Chapter 38
CHAPTER 38
WENDY
M y gaze snaps back to the book, sure that I’m reading a pattern into Astor’s Mating Mark that isn’t there. Because his Mark matched his wife’s. And my Mark finishes Peter’s. Because Peter is my Mate, and I can’t…
But when I scour the roots on the sketch, a wave of nausea froths in my stomach as my mind overlays its tendrils on top of Astor’s Mark. And then he’s reaching from behind me, his arm grazing mine as he runs his fingers over the sketch, the trunk and leaves of the tree.
It confirms my every fear. My every fleeting hope.
His Mark is a mirror image of the roots, and then I see it—where the trunk and branches of the oak would have once stretched, now blanketed in dead skin and bruises.
I think I’m going to be sick.
Chest grazing my back, Astor pauses, practically holding his breath, until slowly, softly, he closes the book. When I turn to face him, he’s not looking at the book.
He’s looking at me.
Our gazes meet. Spar. What must be a thousand accusations in my eyes collide with his ivy irises, betraying nothing except a challenge.
Ask me , he commands with his silence.
“So she didn’t know,” says the Nomad, folding his hands in front of him as he props his elbows on his desk. “Well, isn’t that intriguing?”
“What’s going on in that head of yours?” asks Astor.
“I don’t know.”
“What do you mean you don’t know? You know the truth now. You must have thoughts.”
“Yes, and I might consider allowing you to be privy to them after you explain what is going on,” I say, voice trembling.
Astor stares at me from across the tiny cabin the Nomad had one of his servants show us to while we await his answer. I suppose he thought it amusing to place us in such an intimate space, unable to escape one another after my recent revelation.
I wouldn’t be shocked to find out the Nomad possesses some way of listening in on this conversation. But I’m beyond caring about such things.
I am numb. Mind whirling. Never landing.
The world spins around me, but I am unmoving, unsure of which direction to tread. Where I might land if I take a step.
So I wait. “Explain,” I say, unblinking.
Astor remains at the other side of the room, leaning against a dresser. Like he can’t get far enough away from me. “You’re eerily calm,” he says.
I stare at him, waiting.
The captain doesn’t shy from my gaze, but he releases a measured exhale, his shoulders sagging. “Are you sure? This isn’t the sort of story one can unknow.”
“I think we’re beyond that,” I whisper.
He nods, one hand on the dresser as he rubs his forehead with the other. “Very well.” He says it like it’s the first time he’s ever uttered a concession.
“Peter and I met after he was brought to the orphanage that was situated in the town I’d grown up in. It was a sort of sanctuary town for the fae. A remote fishing village away from human settlements. We used to climb trees together in the orchard behind the orphanage property. Play pirates, of all things,” he says, his chuckle more like a rocky whisper. “Peter and I became fast friends. Peter had watched his mother die of the plague. They found him wrapped up in her arms days later. Had to pry him from her corpse.”
I blanch, and the captain does too. “I had…other things I was working through at the time. My father had died recently, and I didn’t know how to operate in a world without him. For a while, we got each other through the misery of our lives. Made plans for what we’d do when we came of age.” My mind hitches on that detail. “At least, for a while,” he says. “But then something changed between me and Iaso. I remember she was picking dandelions in the field outside of the orphanage one day. We’d grown up in the village together. Knowing her, she was probably avoiding her mother’s chores. We were ten, but I remember seeing her picking flowers and being stunned. Even as a boy, I knew I’d marry her one day. Never considered the future could turn out any other way. But that was the moment I decided I had to do something about it.”
“What did you do?” I say.
He chuckles, using his fist to cover his smile. “I yanked the dandelions from her hand and made her chase me for them.”
I picture a young Astor, hiding a bouquet of stolen dandelions behind his back. “Sounds like you,” I say, throat dry, to which he scratches his jaw almost shyly. “Did she catch you?”
“Oh yes. So naturally, I cast the dandelions to the ground and stomped on them with my bare feet.”
“Charming.”
“Yes, I always have possessed that quality.”
“And how did she respond to that?”
Astor pauses, a pained smile staining his lips. “She stomped on my toes with her boots. We’d been friends before, but from that moment, we were inseparable.”
