Chapter 16
XVI.
The pain I’d felt before is nothing compared to the agony that rips through my skin when he makes the first cut. I curl my fingers into a fist and ram my jaw shut to keep from screaming. The cave swirls around me, our shadows melting down the wall like candle wax as sweat and tears blind me.
Nate grunts, and the pain mercifully dissipates. My muscles unclench, and I sink into the ground.
He holds up a shard of glass no bigger than a pebble. It blinks orange and red in the torchlight. “I think I got it.”
I take the bit of mirror from him and cradle it in my palm, careful not to break skin again. No magic voices vibrate through it. It’s so small, but it was so loud.
I frown. “This did all of that?”
“Devica…” It hums against my skin.
Absolutely not.
I search the cave, bare except for us and the fires popping and crackling from the torches on the walls. The torches. I clutch my bodice and run to one, tossing the glass into the flames. The voice extinguishes with a hiss, and I sink to the ground, exhausted.
Nate crawls to me and takes my hand. “Devica?”
“Shhh.” The only sound is the crackling of the fires echoing off the walls. I inhale the first full breath I’ve taken since leaving Lot Eleven and melt against the wall. “It’s gone.”
My hands tremble, and I slide them under my legs so Nate won’t see. I’m supposed to be leading us out of here, and instead I was almost swallowed by one of Father’s punishments. It wasn’t exactly a shining moment.
Nate clears his throat and lowers his eyes. “I should clean the wound and…um…probably do up your dress.”
Following his gaze, my eyes widen as I take in my loosened dress inching down my chest. I grab it before it slips too far, my cheeks flushing. Then I turn so that my back is to him. “Thanks. There’s water and first aid supplies in the bag.”
He rustles through the bag and scoots behind me. The water’s tepid at best—it’s hard to keep anything cold here—but I jump as it shocks my warm skin.
Nate’s hands leave my back. “You okay?”
I nod. “Keep going.”
He cleans the wound gently, his fingers moving in small circles over my back. I close my eyes and relax my shoulders. The pain from the glass is already gone, and the cut will heal on its own, but I don’t tell him to stop. I should pull away, but it’s nice having someone care for me.
“You really are full of surprises,” Nate mutters.
Wrenching my neck, I squint at him over my shoulder. “What do you mean?”
Nate pats my back with a dry piece of gauze, so gentle that the cloth whispers against my skin, and I shiver.
He holds up the bandage. “Your blood, Devica. It’s blue.
And it…sparkles. I didn’t throw up cutting into you earlier because…
because this is actually beautiful. Like you.
” He catches himself and sputters, dropping the gauze and his eyes in tandem.
It’s hard to be sure in the partial darkness, but I swear swirls of scarlet burst over his cheeks.
His words send tingles to my stomach, like the first sip of bloodwine after a long day. No one’s called me beautiful before. Well, Ferus said I was gorgeous, but he doesn’t count. Nothing honest ever comes out of Ferus’s mouth.
I wrinkle my brow. “Did you call my blood beautiful?”
He doesn’t meet my eyes but focuses on re-lacing my corset, his hands fumbling with the strings. “When I saw your blood, it felt…magical, powerful. It was the strangest thing. For the first time, I believed you’d get us out of here and everything would be okay.”
I can’t bring myself to answer. He has more faith in me than I do after how I messed up in the last lot. At this point, we’ll be lucky if I don’t get us captured or killed.
When he’s done with my corset, he pats me on the shoulder, then slides around so his back is against the wall. I mirror him and close my eyes again, my heartbeat slowing as the memory of his skin caressing mine grazes my spine.
We sit in silence, catching our breaths.
“Devica?” he asks, his voice echoing off the walls.
“Yeah?”
Nate turns to face me. “You don’t have to tell me, but what did you see in the mirrors?”
I pull my bottom lip between my teeth and fiddle with my sleeve. If I could wipe it from my memory, I would. But Nate’s eyes are clear, and despite the warnings booming through my head, I want to trust him.
I take a breath. “I saw…myself. Who—or what—I’m becoming.
Black horns, red wings. I was awful and angry.
All I wanted was to punish everyone who deserved it—you included.
” I drop my eyes to the ground between us.
“The mirrors show you the worst parts of yourself, and all I saw was how much of my father is buried inside me.”
“I don’t buy it.” Nate scoots forward so our legs are touching. “That’s not you.”
I wipe my palms over my skirt and scowl at him. “You barely know me. I’m my father’s heir.”
“Heir or not, you’ve already proven you aren’t any of that.”
I snort. “I almost impaled you.”
“But you didn’t.” He brushes my bangs from my forehead, and his fingers leave tingles in their wake. “And you don’t have horns. Not even the teeniest of points.”
“I have wings.” It’s nice he’s trying to prove me wrong, but I already know where my life is headed if I don’t get out of here. “Horns are probably next.”
His brows crease in thought. “What color did you say your wings were in the mirror?”
“Red. The same color as Father’s.”
Nate leans forward so his face is inches from mine. “Devica, have you seen your wings?”
I frown. “Last time I looked in an actual mirror, they were stumps.”
“They’ve grown since then. You have a few feathers growing out of those stumps. And they aren’t red.” Nate produces something from the front pocket of his vest. “It fell off when I was getting the glass out. I didn’t know if you’d need it.”
He places the feather in my palm, and I squint at it in the firelight. My breath catches as it comes into focus. These aren’t the same as Father’s wings. Not by a long shot. I hold it up to the light with shaking fingers. “Is that… Are they black?”
“And gold.” He leans against my shoulder and stares up at the feather. “They’re beautiful, Devica.”
My stomach backflips when he uses that word again. But he’s not wrong. It’s breathtaking. Black as a raven and threaded with gold, as though woven in by expert fingers.
“It can’t be,” I whisper. The cave spins around me, in and out of focus. My heartbeat picks up, and I close my fist around the feather.
I’ve seen designs like this before. Not in person, but in paintings buried deep in Father’s closet.
“What is it?” he asks. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
As I open my mouth to answer, a voice pierces the other end of the cave. “This way.”
The blood drains from my face. I’d hoped never to hear that voice again. And certainly not so soon. I’m not back to 100 percent yet.
“I heard something in here.” The voice grows closer. That same growl that whispered in my ear back in Dominus. My body goes cold.
Ferus.