64. Harlow
HARLOW
T he dark feels the slightest bit less oppressive as I climb up the stairs in front of North Hold. I told myself I only came here to avoid Kellan, who spent most of the afternoon hunting me from bar to bar around the city, trying to talk.
Fortunately for me, he’s become the most popular man in Lunameade, so it was easy to lose him in a crowd of enthusiastic citizens.
Eventually, I’ll be forced to hear him out, to unpack the complicated mix of anger, relief, and gratitude that he fought for me when I thought he had given up. For now, I need space.
For some reason, that space has led me to the last place I ever thought I’d go willingly.
I knock, but there’s no answer. Apprehension swells in my stomach. I knock twice more with no reply.
I should leave. Run. Go find the tunnel key and force my siblings to take me through it.
Anything would be better than standing suspended in the threshold of North Hold, as afraid to step inside as I am to walk away.
I’m not a coward, but I’m so afraid of what new horror stepping into my sister’s home will unleash.
I can’t decide if it’s worse to wonder what Aidia didn’t tell me about what happened to her behind closed doors, or if finding evidence of specific horrors will make it worse .
Finally, I summon enough courage to open the door and step inside. The grand staircase in the entryway is bright, lit by an array of sunstones that gleam off the white marble floor and bounce off the glass-blown chandelier hanging from the third-story ceiling.
A faint groan sounds from somewhere in the house, but I can’t place it.
“Hello?” I call.
Movement overhead catches my eye. Henry leans over the third-floor banister. “We’re up here.”
I climb the stairs slowly, uneasiness churning in my stomach as I reach the second-floor landing. Another flight of stairs and I’m breathless from fear.
I round the railing and draw up short.
Henry stands over Rafe, brandishing a fire poker. He looks feral. His hair is damp with sweat and hanging in his eyes. The top few buttons of his white shirt are undone, his sleeves are rolled up to the elbows, revealing strong forearms, and his hands are covered in blood.
“What do you think?” he asks, pointing the poker at Rafe. “Is it enough?”
Rafe’s face is mottled with bruises. His left eye is swollen closed, his nose looks broken, and his chin is covered with dried blood. His right wrist hangs at an odd angle, and he’s curled over his ribs like some of them are broken.
No. It’s not enough. It would be impossible to make him feel the claustrophobic fear I’ve felt ebbing, trapped in a body out of my control—to make him hurt the way I’ve hurt.
“This is the second go,” Henry says. “I already healed him up once. I figured it’s only fair since he did it to both of you.”
He sounds so casual about recreating my wounds and Aidia’s on the man who delivered them to us.
My chest feels too full. Seeing Rafe always brings back bad memories, but seeing how meticulously Henry paid attention—how he made sure to deliver all the same injuries—is strangely romantic. This violent intimacy should horrify me, but I’m more turned on than disgusted and more relieved than sad.
Rafe blinks up at me and mumbles something through his broken teeth .
“Don’t speak to my wife,” Henry snaps. His voice carries the same menace as the scrape of Drained claws over the city gates. “Speak to me.”
Rafe winces.
It feels good to see him afraid.
Henry holds the poker out to me. “Do you want a turn?”
I’m surprised that I don’t. For so long, all I wanted to do was beat him to a bloody pulp for making me kill the person I loved most in the world. But now that he has no power left, I just want to stop giving him my energy and attention.
He has to die, not just for what he’s done, but because men like him will always find a way to turn a second chance into an opportunity to be so much worse.
Much as I might like to watch him suffer being powerless in the interim, it wouldn’t be worth the dread I’d live with knowing he’s still breathing.
“No. I just want him gone,” I say.
Henry smiles wickedly. “Gladly.” He yanks Rafe to his feet, ignoring the mayor’s protests. “Rafe, go stand on the railing.”
Rafe stumbles forward to the railing. It’s satisfying watching him try to resist and fail. He struggles to climb up onto the narrow wooden banister, his battered body protesting the movements. At least this one is flat.
The balcony railing he made Aidia and me stand on was curved. My feet were so cramped from gripping the stone, it took almost two weeks of foot massages for the knots to finally release.
