Chapter Eight
Asher
I t had been one month since I had chai.
What a foolish thing, to hide behind lies and boats and bottles of mead. To pretend one is anything other than the monster they were born to be. To whisper to oneself that life is made of pain and joy and the molding of the two—that fault and failure are a balance of success and triumph.
For so long, I had done that. Convinced myself that I could recover from every misstep, that my mistakes would be redeemed by my fight to save a broken world. Up until that very moment, I had drowned my mind in liquor and pain and planning.
Yet as I looked down on my fingers, now whole once more save for the small scars that stood out in stark contrast to my olive skin, I realized how wrong I had been.
The nausea in my stomach came not only from the rocking ship as waves barreled into it, but also from the recollection of the dead and hollow look in Ranbir’s eyes as he had fixed these very fingers. The gasp he had made when he later healed my bleeding arms.
No, I had not had chai in quite some time. How could I when memories of Ranbir’s smiling face and Winona’s soft touch plagued the taste of those spices?
“Hey, little brat, are you still sulking about being cut off?”
I sighed, looking up to meet Henry’s moss green eyes, his orange hair at startling odds with the dull blue-gray water and the faded wood surrounding us. Stubble littered his tan face, growing out now that he no longer had Winona to cut it. A part of me wondered if he refused to do so because he could not bring himself to have such an act be done by anyone but the green-haired Sun.
He was staring down at me, a smirk on his freckled face despite the clear concern that pinched his brow.
It seemed I had taken to drinking too much, and pumpkin, here, was not impressed.
“Do not look at me like I am some fragile addict who is constantly five seconds away from offing themself,” I hissed.
“Are you not?”
At that precise moment, a wave smashed into the boat with enough force to set me off balance, and my stomach decided that it was not willing to contain the bread and coffee from earlier. I clutched for the edge, leaning over and vomiting.
Henry’s hands found my body, holding up my hair and rubbing soothing circles on my back. When I stopped heaving, I wiped my mouth, gasping for fresh air and picturing solid ground.
At least this time I was not puking up rum.
“At least this time you are not puking up mead.”
Or mead. Maybe I did have a problem.
I could throw myself from the boat. A swifter death than hurling up my insides.
Probably should not think that way when I just argued about my sanity and will to live.
“Come on, we need to train. You have not picked up a weapon since Ha—” Henry stuttered to a stop, his breath hitching at what he almost said.
What none of us would say.
Haven. The beautiful place of safety and acceptance, a sanctuary for fae who escaped the rule of tyrants. All dead now. Just like Pino. Just like Winona. Dead not only because of a wicked queen’s fight for power, but also because of a stupid princess’s selfish desire for freedom.
“I have not been in the mood, obviously,” I said, grabbing the edge and making my way down the ship towards our shared cabin. He would push until I agreed, so I might as well collect my weapons while we argue. I was nothing if not a multitasker.
“Unfortunately, we do not have the time to cater to your moods. This will be more dangerous than the journey through Eoforhild. We not only have to survive, but we have to win these beings over. We cannot do that with weak form and smelly breath,” he chastised.
“I am sure that is what all the females say to you,” I spit. It was immature, but I was in a particularly foul state of mind.
He chuckled, a deep laugh that made me stop in my tracks. A fa?ade, that was what it was. We were close enough to not pretend with one another, yet we still hid. Him behind smiles and teasing, me behind scowls and sarcasm.
Neither of us were okay, far from it. When I turned to say that to his face, I froze. Those green eyes bore into me, so expressive that I did not need the power of mind manipulation to know he was just as ashamed and concerned as I was. Just as broken.
“Fine, we can train. You are right. There is no room for mistakes.” With that, we continued moving forward inch by inch, me holding onto the edge and him walking with his hands in his trouser pockets. I nearly tripped him just to get the haughty look off of his face.
By the time we were back in our cabin, I was practically crawling, desperate for stability and stillness. I had never been at sea before this, and I was suddenly very sure that I would have died long before I reached The Mist had I gone with my original plan of escape those many months ago in Haven.
