking a brow.
He smirks. “Enchanted,” he says simply. “It possesses the protective capabilities of chain mail. Cleans itself, too,” he adds, looking smug.
I glance at the handkerchief, my mouth parting with a gasp as the berry-red stains dissolve, leaving the white fabric pristine. “Fantastic.”
Though reluctant to give in to Will’s request, I’m eager to flee from the few Nightweavers who witnessed Trudy’s outburst, still leering and whispering from afar. Abandoning the plate of sweets I had yet to partake—now soggy with wine—I follow Jack toward the double doors at the far side of the room. I look back only once to find Titus watching me go, before the crowd swallows him up and the crisp night air greets me with a chilled kiss.
“You should have seen her face,” I tell Jack as we near the stables, wiping my cheeks with Henry’s handkerchief. It comes away soiled black from the tar Margaret applied to my eyelashes, but an instant later, the stains vanish. I tuck it away in the bosom of my dress, marveling at the enchantment. “I thought she might die of embarrassment.”
The usual laughter is absent from Jack’s face. “Serves her right! Trudy has always been and will always be a miserable, conniving—”
“You’re not talking about me, I hope.” Will peels himself from the shadows, stepping into the guttering, amber light of the stables. He pulls back the hood of his black cloak, a subtle smirk tugging at his lips.
“If I had been talking about you,” Jack says, bowing dramatically, “I would have mentioned your lordship’s foul mood swings and concerning inability to take a joke.” Jack salutes me, turning on his heels and starting back toward the manor. Just like that, for the first time since Will’s return, we are alone.
I don’t waste a moment striding past him, toward Caligo’s stall, the familiar smell of leather and hay calming my nerves. “What do you want?” I demand, perhaps a bit more harshly than I intended.
“Let me explain.” Will’s deep, soft voice reaches me from the doorway. He keeps his distance, as he has been doing from the moment he returned. “Please, Aster.”
Something in his voice breaks at the word please , and it threatens to unravel me. I pull myself into Caligo’s saddle, avoiding looking in his direction. “Fine,” I say, walking Caligo out of his stall. “But you’ll have to catch me first.”
I take off at a gallop, Caligo kicking up dust in his wake, and race for the orchard. As I near the apple tree tunnel, the sound of another set of hooves pounding the earth vibrates in my chest, and I turn to find Will riding bareback on Henry’s chestnut steed, Nutmeg, his midnight cloak billowing in his wake. Caligo slows when we reach the conservatory, and Will draws up at my right side, heaving for breath.
“It seems those lessons have paid off,” he pants, his green eyes sparkling in the moonlight. His charming grin causes my thundering heartbeat to falter as he hops down from Nutmeg’s back in one smooth motion and holds out his hand for me to take. “You’re a magnificent rider.”
“Jack’s a good teacher,” I say, ignoring his proffered hand without effort but struggling to ignore the twist in my stomach that follows his praise—praise I didn’t realize I wanted to hear until now.
I swing my leg over Caligo’s back and land with ease, indulging in the look of shock that dominates Will’s expression. “Well?” I open the door to the conservatory. “I’d like to be back before sunrise.”
Will rubs the nape of his neck, his boyish smile like a breath of fresh air. When he laughs, motioning for me to enter first, I feel as if I’m seeing him for the first time all evening. As if the boy who returned from war never left the party, and the old Will— my Will—came here in his place.
“You’re certainly in a better mood,” I say coolly, turning to face him as he closes the door behind us.
He frowns, wetting his lips as if to say something, but he seems to forget as his emerald eyes rove my gown, up to my face—to the single sprig of blue salvia tucked behind my ear. He shakes his head, his gaze intense.
“You are entirely too lovely for this world, Aster Oberon.”
I blink, dumbfounded. “Excuse me?”
Will tilts his head, short black curls splaying over his forehead. “I said—”
“I heard what you said,” I snap. “I just don’t know why you had to come here to say it.”
“You know why.” His boyish grin fades as he takes a step toward me, and another, backing me toward the old oak tree at the far end of the conservatory. “My indifference toward you this evening was an attempt to fix the Order’s mistake.”
My throat tightens. “Mistake?”
Will grinds his teeth. “It was a mistake to invite you to the ball,” he says, his green eyes reflecting the colorful glow of Liv and the other pixies as they peer out from the overhanging branches. I find it odd that Liv and her friends don’t surround him, swooping and giggling, but I push the thought aside.
“The king has already announced he will be sending a regime of Bloodknights to Ink Haven—to Bludgrave—in order to inquire about your family’s loyalty to the crown,” he continues. “You’re fortunate Titus covered for you, though I’m not sure what he’ll be able to do when the king and queen find out what’s transpired here tonight—a human girl escorted to a Reckoning Day Ball by her employer’s son, no less.” He sighs, running a hand through his curls. “You’ve put your family in danger, Aster. It was an incredibly reckless decision, one I thought even you wouldn’t have made.”
