Chapter 27
Chapter twenty-seven
Robin: All the World and More
The dishes are stacked high on the long, rectangular table, remnants of a breakfast that tasted like sawdust in my mouth.
Everyone’s ecstatic about no training today—laughter bounces off stone walls, voices bright with relief.
All I feel is pain radiating from yesterday’s fight, muscles screaming protests with every shift.
My head still spins from that mutant lizard. The memory of its claws, the stench of rotting flesh, the way Marco moved beside me—fluid, deadly. If I ever get home, this will be the first thing I tell Jake and Tobias about. They’d never believe me. Never believe any of this.
My eyes slide to the dungeon door for the millionth time, wondering if Marco will come here anyway today. Maybe if I will it hard enough, I can make him materialize. My desperation to see him reaches new levels with every minute that passes.
Is he in as much pain as I am? Is he thinking of me? Wishing I were with him?
Will he come?
Will he come?
Will he come?
Some of the others are trying to organize an escorted walk around this section of the city. Their excited chatter grates against my skull. I just want them to fuck off so my aching body and I can die in peace.
“Robin.”
“What?” I snap at Cas.
“Mate. Seriously. What the fuck is going on with that collar?”
I blink rapidly, turn to him. My hand flies to the bronze ring around my neck. “What, this?”
“No, the other slave collar you’re wearing,” Cas deadpans. “Did you sleep with that thing on?”
I didn’t, but it was next to my head on my pillow. And it was the first thing I put back on this morning, like it’s a piece of me now.
“Well? You going to take it off? Your match is over now.” He nudges me. “You get to chill for weeks, unlike me.”
He’s joking, but fear cracks through his voice. He shuffles his burned arm unconsciously—still a mangled mess of flesh. Partly because he didn’t let Evander help with the dressings properly. Stubborn bastard.
The dungeon door bursts open.
“Shore! You’re wanted.”
The guard’s crude smile can’t dampen the butterflies that erupt in my stomach.
I can’t help glancing around to see who else heard the summons.
Most of the others have wandered from the table—including Jason, thank fuck—but Max sits nearby.
He stills, clearly listening. He’ll run straight to Jason for sure.
Cas scowls, eyebrows knitting together. “Oh, what does that dickhead want with you this time? You don’t have a match to prepare for!”
“You know you’re ugly when you pull that face, right?”
His hand clamps around my arm. “Seriously, Robin. Don’t go.”
“I know what I’m doing.” The lie tastes bitter. I really, really don’t.
Cas groans, rubs his face.
The guards raise eyebrows at the collar already circling my neck. “Well, that saves us some trouble.”
They pass the chain through, leave my hands free. Earned some trust, apparently. Lovely.
The walk to Marco’s villa passes in a blur of pleasant weather—bright blue sky mocking the storm building in my chest.
Maria opens the door before the guards can even knock.
Something about her face makes me freeze. She’s never been particularly friendly toward me, but now she’s wide-eyed, almost frenzied. Her hands twist in her apron.
“Come this way,” she says, as if there’s an emergency.
The guards remove my chain and wait outside. I follow Maria through the corridors, past the lounge. No sign of him anywhere.
“To the garden,” she explains, almost in a whisper.
Unease crawls up my spine. My stomach clenches. “Is Marco hurt?”
She doesn’t answer, just keeps walking with that strange, tight expression.
I step onto the patio overlooking the lush greenery. Two steps in, I realize Maria isn’t following me. Her footsteps retreat back into the villa.
I walk toward the railing at the top of the stone stairs.
That’s when I see it.
A figure, slight in size, sits on the grass facing away from me toward the flowerbed. They’re hunched over something, entirely focused on what they have in their lap. Blonde hair catches the sunlight—shortish, wavy. The same shade as mine.
I freeze.
No. This isn’t real.
This can’t be happening.
I fall to my knees at the top of the steps. I try to call out, but my voice won’t work. The air has left my lungs completely. I try again, and again, until eventually—
“Esme!”
I haven’t seen her face yet, but I know it’s her. From her hair, from the way she sits with one leg tucked under her, because I know somehow she’s got a bloody sketchbook in that lap of hers just like she always did back home.
But when she turns, when I finally see her face—
The world tilts sideways.
Gray eyes. My gray eyes. Thinner than she was, but alive. Breathing. Real.
She screams.
Not fear—pure joy that tears through the garden like a battle cry.
She scrambles to her feet, the sketchbook tumbling to the grass, and starts running toward me. I take the stone steps two at a time, my legs shaking, my vision blurring.
