Chapter 63
Chapter Sixty-Three
My feet are weighted as I head to the armory for my shift.
If Saakar notices that my heart rebels in my chest, that every breath struggles to claw through me, that my ribs feel like they’re caving in, he doesn’t comment on it.
He lets me leave early, though.
Mayah has a shift in the infirmary. I should head to the room and pack before she returns.
But my legs carry me just outside the infirmary.
I can’t bring myself to venture inside. My resolve might crack if I see her face. But with the iron off, I can sense her energy signature through the wall. It’s faint, but unmistakable—she’s kneeling, likely counting supplies in a cabinet.
Slowly, hesitantly, I approach the building. The wood is rough beneath my fingers as I trail a shaking hand over the wall. She’s just on the other side, but she may as well be across the sea.
She was never mine.
The shower shuts off, water slowing to a trickle before disappearing down the drain. I managed to tear myself away from the infirmary wall and trudge back to the room.
A sharp ache beats in my chest in time with my heart. It doesn’t stop throbbing as I tug on a clean pair of trousers. It doesn’t stop when I emerge into the room, toweling off my hair. I don’t think it will ever stop.
I stiffen—two faint signatures draw nearer in the hallway.
Mayah and Sura.
The door flings open, and Mayah freezes in the doorway when she sees me.
“Oh, um, I didn’t—we’ll just—”
“I was just dropping Mayah off,” Sura calls out from behind her, sending a flurry of pinpricks down my neck. “Goodnight.”
The door slams shut.
Mayah’s cheeks redden, her eyes slowly trailing over my bare chest. The thrum of her energy signature speeds up. It jolts when her eyes reach the thick, pale scars carved below my collarbones.
Tears well in her eyes. “I’ll just … I’ll get ready for bed,” she mutters before ducking into the bathroom.
I stand there, frozen, my heart hammering in my chest. The ache grows stronger.
I need to do this. I have to do this. I can’t stay.
There’s no future for us.
I extinguish the lanterns, then fold myself onto the small sofa. Moonlight filters through the window, bathing the room in its faint glow. When Mayah emerges from the washroom, it illuminates her—pale skin, uncertain eyes, and that short fucking nightgown.
My breath is shallow as she walks to the bed and settles beneath the covers. Every muscle stretches taut, every nerve aware of her presence.
I’ll leave tomorrow before she wakes.
It’s for the best—but my aching heart calls me a liar.
I want to just … hold her one more time. Clutch her to my chest and pretend she’s mine. That she was always mine. Mine to love, mine to comfort, mine to cherish. Once more will be enough, I think, to live the rest of my life with the memory of her branded on my heart.
The words bubble in my throat, damned and desperate.
I’m leaving tomorrow. I’m still in love with you. I don’t think I’ll ever stop. I think you love me, too, in your own way.
But I can’t forgive. I can’t forget. When you wake, I’ll be gone. I won’t plague you with my presence anymore, but I’ll never be able to erase your touch from my skin, never ease your grip around my heart. Please, just let me hold you one last time.
One.
Last.
Time.
Self-loathing crawls up my throat and chokes me, clawing at my insides, and squeezes a vise around my lungs, worse than any iron shackle.
My mouth tastes like blood and bile and ash and regret, heart punching my ribs in a desperate plea.
Don’t. Don’t do it. Stop hurting her. Don’t fucking hurt her anymore. Stopstopstopstopstop.
Lightning strike me, Skies damn me, Tides fucking drown me.
Because I summon a storm.