Chapter 27
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
I’m back home.
In the memory, I’m sitting at the long table by the hearth. Aromatic kiri -blossom soup has been served in white porcelain bowls along with silver spoons engraved with my family crest: the fish goddess and a lightning strike.
Mother and Father are quietly discussing the situation in the wastes and the far reaches. The rebellion is getting crushed, the farms burned to the ground. I know what they are worried about. I have been included in a few such conversations. The fae can’t be trusted.
Yet we are living close to the center, surrounded by fae estates and towns, pay our dues, keep good diplomatic relations with the fae Crown, and are in good standing.
We are doing fine. The fae haven’t touched us ever since I can remember. I was born during this period of tentative peace, unharmed by grief and sorrow. Despite being aware of the ongoing human rebellion on the fringes of the world, I can’t imagine violence and pain. My life has been perfect here, within these walls, in this town by the river.
It used to be a small kingdom, before the arrival of the fae. Our house used to be a palace, and my ancestors were kings and queens. I’m a princess, born from Circe’s long and ancient lineage, all but wiped out during the last Reversal, our palaces and lands gone, our people decimated because only a privileged few had access to draks to fly them to safety as the world tipped over.
Nobody talks much about the Reversal, its cataclysmic destruction, the total and utter devastation. Each generation draws closer to a new one, and I can’t fathom how emotions must rise as they count down to the end of their world as they know it. Persephona’s legend is heartbreaking, and I avoid listening to the bards passing through our home when they insist on performing it.
But returning to me… I’m a royal with no dominion other than my heart. And my heart has been glad.
Only, in the past few months, everything has changed. Since Jackal was killed, I can’t find peace. And tonight for some reason, my parents seem more nervous than ever. I keep stealing glances at them as I sip at my soup. It’s my favorite, and I used to have second helpings, but recent events as well as their tense faces make me feel queasy. They haven’t touched their food at all. The maids hover at the door, waiting to clear away the plates and bring in the second course.
After a while, I become distracted by Flynn, my little brother, who is feeding the cat soup under the table, making a mess on the floor. He smirks at me when he catches me watching, and the cat hisses when he drips soup over her head.
“Remian Flynn!” I scowl, but the truth is, I can never be angry with him. He’s just too cute.
Seven years younger than me, he’s a force of nature, always up to something, chasing after animals, breaking into rooms where he isn’t supposed to be, wandering farther than he’s allowed, escaping anyone minding him, and generally being a little terror.
I say little, but he’s not a baby anymore, although he’ll always be my baby brother. He’s about eight now, the rascal.
“Stop torturing the cat,” I say, reaching for his plate.
“Let me be, Aethry.” He sticks his tongue out at me. “The cat likes the soup. I’m not doing anything wrong. You keep scolding me.”
I frown. “I’m sorry.”
I’m trying to return to normalcy. I’m not angry at him, but I’m distraught. Destroyed. Lost, ever since Jackal was killed by the king’s drak riders, and the uneasy feeling in my stomach hasn’t abated since.
If they can just grab and kill anyone within our territory, what’s stopping them from doing worse, from breaching our agreements, tacit and explicit, and taking more? We’ve kept on their good side, managed to be on friendly terms without betraying our people, or so I gather. We offered our allegiance in exchange for our people’s safety—but what does allegiance mean except let them inside whenever they want something and not try to stop them?
I’ve been a wraith since Mars was taken from me.
My parents can’t fathom why I’m so melancholy. They never knew how close I had become with my Jackal, my fair boy.
They want me to understand politics, but it goes over my head at the best of times. My mother wants me to know more, but my father says it’s not my place. He wants me to get married away from here and leave, because he thinks living at the outer reaches may be safer for me.
I don’t see why.
He wants to protect me, but I don’t know what to think. Is there any safe place in the world? And is it a good idea to hide yourself from the horrors of the world, remain innocent and unprepared? Sooner or later, they will find you and crush you.
I’m already crushed, even if everyone pretends I’m still whole.
Then suddenly, with a bang, the door explodes inward, broken down the middle.
Flynn screams. The cat hisses and escapes the room.
The hinges whine as the broken pieces swing, and then the fae soldiers march inside, feathers quivering on their tall helmets, breastplates shining and spears thrusting.
Thrusting into servants and maids, into everyone in their path.
They make their way to me where I sit frozen, my mouth hanging open, my heart thrashing inside my chest.
“She comes with us,” they say, grabbing me by the arms, hauling me out of my chair. Unheeded, it crashes to the floor behind me. Sparks dance in my eyes. I’ve never passed out, but I think I may be on the verge of doing it now, my body shutting down.
But my brother rushes in front of me. “No. You can’t take her!”
I make a grab for him, but my arms are held fast by the fae soldiers. Fear turns my stomach. “Flynn, no?—”
A sword gleams as it rises, gleams like a sunrise.
And then it slices down.
I jerk. Everything in me jerks. My heart, what was left of it, dies in that moment.
A splatter of crimson spreads on my dress and the floor as I stare into my brother’s gray eyes. They are wide, wide open, and they aren’t closing.
Bile rises in my throat. I throw up, my legs going from under me as they cut Flynn down right in front of me.
The soldiers haul me back, then drag my parents by the hair, and the sword rises again, gleaming?—
No! Not again!
A dream. A memory. I sit up in bed, screaming silently, tears streaming down my face, soaking my neck, my hair. No.