We crash together at the bottom.
I squeeze her so tight I might break her, spinning her around until we both stumble. She’s taller than when I left, but still so small in my arms.
You’re alive. You’re alive.
You’re not safe at home in Atrea, but you’re alive.
Here, with me.
“Robin, Robin, Robin,” she gasps against my shoulder, her voice so unmistakably hers that tears spring into my eyes.
My knees give out. We sink to the grass together, and I can’t let go, can’t stop touching her face, her hair, making sure she’s real.
“How—” My voice breaks. “How are you here?”
“Well, I set fire to a bed,” she says brightly, as if that explains it.
I haven’t kissed her since she was a child, but I kiss her then, on the top of her head.
“Why doesn’t that surprise me?” I tuck her wild, unkempt hair behind her ear. “How have you been? Where have you been?”
She glances away from me. “I stayed under the floorboards. I really did, I promise. But they… they set fire to it, Robin.”
“Set fire to what?”
“Our… our home. All of it. Everything.”
My stomach drops. Our little house with the crooked windowsill where she used to perch and draw. The kitchen where I taught her to make bread. Gone.
Esme recounts the whole sorry tale, explaining that she had to choose between burning to death or coming out from her hiding place. When she eventually stumbled out of our smoke-filled hut, she was immediately put in chains. Her voice stays steady, matter-of-fact, but I see the tremor in her hands.
I cup her face, looking deeply into her eyes. “Has anyone harmed you? In any way?”
The question scrapes my throat raw, but I have to know. Because if they have, I’ll kill them. Even if it’s the last thing I do on this earth.
She shakes her head quickly. “No, Robin. I’m okay.”
The exhale that leaves me drains all the air from my lungs, relief flooding through me so hard I nearly collapse.
“I’ve been living with this complete bitch called Madeleine. Me and a bunch of other girls. Most of them younger than me. She rents us out for jobs. I’ve never done so much cleaning!”
I laugh despite everything, thinking about the state our small home would fall into. Neither of us were particularly great at keeping it tidy.
“I pissed her off tons of times, but the old woman knew if she hurt me too badly, I wouldn’t be able to work.”
“So… she did hurt you?”
Esme shrugs. “Pushed me down the stairs once.”
“Esme!”
“I spat in her food that evening.”
A small noise from behind us—it’s Maria, at the top of the staircase.
“Where is he?” I practically bark at Maria. “Where’s Marco?”
I need to see him. Need to see him.
“He wanted to give you some time alone with your sister.”
“Get him!” I say, then flinch. “Please.”
She disappears.
“Have you met him?” I ask Esme. “Marco?”
She nods. “He talks to me like I’m five, but I like him. He told me that as long as I help Maria with the cooking, I don’t have to clean. And he found me that book!” She gestures to the sketchbook lying forgotten, a drawing of a bee landing on a flower visible on the open page.
A slight shadow falls over us. I look up.
Marco stands at the top of the stairs, white linen shirt catching the breeze. He’s frozen there, watching us. Waiting.
My heart stutters, squeezes, shatters.
I untangle myself from Esme and stand on unsteady legs.
He descends slowly, like he’s afraid one wrong move will fracture this. His eyes never leave mine. There’s something in his expression—a vulnerability I’ve never seen before. Nothing like yesterday in the arena. Nothing like when we lay in his bed together.
This is him with nothing between us—no performance, no walls. This is hope, naked and terrifying on his face. When he reaches the grass, he stops. Just stops, a few feet away.
My throat closes. This man. This man.
He found her. Searched the entire goddamned city. Bought her freedom.
And he brought her here. To me. And there will be nothing I can ever do to repay that debt.
I can’t breathe around it. Can’t speak.
So I close the distance between us and pull him into my arms, burying my face against his neck. His arms come around me immediately, tight and sure.
“Marco,” I murmur into his ear as his hand comes up to cradle the back of my head, stroking my hair. “I… I…”
“It’s okay,” he says.
But it’s not okay. He did this. He saved her.
“I can’t believe… She’s… She’s…” The words won’t come. I’m struggling to breathe, crying, almost hyperventilating. All those sleepless nights, and now she’s here, on Marco’s grass, sketching in the bright sunlight.
“I know,” he says. “I know, Robin. But look at her. She’s okay. She’s more than okay. She’s brilliant, just like you.”
I laugh, pulling away slightly to meet his gaze. His brown eyes have never looked so soft, and soon I’m tumbling into them.
I lean in and press my mouth to his.
A surprised sound, then he parts his lips to kiss me back, wrapping his arms around my waist.