62. Harlow
HARLOW
I t’s dark when I wake and find myself pressed against the scarred terrain of Henry’s chest. I can only tell it’s morning by the noise of people on the street outside the boarding house. Dark Star Festival is always disorienting like this.
I’m tempted to stay curled up in bed and ignore all expectations, but with the only meager light in the room coming from the fireplace, I feel too exposed. I draw away from my husband slowly.
Henry’s face is soft with sleep, his hair curled over his forehead. His lashes are dark and too long for a man to appropriately appreciate. His lips are swollen from kissing me and his stubble has grown in enough that it will be bordering on a beard by the end of the day.
I’ve never spent the night with tender kisses bleeding into gentle passion, whispering, or just lying quietly in between.
It’s alarming how easily I could get used to it.
I roll over and stretch, and Henry immediately tugs me back against him, nuzzling his face into my neck. My body is sore, muscles stretched, skin bitten and stubble-burned, but I feel ready for the day.
In my periphery, I see the steady pulse of his dark purple aura. But something else catches my eye. I squint, trying to make sense of what I’m seeing, and my stomach bottoms out. Long, burnt orange tendrils reach out from the purple aura, subtly stroking along my skin .
My blood runs cold. Fear spikes through me so suddenly that I wrench myself out of bed and to my feet before Henry even registers I’m out of his reach.
“What’s going on?” he says groggily.
I ignore him, searching madly around my room for any of my clothing.
I run into the closet, throw on the first set of undergarments I find, and pull a matching bright blue dress on top of it.
I pull on my boots and tuck my blade into the right boot, then grab my cloak from the hook by the closet door.
I am so unbelievably stupid. Henry’s aura isn’t unusual because he’s Deathless. It’s unusual because he is twice-blessed.
My mind spins frantically. In the gallery back in Mountain Haven, he didn’t look proud because I liked his sister’s art pieces.
He was proud because they were his . They were made from his blessing from Polm.
The magic of his art had nothing to do with his sister’s gift for protection and everything to do with his ability to read and manipulate emotions.
That’s how he knew so well what each one of them did and how to read my reactions.
When I step out of the closet, my heart is pounding like I just sprinted the entire city wall.
Henry sits up in bed, looking at me with concern. “What’s wrong? Where are you?—”
“You lied to me.”
He is so still for a moment. Then he springs to his feet. “Don’t leave yet.”
I’m already halfway to the door.
“I can explain.”
He darts forward and reaches for me, but I spin away from him. Unfortunately, the move puts him between me and the door.
“How did you hide it so well?” I ask.
I pace toward the window. But I did see it, or at least a hint of it. The first thing I noticed about him was that his aura was an unusual shade—dark burnt plum. He hid Polm’s magic inside of Elvodeen’s. Now that I’ve seen it, I can trace back at least ten other times I should have noticed it.
I was so stupid to trust him. Even Gaven didn’t fully trust him?—
I stop suddenly. “You killed Gaven. ”
Silence stretches between us. The only sound in the room is the crackle of the dying fire. I turn to face Henry.
“I did, but if it helps, it was an accident. I didn’t know he couldn’t be affected by Divine blessings. I couldn’t heal him,” he says.
I feel sick and humiliated. Here he was believing I had outmaneuvered him when he’s been manipulating me with his magic and blaming other people for his murders.
“The paintings in the Havenwood House gallery. They were yours. That’s how you knew how to read them.” I sound so stupid, but my brain cannot keep up with this new reality.
“Yes.”
“Your sister wasn’t twice-blessed. You were.”
His brow is knitted in pain. “Yes, but Harlow, please, it’s not like you think. I didn’t?—”
“Look me in the eye and tell me you never used that blessing from Polm on me.” Just speaking those words makes the room feel airless. I am in too deep. I want him to tell me I’m wrong so badly. “Say that you didn’t manipulate me.”
He swallows thickly. “I can’t.”
Those two words make the floor fall out from under me. My world sucks in—tight as a held breath.
I can’t even be mad at him—because of course he did. He had a job to do. He wanted vengeance for his sister. I can’t blame him for using every tool at his disposal to ensure that he got it.
This first manipulation is the deepest cruelty.
The doubt it casts is a knife plunged in my gut that will twist any time I doubt him again.
The suspicion never leaves, and he knows it.
He will tie me up in knots and I will let him.
Not because I don’t know better, but because I do, and I still can’t let go of the possibility that it might be different this time.
It’s the foolish dreaming of a gaping chasm of a girl—more dark sucking star than human.
I know so much better. I’ve spent my life trying not to feel the aching lack of love in my life because I knew if I found a romance rare enough to fit me, I wouldn’t be able to stop from giving myself over to it.
I was outmatched in this game. I killed my parents. I played right into his hands and I lost .
Now I’m cursed with this marriage—knowing I’m the same to him as I’ve been to everyone else—someone to be used.
The weight of the betrayal is unbearable. I’m so ashamed I shared the parts of myself that I’ve never shared with anyone, and now I have no place to hide. All I can do is run.
“Harlow, please, just stay and let me explain.” His voice is hoarse and pleading. “Don’t run from me?—”
He moves to the side enough that I’m already at the door. Henry cages me there. I turn to face him head-on.
I want him to kiss me and erase the last five minutes. I want to stab him in the heart, just to share a hint of the pain I feel.
“Move,” I whisper.
Henry groans and tucks his face into my neck.
“I need to leave,” I rasp. I’m going to lose it if I can’t get out of this room in the next minute.
Henry growls, and his possessive hand comes to my hip. “You’ve infected me with hunger. I would rather break the world than let you go.”
It’s both hot and wrong, because part of me wants him to make me stay, to fuck me into oblivion so I don’t have to think about how hurt and stupid I feel.
I once told Henry I never quit and I don’t break. How wrong I was, because I’m surrendering now.
I tilt my chin up, look into his eyes, and say the one thing I know will get me out of this. “Stars.”
My voice is a hoarse rasp. Henry looks bereft, but he immediately steps back and opens the door. I launch myself into the hall and slam the door closed on the man I love.