I can’t help but grin, though something about the gumption of this girl makes me feel inadequate.
“From then on, my dreams bent themselves around Iaso.”
“And you forgot about Peter,” I say.
He shakes his head. “No, not at all. I adored Iaso. Loved her with all my heart. But Peter was my closest friend, and I had no intention of abandoning him. Eventually, I introduced him to my peculiar female friend, and they took to each other immediately. We spent years plotting our futures. Since Peter wasn’t allowed to leave the orphanage, and my…family situation made getting a job difficult, Iaso started taking odd jobs in the village, saving up for the ship fare we’d need to leave that wretched town. Looking back, I’m not sure Peter believed that we truly meant to take him with us when we escaped, but we did.
“By the time we were fifteen, Iaso had almost saved enough for us to escape town on a trading vessel. We planned to marry as soon as we reached port in Caraway. Buy a house and let Peter room upstairs.
“But dreams never seem to work out perfectly, no matter how well-planned. It was the first day of spring—I remember because there was a festival in the village Iaso was working. Anyway, I woke to this on my wrist.”
A shudder snakes through me as I stare at his Mark. Because I was born on the first day of spring.
“Obviously it didn’t look quite like this then. At first, I was overjoyed. It never crossed my mind that I’d be Mated to anyone other than Iaso. But when I showed it to her that night, she went pale, started trembling. I’d thought hers would have appeared too, but she explained to me that for females, Marks appear when they reach maturity. That if she were going to have a Mark, it would have already appeared.”
I think of my Mark, appearing with my first bleeding. My mother had fainted.
“And for males?” I ask.
“For males,” the captain says, choosing his words carefully, “Marks appear when their Mate is born.”
I can feel the blood draining from my face, but Astor continues. “I was horrified at the idea of being bound to another woman. Of my heart being stolen away without my consent. Tried everything I could to scrub it off. I even took a brand to it, but it kept reappearing, my skin healing, the Mark growing brighter with each attempt to remove it.
“Iaso knew a Seer from the village. One who dabbled in rune magic. The Seer didn’t believe a Mark could be removed—only transferred. She said if we could find a host, she could give the Mark to someone else.”
“That’s not possible,” I breathe. “My parents tried…any Seer they went to said it couldn’t be done.”
“Not well, no,” he says. “But we were too young to know any better.”
My heart snags. “So you thrust me on Peter?”
Shadows from the fireplace darken his cheeks. “No, Darling. Peter volunteered.”
“Why?” I ask, tears stinging at my eyes. “Why would he do that?” I can’t figure out where my anger is coming from. If it’s from having my Mark traded like a commodity or if it’s from the unfairness of Peter having to take me on.
Or if I’m mad because…because Astor traded me away.
“Peter loved us. Both of us. Iaso and me. Or so we thought,” Astor says, staring into the fire like through its flames he can glimpse portions of the past. “He could see how much it pained us—the idea of being ripped apart. I think part of him thought he was saving our little trio. That by taking my Mark, he’d have someone, too. Everyone would win.
“But the Seer tricked us. It cost us every last copper Iaso had saved up to perform the ritual. It was agonizing,” he says, pulling up his sleeves to show me. As if I haven’t already seen the bruises, as fresh as if they’d been made yesterday, not twenty years ago. “She didn’t tell us her magic wasn’t strong enough. While she was able to transfer part of the Mark, giving the majority of it to Peter, well…you see.”
I nod, gaze going blurry as I take it all in. I can’t tell if the room is getting smoky from the fire, or if my eyes are just losing the will to focus.
“Peter wasn’t the same after that,” he says. “He grew distant. Jealous. He’d wanted a Mate of his own, but I think he blamed me for keeping part of the Mark. He felt it so strongly once it was a part of him, he couldn’t imagine me ever purposefully letting you go. He didn’t understand what Iaso and I had.”
My chest hurts.
