41. Mercy
41
MERCY
S tanding directly under the spray of the shower, the water runs down the back of my head as I smooth my wet hair away from my face. The steam appeases my aching muscles. It’s a satisfying ache, in the way that everything I set out to do has been done.
I’ve just returned to Mount Pravitia. After collecting death’s tithe, Wolfgang pressed for me to let him come with me and watch while I completed my ritual.
A carefully staged photograph. Then the lick of flames.
I declined his request and told him I needed to finish this alone. I looked away when disappointment flashed across his face. But he said nothing, kissing my forehead instead as his thumb smoothed over my chin before leaving me standing in the alleyway alone.
The rain still cold and seeping.
I couldn’t tell him it was because I can hardly manage a coherent thought when around him. Answering death’s call has always helped to quiet my mind, a meditative act that allows me to center back into myself.
I don’t regret refusing Wolfgang to come tonight, I needed space to breathe before returning to Mount Pravitia. Space to breathe before I returned and sought him in the silence of the halls, the echoes of steps on marble floors.
Turning off the steaming water, I step out onto the plush rug under my toes. I feel anew. Not bothering with a towel, I let the air kiss my warm skin as it slowly dries.
I stand in front of the large bathroom mirrors and brush my wet hair in a mindless daydream until the glint of Wolfgang’s ring catches the light.
I stop.
My arms drop to my sides.
I stare at my reflection.
Bringing my hand to my lips, I smooth the hard metal of his ring back and forth, a tingle of heat igniting low in my stomach as I recall our time together earlier tonight.
It would be so much easier to continue to hate him.
To have his presence irritate me like lice itching my scalp.
But I can’t deny the past weeks. The slow but inevitable fall into madness.
Because what is this if not madness?
He’s burrowed himself into my mind, my heart … my soul.
While my fingers still hover close to my mouth, my eyes peer deeply into the mirror, remembering the Oracle’s words.
The joining of our two fates.
Something in me yearns to accept this, to fall even deeper into folly—with Wolfgang by my side. But that would take an insurmountable amount of trust that I don’t believe I even carry inside of me.
Since my unfortunate birth, I have trusted no one but myself.
And now? I’m asked to trust the man who I’ve already betrayed.
How could he ever trust me ?
We appear to have doomed ourselves from the very beginning. And yet … the intoxicating vision of our union as the symbol of a new epoch for our city is as heady and alluring as Wolfgang himself.
After slipping into a short nightgown and robe, I leave the bedchamber in search of my dogs. Their absence guides me toward the West Wing. The halls are dark this time of night, small flickers of warm light emanate from the sconces near the ceiling. While approaching Wolfgang’s door, I recall the last time I stood at this very spot—when I caught him in a lewd act, and when my hatred for him fueled my spellbinding attraction to him.
I can no longer find solace behind that kind of armor.
And what's left is … me.
Unlike last time, I do not linger in the shadows, instead pushing the door open, and walking in. Although I was expecting it, seeing my dogs sleeping snuggly around Wolfgang in bed has my breath dying somewhere in my lungs, a small swoop tugging on my stomach.
Wolfgang is shirtless and in a pair of black silk pants, lying over the covers, his back resting against the headboard. Sundae has her chin resting on his thigh, éclair is curled at the foot of the bed while Truffles snores on the ground curled into the rug.
His eyes lift from the book he’s reading, peering from behind his reading glasses, his gaze nearly knocking me over as if I’ve become as light as a feather.
“You’re back,” he states, his eyes dropping back to his book.
“I thought you hated my dogs,” I reply.
A subtle grin appears on his mouth, and he tries to hide it with a quick rub of his thumb over his lips. “I thought I hated their mother, too.”
My cheeks heat, and I almost run out of the room from the sheer embarrassment of my reaction to Wolfgang’s loaded words.
The silence percolates between us. I haven’t taken another step inside.
With a sigh, Wolfgang takes off his glasses and places the leather-bound book face-down on the bedside table, pinning me with his stare once again.
He says nothing. I say nothing back.
Canting his head, he pats the bed beside him.
With the movement, Sundae perks up her head, now realizing I’m in the room.
I tell myself it’s because of the dogs. Not Wolfgang with his bare chest and silk pants low around his hips. As I tentatively approach, his eyes turn a darker shade of blue. I step out of my feathered slippers and take off my robe, draping it over the chair near the vanity.
“I’m not staying the night,” I mutter, feeling foolish even saying that out loud.
“As you wish, Crèvecoeur,” Wolfgang replies roguishly.
I slip under the heavy quilted duvet while he does the same, the satin sheets cool against my skin. Resting my back against the pillows and headboard, Sundae shifts position, her nose nudging my hand to ask for some affection.