Every word is like a slap in the face. “You’re just angry Henry asked me, and you couldn’t.”
“Of course I am!” His voice rises above its characteristic timbre, his expression wild. “You don’t think I want you with me at every party?” He doesn’t give me time to answer, his nimble fingers working to unfasten his cloak. “Titus saved your life tonight, simply by dancing with you—something I could never have done—and by doing so, ensured his own punishment at the hands of the king and queen. You owe him a great deal of thanks.”
“I don’t owe anyone anything.” I clutch my arms, shivering despite the balmy air of the conservatory. “The Order asked that Henry and I—”
“The Order used you,” Will says sharply. His expression softens as he heaves a breath, draping his cloak over my shoulders. Instant warmth sinks into my bones. “I only learned what they had planned just before we danced.”
“But Captain Shade—”
“My father fabricated the rumor concerning Shade’s vendetta against the prince to keep Henry distracted from what the Order planned to do with you. And so that, if anything unfortunate were to happen tonight, there would be someone to blame.” His jaw tightens. “No one—not even my family—knows that Shade is my informant. I intend to keep it that way.”
“But why lie about what happened in Ink Haven?” I shake my head. “It wasn’t a human rebellion; it was Percy and his filth. They—”
“It is the story the king would have told,” Will says, pinching the bridge of his nose. “The Order was simply trying to maintain some control over the rumors that are no doubt already spreading throughout the kingdom. If the Crown suspects a rebellion in Ink Haven, it’s better that we appear to have some hand in stamping it out.”
I pull the cloak tighter around my shoulders as a chill runs down my spine. “Why invite me to the ball, then? Just to call me out in front of all those people?”
“Very few know of Titus’s allegiance to the Order. My father used your presence to test Titus’s loyalty, to see if he would risk the king’s wrath to protect you—a human girl. A pirate.” He furrows his brows. “And to plant a seed of doubt in the people’s minds if they think you and your family have anything to do with the human resistance. It was his idea that if Titus showed favor to you publicly, few would be willing to speak out against him. If I had been here, I would never have risked—”
“But you weren’t here!” I clench my fists, my blood humming in my veins. “You left.”
“I had to.” A deep groan rumbles in his chest. “Titus needed me—”
“ I needed you!” The words spill out before I can stop them. Neither of us moves, neither of us breathes, staring at each other in stunned silence.
Will’s face falls in defeat, and he takes another step toward me. “Aster—”
“No,” I say, standing my ground. “You don’t get to come back and act like you didn’t get exactly what you wanted. I joined the Order. That’s why you brought me here, isn’t it?”
His eyes light, a subtle honey gleam shining through the green. “This isn’t what I wanted,” he says darkly, taking another step. “I wanted to keep you as far from this world as I possibly could.”
I give ground, my back pressed against the trunk of the old oak. This world— his world. I should have known he never wanted me to be a part of it, after all those weeks hiding here, pretending every day that we weren’t growing closer each night.
Rather than allow him to cage me in, I maneuver around him in one swift movement, forcing him into the position he placed me. “Is that why you refused to teach me how to hunt the Sylk? How to banish it?”
“I told you what you needed to know.” A muscle in his jaw ticks. “I took care of the rest.”
“Without me.”
He dips his head. “Without you.”
I open my mouth, but I don’t know what to say. I turn on my heel, storming back down the path between the roses, choking on their cloying scent. “You didn’t have to bring me out here just to remind me why I never want to speak to you again.”
“I suppose you wanted to have this conversation in front of a crowd of people who wish you dead,” he says, following close behind me.
I whirl on him, the cloak twirling. “You never cared before!”
“Things were different then.” He runs his hands over his face. His gaze seizes mine, seeking answers. In this moment, he looks like a scared little boy—not a soldier or a lord or a Nightweaver. “I don’t want anything to happen to you.”
I can’t bear to look him in the eye, so I turn my back to him, reaching for the door. “I can take care of myself.”
“I know that.” He grabs my wrist, halting me midstep. “But if you were to get hurt…,” he says thickly, shaking his head, his glossy black curls reflecting the soft blue and purple light emanating from the pixies overhead. “I fear I’d lose control.”
I laugh, the sound broken and cruel. “No one told you?” I jerk my wrist from his grip, tearing the glove off and tossing it aside, revealing the P branded into my flesh.
Will stumbles back a step, his mouth parting on a sharp intake of breath. For an instant, his eyes appear illuminated, bright and burning like molten gold, as he fixes a glare on the mark. A preternatural stillness befalls him, and when he raises his head to meet my eyes, the green of his iris is a thin line, rimming the gilded honey glow. “Who did this?”