“As he pulled away, Iaso and I continued to make plans. When her grandfather died and left her part of his inheritance, she and I took off. By that point, Peter hadn’t spoken to me in months. We thought he wanted nothing to do with us. I thought that would be the end of it. I missed my friend, but I was drunk on happiness for the first and only time in my life. Iaso and I married when we reached Caraway. We’d just turned sixteen. And everything was perfect. Four and a half years of absolute bliss. Iaso and me against the world, jumping from one adventure to the next.
“We’d always hidden her powers, afraid of others’ greed. Afraid they’d take her away from me. But as the years passed and Iaso witnessed more and more suffering, she could no longer stand by when others fell ill. I tried to stop her. Warned her of what traffickers would do to her if they found out her blood contained healing properties. But she told me she couldn’t let anyone keep her from doing what was right—not even me. And well, you know what happened after that.”
I nod. “A girl in Estelle fell ill. And Iaso came to the rescue,” I say, throat dry, a tangy taste on my tongue, as if I can remember the taste of her blood. My throat hurts. “I was your Mate first.” Astor’s gaze lands on my mouth. “I was your Mate. And you gave me away.”
He squeezes his eyes shut. “Darling, you have to understand…”
“Oh, I understand,” I say, throat bobbing.
His face goes sharp, all cutting lines and angles. “I loved Iaso. She was my best friend. You can’t blame me for what I did.”
“Can’t blame you for what you did?” I ask, exasperated. “You still can’t see it, can you? I’m not a fool. I can forgive you for falling in love with the perfect woman, your match in every way. I can forgive you for doing what you could to never let anything come between you. But the two of you, the three of you,” I say, remembering Peter, “you’re forgetting there was someone else in this story. You’re forgetting that you ripped me in half .”
“Darling—”
“No, don’t Darling me. There is something broken inside me. Something fragmented. I’m not…I’m not right,” I say, squeezing my eyes shut, just for a moment. “I am torn. Always have been. And now I know why.”
He squeezes the space between his brows. “I know. I never meant to hurt you.”
“That’s not exactly an apology,” I say.
He glances up at me, gritting his teeth, and I know we’re both remembering the cave, him telling me that he only ever apologized to one person.
That I’m not her.
“You didn’t take me because of my shadow soothing,” I say, the realization washing over me. Astor had never specified my shadow soothing was what he needed me for. He just hadn’t bothered to correct my assumption. “You took me because you need me to get rid of your Mark. You don’t want to feel for me anymore.” When the captain opens his mouth to protest, I shake my head. “Don’t bother denying it. You don’t have to tell me you hate me. That you feel nothing for me. We both know anything you feel is only because of this,” I say, taking his hand and rubbing my fingers over the roots on his knuckles. He tenses underneath my touch, and it hurts to feel his reaction. To know it’s not him, but the magic coursing through him.
“Darling…” he says, then stops himself.
“Don’t worry,” I say, offering him a well-practiced smile. “I’ll help you, when the time comes. I think I’d like to be rid of you, too. Maybe then we can finally be rid of each other.”
His jaw ticks, the sorrow unmistakable on his expression. “If that’s what you want.”
There’s something cruel shaping my lips as I repeat his words back to him. “Tell me what you want.”
The captain’s throat bobs. He swallows, searching for the words as he looks away.
Just tell me you want me , I cry with all my heart. Three words, and I’m yours. I’ve always been yours. Since the moment I took my first breath.
The captain takes my chin in his hand and lifts it, so that I have no choice but to look at him. His ivy eyes sweep my face, brushing over my nose, my cheekbones, my mouth, like he’s searching for his answer there. Like he’ll find it somewhere within me. When he presses his forehead to mine and his eyes shut, I don’t blink. Refuse to look away.
But when he opens his eyes again, I realize what he was trying to do. That he thought, just maybe, if he could close his eyes, he could erase what he sees when he looks at me.
That’s what I should see when I look at him. I should see my parents’ murderer in the creases at the corners of his eyes, in the slant of his lip, the shadows of his dark beard, the length of his long eyelashes.
But I don’t.
Because the moment he opens his eyes, all I see is him.
And all he sees is her.
“I’m sorry, Darling.”
“It’s okay,” I say, slipping back and away from his grasp. Not daring to watch as his hand falls away from my face. I let my mother’s smile play on my pretty lips. “I’m not,” I lie.