“You know,” Wolfgang starts, stretching his arms wide before shifting his body toward me. “Although the circumstances were quite dire.” His smile turns cocksure. “I have never slept as well as when we were in the underground quarters fearing for our lives.”
I pick at my nail nervously while I maintain his gaze, listening to the words he did not speak.
When we slept in the same bed .
“It was the drop in adrenaline,” I say limply.
Wolfgang chuckles. “Right.” He waves his hand in front of him in a lazy flourish. “The adrenaline.” His eyes turn serious. “And nothing to do with you.”
I study him for a beat, my hand stroking Sundae’s soft fur to help me feel less astray. “How are you so unperturbed about all of this?” I finally ask.
His eyebrows crease. “About what? Us?”
My heart pinches at the word us .
“Yes.” My voice is meek, and I suddenly wish my dear god of death could come and claim me instead of letting me suffer through feelings I’d rather not admit.
“Mercy,” Wolfgang says, his hand slowly finding my knee over the duvet. “Why fight it?”
“Because you’ve wanted my demise for as long as I've wished for yours?”
He drags his hand over his jaw as if in thought. Then a small dismissive wave of his fingers. “And yet, the gods had a plan for us all along.”
“So that’s the only reason?” I grit out, “The gods?”
Wolfgang’s gaze hardens into a glare, one eyebrow quirking up questioningly. “Are we not their servants? Do we not owe them our fate?”
I stare into his eyes but say nothing, chewing on my words. They feel like sand on my tongue and down my throat. Gritty and rough.
“Fate,” I repeat. A small mutter, barely a response.
How can I tell him that my feelings toward him are larger than fate?
If that’s even possible.
The word fate sounds like chains, it rattles and shakes and moans against its shackles reminding me that no matter what, he did not choose me. The gods did.
How can fate be the sole reason why I dismissed the warning bells and bent the rules just for a taste of him? Is this what obsession feels like? Is that what I’m feeling? Certainly not fate .
Wolfgang reaches for me, through the stony barrier I’ve managed to slither behind, and I don’t pull away when his fingers caress my cheek, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear.
“What did I say, my ruin?”
His gaze is soft—too soft—the color of his eyes not steely blue but the color of the morning sky. I look away.
“Nothing,” I murmur after a long silence.
Taking my hand in his, he presses his mouth to the cut still healing on my wrist from the blood ritual a week ago. There’s a coy smile on his lips as he looks up through his eyelashes.
“Then stay the night.”
My throat tightens, and my heart skips like a smooth rock over the water.
“But the dogs,” I say weakly, trying to find any excuses other than my teetering vulnerability.
“What about the dogs,” Wolfgang replies with an exasperated breath. “They seem a lot less skittish than their mother.” My gaze sweeps over the bed, the dogs sound asleep. “Stop resisting what already is.” He rests our hands over Sundae still between us. “You might actually enjoy yourself for once.”
My gaze lifts to his, the words tumbling out.
“I’ve enjoyed myself before.”
“Ah yes, I’m sure answering your god’s call is quite the entertainment,” he says mockingly, but his usual sting is replaced with something a lot warmer, almost like … affection.
The words keep clambering out without me wanting them to. “It’s not the first thing that came to mind.”
“What then?” he asks, tilting his head.
I chew on my lips, not comprehending why I’d have the urge to divulge this. “The day you came to watch me burn the body. When you asked about the photographs.”
Wolfgang’s smile turns wide as if recalling a similar emotion attached to that day. “Is that so, Crèvecoeur?”
“Before it was ruined,” I reply with a minuscule laugh, referring to the troupe of actors and the Lottery reenactment.
He shakes his head, his chuckle sounding almost thoughtful. His hand squeezes my palm. His eyes slide upward, serious. “Watching you,” he starts, his voice dropping an octave. “I don’t think enjoy is quite the word I would use to explain how I felt that day.”
Gently pushing Sundae’s head off my lap, I order her to the foot of the bed. She follows my instructions with a small whine, curling herself beside éclair.
I slip closer to Wolfgang. His free hand circles my hip, pulling me closer. “What then?” I ask, my long nail trailing down his stomach. “What word would you use?”
His palm slides up to my face, fingers raking through my hair as his thumb smooths over my cheek, a smile pulling at the corner of his lips. It almost looks like pride glinting deep in his irises. “Mesmerizing.”
The word is like warm honey down my throat, spreading into a tame fire inside my chest.
Again, the words escape, and I let them.
“It was my birthday that day.”
Surprise dances over Wolfgang’s face. “Was it?”
I nod.
His smile turns even balmier. “And you spent it with me?”
I nod again.
“My, my, my,” he says with mirth. He pulls me even closer, my head now resting on his bare chest as he leans into the pillows. “What a pleasant thought that is.”
I fall asleep in his arms, his hand caressing my hair, his heartbeat against my ear.