Chapter 40
Forty
Chrysoprase
Graylen’s movements are slow and choppy, his feet staggering against the creaky wooden floorboards.
There’s an emptiness in his eyes that I’ve seen in soldiers after battle—the kind of look that speaks of a world too cruel to be present in.
His body is here, but my sweet and infuriating Graylen is so very far away.
My lips press together as a bitter tinge coats my tongue. I briefly remember after I tried to run away from the royal training camp, when the soldier sliced me open with his sword in an effort to stop me.
I was an empty shell while I began to heal physically, my mental state far more broken than my body. There was nothing that could pull me out of it, though Opal tried. The memory is a blurry haze, but I remember her helping me wash.
Opal sat with me on the edge of the creek, the two of us hiding behind our favorite shrubbery. She used torn cloth dipped in freezing water to gingerly clean around the wound. In the days following, she helped me change the bandage, keeping it clean and dry.
I was silent the entire time, lost in the image of the soldier’s gleaming smile as he thrust his sword at me. Over and over again.
But she still did it, day after day.
It’s that memory that pushed me into action.
His words tug my thoughts back to when he asked for something to eat, seeming to forget he’d already eaten not long before. When I brought him our food, he didn’t say anything, just ate in silence and lay back down in bed fully clothed.
Then, when I told him to wait on the side of the bed a few moments ago, he didn’t move a muscle, not even when I came back into the room. Didn’t move even as I carried the buckets of steaming water past him several times until I had enough to fill the tub.
And now, his gaze remains unfocused as I mix lavender and rose into the bathwater until the aroma is heavy with fresh notes of floral herbs. I brought a gas lamp from the now-empty bar up with me, setting it in the corner of the washroom to provide a soft glow.
It isn’t until my hand presses against his face that he finally comes back to me—if only for a fleeting moment.
I stop us at the foot of the copper tub. He’s barely with me.
“Do you need help?” I ask softly, not wanting to startle him.
He doesn’t answer, but he nods absentmindedly.
I swallow, bracing myself for the glimpses of his scarred flesh that I saw in the Vale. His shirt was torn enough to see some of what Vidaris had done to him, but I knew it would only be a small piece of the story.
Slowly, I peel off his shirt, grabbing the bottom hem. Scorch lines mark the lower half as if held beneath a fire, the fabric jagged and singed black. My gaze rises to his face, but he’s looking at the floorboards. His clothes weren’t like this when I left to fetch our food.
I want to help him, but I don’t know how.
He feels so far away, even as my fingers grip the tattered cotton of his shirt. The distance in his eyes is unlike anything I’ve felt with him in the past. I never realized how open he was with me until he began to close himself off.
My mouth opens, ready to ask him why he’s shutting me out, but I freeze.
I’m barely functioning some days myself; who am I to help him through this? My magic is depleting, half of the council thinks I’m going to be the downfall of Penyth, and we’ve yet to figure out a solution to save the souls trapped by Vidaris.
My eyes sting, and I bite down on my lip until a metallic tang leaks onto my tongue.
Instead of talking, I continue removing his clothing, hoping that right now, a warm bath is enough to settle his thoughts.
I remember how he wouldn’t let anyone near him when he washed in the creek, but nothing could’ve prepared me for this. My words stay lodged in my throat, unable to speak as I take in what she’s done to him. To my Graylen.
Tears prick behind my eyes again. I blink rapidly, keeping them at bay.
Instead, I reach for his hands. They’re like ice, cold and stiff.
My eyes shift down to where our hands are clasped, and heat surges through my veins. My vision dulls into black as every breath burns against my chest.
Unlike when he was in the Vale, covered in dirt, dried blood, and torn clothing, I can see it so much clearer now. There’s no hiding what he’s endured. Every nerve in my body screams to do something. To cry for him, to find Vidaris and make her pay.
I swallow thickly, fighting the roaring emotions rapidly flowing through me, and tear my eyes away from his abdomen. I didn’t think it could get worse—but I was wrong. My gaze stops on his arms, on the tattoos that he wore with such pride.
His ink markings have been torn to shreds.
Every single one—each swirl and shape—has been slashed to ribbons.
“Graylen—” My voice cracks.
Deep slashes mar the inked flesh. Every swirl now broken by a scar, every straight line now jagged.
It looks as if a knife had carved his arms with the sole purpose of destroying his tattoos.
The spot where my name used to be—a story I still haven’t learned fully—has been entirely severed and is now unreadable.
It was the only tattoo I could understand—it’s what brought us together and led to him figuring out who I was. It was the start of my new life, the start of getting to know the real Graylen.
I gasp, and he flinches. “Your tattoos—”
“It’s fine,” he rasps, harsher than I’ve heard him speak before.
But it isn’t fine. None of this is fine. But I don’t know what Graylen needs right now—my fury or my tenderness. Anger swirls in my chest; no matter how much I try to stay calm, every vein within me fills with rage, burning like acid as my blood pumps through them.
I swallow the anger, forcing it down and shoving it away with every ounce of self-control I can muster. Only for him would I store it away and reach for gentleness.
Better to let the rage simmer until I can aim it at the right person. The goddess who stole him away from me. For him, I won’t stop until she’s screaming for mercy. Even then, I doubt I’d be able to keep myself from making her feel every ounce of pain he endured at her hands.