I don’t want to remember.
I fight the memories, shoving them as deep down inside my mind as I can, but the nights are the worst, the earth shifting and the dead rising.
Remembering that pain is the fuel for my anger. The anger pushing me to do what I must. It just hurts too much to let the pain in. It drips through my nightmares and dreams, so that I wake up soaked in it—soaked in cold sweat and tears.
Jumping to my feet, I walk to the window, scrubbing at my cheeks. I want to smash through the glass, breathe in the fresh air, but it’s locked, fixed, welded shut.
Can’t breathe… I can’t breathe… I need to get out of here, out of this room, out of the palace. So I run to the door and try the handle, but it’s locked.
Let me out. I bang on the door, over and over. Let me out, let me out, let me out ? —
The door swings open, throwing me stumbling back—but then I barrel forward again, needing to get out, gasping for breath.
“What is…?” A hand grabs me, pushes me back inside, and releases me to stagger to a stop. Tru glares down at me, mouth set in an unhappy line. “Rae, you should be in bed. I told you not to come out?—”
“Tru, stand down.” The new voice is a low rumble that sends pleasant shivers down my spine, its owner appearing a moment later, filling the doorframe. His presence rocks me like a blow. “Get out and close the door.”
“Athdara.” Tru is slow to react, though the shock in his eyes mirrors mine. “What are you doing here, Jai? You should be in bed in the?—”
“Get out.”
Tru’s jaw clenches, but he gives a brief bow and marches out. The door thunders shut on his heels.
I’m shivering in my nightgown, uneven breaths sawing in and out of me. Jai looms over me, made of soft shadows and sharp white light, the angles of his beautiful face as harsh as those of his powerful body.
He’s dressed in a fine, sheer black tunic and loose pants, but the clothes don’t matter. They become one with him, with the power and violence leashed in those thick muscles. They can’t hide what he is.
My only question is, which side of him will I see now? The cruel commander or the kind human?
Neither, it seems. His hands close on my face, gentle but at the same time hard, fingertips digging into my cheeks. “You’re crying. What happened?”
Bad dreams , I think. Bad memories.
“Dreams and memories can’t hurt you,” he whispers as if he’s heard my thought, but he’s wrong. They hurt worse than physical wounds, they hurt all the time, in places where nothing can reach to soothe the ache.
“You’re okay.” Muscular arms wrap around me, pressing my face to his hard chest, and his scent burrows under my skin. “Take a breath for me, Rae. Just breathe.”
Though I fight his hold, ensconced in the warm, dark circle of his arms, I feel the pressure on my chest easing, and I draw shuddering breaths, one after another.
“Let me in,” he murmurs. “I know you don’t trust me, but let me help you tonight.”
I don’t try to ask why. I don’t want to examine my weakness too closely.
His hands slide under my back and knees, and he lifts me up, curled against his chest. His steps lead us deeper inside my room, whispering on the plush carpet. He’s not wearing shoes, I think, the thought faint like a flame in a storm, trembling inside my mind. Was he in bed? How did he know to come find me? Where was he supposed to be, as Tru had started to say?
“Shush,” he whispers as if I’ve voiced my thoughts, walking us to my bed. “Empty your mind. Let go of your fears.”
Impossible, and yet secure in his arms, I feel my thoughts fleeing. It should scare me. This relinquishing of power and loss of control should anger me, but it feels… freeing.
It feels safe, though it cannot be.
He climbs onto my bed with me still held against his chest, impressive muscles shifting in his arms, pecs, and stomach when he lies down, laying me along his side. One of his arms is under my head, and with his other hand he pulls one of my legs between his. He gathers me close, so close not a single sheath of paper could fit between us.
I’m smothered in his scent, his presence, his strength—yet I breathe easily now, the memories sliding back into the box buried deep in my mind.
Reality is consuming me, taking up my attention. The way his bare skin feels against my neck, the way his thighs shift with thick-hewn muscle, the shudder of his breathing the only thing betraying his agitation. Under the smoke and leather, there’s a whiff of tea and aromatic resin that tightens my belly even more.
How can my body go from panic to desire? How can I want him to touch me, slide his rough hands all over me, cup my curves and explore the ache between my legs when I’m not even sure I should be near him in the first place?
I want him. I want him with an ache so fierce it lights up my blood.
I lift my hand to his face to touch his mouth— soft —then his cheek— rough —and slide it up to that chiseled cheekbone marked with black whorls.
“Rae…” He catches my hand before I reach my goal and lowers it to his chest, between us.
Through the sheer black shirt, I make out black lines on his pecs. Smoothing my hands over them, I think I can almost feel them, feel their outline under my fingertips. Marks? Or scars?
“Don’t ask,” he whispers, a raw quality to his voice, roughening it. “Don’t think. Rest. You need to keep your strength to make it through this alive.”
I want to ask what he wants, but I don’t want to contradict him. I wouldn’t, even if I could. I lift my head to meet his gaze, so dark and troubled, so velvety and arresting. I think I catch silver and gray shards in it. They swim like precious fish in twin ponds of night.
“Sleep.” He sighs, pressing his lips to my brow. An imprint of fire. Then he tucks my head under his chin, my cheek against his chest. “Sleep now.” It’s like a spell, a magical command dragging me under. “I’ll be right here.”
That promise tugs at the back of my mind, unknotting the fear and tension, turning the key in the box of nightmares and memories, locking it as I drift away.