“Percy,” I answer without thinking, as if he coaxed my voice out of me against my own will. “Don’t worry,” I add, attempting to regain some sense of self-control. “He’s dead.”
“That’s unfortunate.” The golden glow subsides, making Will’s green eyes almost dull in comparison. His taciturn expression, his low, deep voice, send a shiver through me. “I would have liked to kill him myself.”
Will removes his gloves, and though I attempt to pull away, my movements are sluggish. He takes me by the wrist, and at his touch, it’s as if a shock of electricity passes between us. A feeling of warmth, comfort, and serenity floods my veins. My breathing deepens, my eyelids growing heavy.
“Don’t,” I manage to whisper. “Please.”
His thumb strokes the brand. He looks up at me from beneath thick, dark eyelashes, his eyes glowing gold once more. “I can heal the scar,” he says, his voice a deep hum.
A tear slips onto my cheek. “And what about the scars you can’t see?”
His forehead creases, but before he can answer, Liv appears, hovering near my face, her tiny hand swiping at the tear. She fixes an angry look on Will. “Sabba nesht, vira mayani bink fana shevant.”
The golden glow retreats, leaving only Will’s familiar green eyes looking into mine, and the strange hold of his compulsion releases me.
Still, I don’t pull away from him. “What did she say?”
Will smirks slightly. “She told me that if I made you cry again, I’d have to deal with her.”
I don’t know why, but I laugh. Will watches me, a look of wonder about him. With the hand still holding my wrist, he pulls me close, and with the other, he caresses my cheek.
“That laugh,” he murmurs, his eyes drifting shut, lips parting slightly as if to drink in the sound. “I missed that laugh.”
I glance at his wrist, where the band of braided leather seems a bit more worn than when I last saw it. He follows my eyes.
“When I was on the front,” he says, his breath warming my face, “all I thought about was you—your laugh, your smile, your temper. All I could think about was coming home to you. It was the only thing that kept me alive.” His hand cups my cheek, prompting me to meet his eyes, the emerald green more brilliant than I remembered. “You kept me alive, Aster.”
And there it is—everything I wanted to hear for the past three months. But in this moment, hidden away in the conservatory, with only the pixies and the flowers to bear witness, I realize something I didn’t before: Will can never say those words at a ball; he can never admit his feelings to his family. All this time, I thought I only wanted to hear him tell me he missed me, but what does any of it mean when neither of us is free to act on the way we feel?
“You’re too late,” I say, my voice a quiet breath. “I don’t need you anymore.”
As if those were the words that he waited three months to hear, a tentative smile breaks out over his face, though it doesn’t reach his heavy-lidded eyes. “You never did.”
His nose brushes my cheek, and my eyes shutter closed as his lips lightly graze my own. All thoughts of hiding, of things forbidden, flee at the feel of his mouth pressed to mine. He kisses me softly, as if I were made of glass, ever so gentle. I sink into the feeling of bliss that floods my senses, lost in the moment, in him, in the way his hand tangles in the hair at the nape of my neck as his arm wraps around my waist, holding me close.
He makes a sound, somewhere between a purr and a growl, as he deepens the kiss, and I forget that he is a Nightweaver and that I am a pirate and that the two of us should never have met. This feels right—more right than anything has ever felt before. I never want him to pull away, the scent of roses and damp soil heady in the air, as familiar to me now as the sea once was. I want to taste the sparkling wine on his lips a thousand times, want to get drunk on it, want to—
Something warm trickles from my nose, and before I realize what’s happened, Will tears himself away from me. Thrown off balance by the kiss and his sudden movement, I land on the ground, the cloak padding my fall.
“What—” I stop short. Will towers over me, his eyes fully engulfed in the blaze of golden light. Blood stains his lips crimson. Did he bite me? He looks down at me, his gaze devoid of emotion. Liv and the other pixies dart to hide among the roses, their glow diminished.
Will’s gilded eyes blaze like two fiery orbs in the darkness.
“Will,” I whisper hoarsely. “Will, it’s me.”
He blinks, dark green rimming the gold once more. “Your nose,” he says, his voice rough. “It’s bleeding.”
I touch just above my upper lip, my fingers coming away wet with blood. “Why—”
A howl pierces the air, cutting me off. A moment later, Dinah bounds into the conservatory, ears flopping. The golden glow of Will’s eyes surrenders to emerald green at the sight of his uncle’s bloodhound and the blood-spattered parchment tied to her collar.
Will scans the note, his face grim. “It’s from Killian.”
I don’t have to ask what it says. I can hear the laughter in the distance, high-pitched, guttural, and grating—a sound I’ll never forget—and know.
The Underlings are here.