I shiver at the memory of the time I was bedridden and grieving.
Rafe finally gets himself upright.
Henry steps up behind me. He’s close enough that I can feel his body heat, but he doesn’t touch me. “You just say when, lovely.”
We stand there in silence for a few long minutes.
“You know what? I don’t think I can do it. I don’t know if I have it in me.” I step up to the railing beside Rafe, and he looks at me hopefully. “You know what might change my mind?” I hold his gaze and smile. “Begging. You remember how long you made me beg? You like begging, right?”
And he does. Rafe begs in the most pathetic way. I thought it would feel more satisfying, but the fact is, the only thing he loves in this world is himself, and that just doesn’t have the same impact .
“Enough,” I sigh. I look at Henry and nod. “I’m good.”
Rafe tries to crane his head to look at us, but he wobbles and nearly falls.
“Rafe, jump to the first floor face-first,” Henry says.
And then he does.
I don’t watch him fall, but I hear him land with a sickening thud. For a moment, I’m right back on the balcony, staring down at my sister.
I feel sick and also free.
Rafe Mattingly is dead, and he can never compel me to hurt someone I love again.
But my husband can.
Henry tilts my chin up. “I know you want to punish me.”
Of course I want to punish him. He made me feel so stupid and blind. It’s hard to describe this kind of betrayal. I thought he understood me in some innate way, but what if he was just using his magic to sense things about my emotional state? What if he doesn’t know me at all?
I thought he was someone who understood how to help me put my armor on. But what if that only applies to people who aren’t him?
These are all things I wish I could say, but they’re trapped in my throat, and I’d rather choke than let him hurt me again.
“Here’s a way to do it.” He hands me a small metal object.
“What is this?” I turn it over in my hand.
It’s a lighter.
“It’s what you wanted since we got married.”
“A way to murder you that would actually stick?” I shouldn’t make light of this, but I’m so uncomfortable under the weight of his astute assessment.
“Yes.”
I wait for him to smile, but he doesn’t. I open the lighter and spin the wheel with my thumb.
A small blue holy fire flame sparks to life. I’m so shocked, I almost drop the lighter and set the whole house on fire. The lid clicks closed, snuffing out the flame.
I can’t believe I didn’t think of it before.
Of course holy fire would work. How did I watch Gaven’s body burn so fast and not think of it then?
How did I not think of it after he told me about how his sister couldn’t be called back because she burned away to nothing?
Regardless, it wouldn’t have mattered then, because it’s not magic I can wield myself.
Until now.
“You’ve never been killed by holy fire,” I whisper.
“If I had, there would be nothing left to call my soul back to except a pile of ashes,” he says.
“I know that not telling you about my second blessing made you feel unsafe, but I only realized after the fact how bad it was for you. If I had known what Rafe did—” He groans and rubs the back of his neck.
“By the time I realized all that you’d been through, you were reeling from remembering these horrible things that happened to you.
I wanted you to feel safe. I didn’t want to make you feel like I had tricked you, like I had used you, which is exactly how I made you feel. ”
“So you gave me a way to kill you.”
He strokes my jaw with his thumb. “I gave you a way to feel safe.”
The words take the wind out of me. He’s right. He literally handed me a way to hurt him any time I want to. He’s trying to make peace.
I’m breathless. I wasn’t imagining it before. He does understand. He just didn’t have the whole picture before. It’s so tempting to throw myself at him, but I’m feeling too many things to sort through them all right now.
His face is full of earnest contrition. “Harlow, come back with me. Please .”
I’m mortified, so overwhelmed with gratitude that there are tears in my eyes.
The first thing he wanted to do when he found out what I’d been through was make me feel safe.
But I’ve never been good at being taken care of, and everything he does makes me feel too fragile.
I’m too raw from the day and too shaken by all the revelations that have come to light just as the eclipse shadow is lifting.
For a woman who has stayed in one place her whole life, I suddenly can’t seem to hold still.
There are so many things I don’t know how to express. My heart knows Henry is safe, but my body can’t feel it. Everything is too intense right now.
All that I can think to do is lean on the first and most important survival skill I have. I turn and run.