I clench my jaw and resume carefully peeling his clothes off.
My stomach clenches as I unbutton his pants, letting them fall to the floor in a heap. I’m thankful I didn’t eat earlier—I wouldn’t have been able to keep the food down.
My breath stalls in my chest.
A new tattoo marks his flesh. It’s healed wrong, like his body is rejecting it and is trying to push it out.
My nostrils flare as I take in the rest of the snake that was hidden under his clothes—shaded black with slashes of red throughout that make it hard to tell if it’s blood or the color of the ink.
It starts mid-thigh, curling over his hip and up his back, the head positioned just below his jaw, mouth opened with fangs and forked tongue out.
My hands start to shake, and I will myself to calm down. I have to stay calm for Graylen, have to be here for him and not let the rage coursing through my body take over.
“In the tub,” I croak.
At first, I don’t think he hears me, but then his body moves slowly, and he steps into the water. Steam rises off of the surface, the herbs scattering on ripples as he sinks down.
The bath is scalding, but he doesn’t flinch—doesn’t blink or even seem to notice its warmth. He just sits in the center, his knees pulled to his chest.
Looking at him—the man who agreed to fake an engagement with me before he knew who I was, the person who became someone I could rely on to get me out of my own head when things got overwhelming—makes me realize just how far I would go to save him. To avenge him.
I grab the fresh cloth I draped over the tub and scrub the oily bar of soap onto it until it suds. Lemon balm fills my nose.
We sit in silence as I start with his shoulders and upper back, gently scrubbing away the dirt and dried blood that he missed when bathing in the creek. I linger long after it’s clean, gently rubbing until the muscles in his neck slowly release.
Every scar I run the cloth over stirs the fury within me deeper. There are so many—ones that look as if they’ve been there for ages, even though I’m certain they weren’t there before.
Moving to his arms, I take my time with each one. Running the soapy rag over each finger, scrubbing the dirt away from beneath his nails. His gaze remains unfocused on the water the entire time, and I wish more than anything that I could pull his thoughts away from wherever it is that he’s gone.
But I know that he’ll come to me when he’s ready.
I gently wash his face, each movement slow and light. It’s then that I realize there are tears flowing down his emotionless face. My chest tightens, and I wipe those away too, trading the cloth for my hands and catching each one that falls onto his cheeks.
His eyes drag up to mine, still distant but a little more aware. He gives me a soft smile, and it cleaves my heart in two.
“Lean your head back for me,” I send into his mind, afraid the words won’t reach him otherwise.
Graylen gives me a small nod and does as I ask, a weight on my chest lifting as I see life slowly returning to his gaze.
Using just my hands, I lather soap onto my palms and sink my fingers into his hair. Water splashes on my clothes and drips onto the floor, but I don’t care. There are still remnants of dirt—or dried blood, I can’t be sure—on the back of his head.
Even long after I’m certain I’ve cleaned his hair thoroughly, I don’t stop. His eyes drift closed, and his forehead smooths out.
I don’t know how to help him if I don’t know what he’s feeling or thinking. I’ve never been the person someone goes to for comfort, and the thought of learning to soften my jagged edges makes my stomach turn.
Sourness fills my mouth, and my lips press together as the one thing I fear most bubbles up. What if I’m not enough for him? Enough to help bring him out of this?
I swallow down the bitter taste of the thought.
“Talk to me,” I plead with him, desperate to do something to help.
His throat bobs, but his eyes stay closed. Silence follows my words; the only sound is the trickling of water as I continue running my fingers through strands of his dark hair.
The longer the quiet stretches out, the more my chest tightens.
“It’s too much,” he whispers finally, his voice broken.
My heart sinks.
“What is?” I press, afraid of pushing too hard. Or not enough.
Graylen squeezes his eyes shut tighter, crinkling the skin at their corners. He doesn’t answer me, and this time I don’t push him. My heart begins to thrash against my ribcage as my pulse speeds up, my biggest fear circling my mind in his silence.
Maybe he just needs time—with all he’s been through, I wouldn’t blame him for it. But a part of me admits it hurts that he’s shutting me out.
“Let’s get some sleep.” My voice breaks as the hole in my chest grows bigger. It’s the opposite of what I want to do. I want to talk to him, to listen to him. I want to argue with him that I can help.
But my fear stops me from saying any of that.
He nods, not arguing with my suggestion. A part of me wishes he would.
I hand him a towel—scratchy and far too small for him—and turn away, numbly walking to the bed as he dries off.
While he redresses, I sink beneath the covers, hiding from the world. From Graylen. I face the wall, my back to the middle of the bed. He fell in love with a girl who had unlimited power at her fingertips. A girl learning to harness more magic than most fae have heard of one person having.
Now?
With Graylen still in the washroom, I pull a hand out from behind the thin quilted blanket. I tug on my shadows, watching as they twirl around my fingers in the near-dark. Moonlight shines on them, illuminating the brokenness of my magic.
The shadows stutter, the tendrils growing thin before dissipating entirely.
I’m slowly losing that magic.
A single tear rolls down my cheek as the bed dips behind me. Graylen says nothing, and neither do I. The distance between us feels like a vast chasm.