With the ache in my chest at the memory of that once beautiful place and the horrific thought of bloody white floors and rasping breaths, I promptly dove for the bed. Maybe a second of rest would stop me from vomiting all over the floors?
Henry and I had to share, doing our best to stay inconspicuous as we traveled. He was easily the worst bedmate in history, taking up well over half the bed and snoring so loudly it reverberated off the walls.
A male as tall as him truly could not fit anywhere, but watching him duck under the door frame and scrunch onto the bed beside me was a reminder of why he probably also hated traveling by sea. We made quite the duo.
“Listen, I am here if you want to talk. I am not sure how many more times I can say that before you understand I mean it. For the sake of time, I will assume that it is infinite and you are about to turn me down, so how about we cut to the good part and I teach you dagger throwing?”
I turned, prepared to give my best rebuttal, but a piece of paper wrapped around a pen smacked me in the face, bouncing and hitting him too. A spark of excitement flitted through me as I grabbed it, untying the yarn and opening the note.
I can think of quite a few things I can do with a candle that would change your mind, Princess.
A gasp left my lips before I could stop it, my thighs clenching together out of instinct. Wicked demon.
Bellamy had a tendency to send me inappropriate messages at the most inconvenient of times, the worst being when I was so drunk that I responded to his mention of his extensive sailing experience by saying that I was very interested in what his tongue could do while steering a ship.
“You know, his flirting could use some work. Imagine if you misinterpreted that and thought he was threatening to shove a lit candle up your—”
“Okay, okay, enough of that. Get up. We have training to do,” I said, chuckling despite myself.
Henry was always good at that, finding humor in awful situations and making me smile when all I wanted to do was cry. He reminded me of Nicola, so sure of himself and who he was that he could find joy and meaning in anything.
My heart ached for Nicola, for the danger she might be in due to me. I had begged Bellamy to rescue her, Farai, and Jasper. Pleaded for him to save them before I killed them, because I knew it would be my hands their blood would stain if Mia chose to punish me by harming them. Because life without them would be empty and incomplete.
Everyone had been vehemently against going to them—Henry most of all. He had said it was not worth the risk of his kind, his realm. A fight sparked between him and Bellamy, leading to a verbal sparring that outdid all of my grandest arguments with The Elemental.
Bellamy had agreed, I could tell by the way he fought with words of love rather than words of strategy.
“She cannot help us if she is consumed with worry for her friends!”
“If she or any of us go after them, then the trap will spring and we will play right into their hands!”
“So you expect her to do nothing? You expect me to watch as she withers and crumbles in front of us?”
“If it were anyone else, you would not hesitate to do so!”
Henry had been right, of course. I could do nothing for them if I were not alive. He had also laid bare a truth Bellamy had been hesitant to acknowledge: there was nothing the prince would not do for me. We all knew it, but it was during that argument—when his response had been storming away rather than denying the truth—that had made us all distinctly aware of the extent. Aware of just how much he would sacrifice for me.
It was unnerving. Unsettling. Uncalled for.
And I was unworthy.
So instead, I did my best not to think of my friends, to find distractions in mead and plotting and complaining. Apparently, now I would find those distractions in training. Which made sense, as our journey was not a vacation or a time for sightseeing. There was purpose to this choice, one that would alter the outcome of the war that we now understood was inevitable.
A sad and unfortunate truth that left all of us on edge as we concocted a plan that was simultaneously ludicrous and undeniably brilliant.
It was my idea, after all.
“Ash?” Henry’s voice pulled me out of my thoughts, his hands gripping either side of my face to bring my gaze to his.
I blinked. Once, twice, three times.
My mind rarely turned off these days. Though, thankfully, Bellamy had taught his Trusted well. It was rare for their mental shields to slip. Henry’s in particular was strong, a wall of bright white light that felt as if it burned through my power. So it was only my own thoughts that plagued me.
“Sorry,” I said with a sigh. I got up, snatching my dagger off of the bedside table on my way towards the cabin door. I doubted it would work for throwing, but I felt grounded when it was in my hand. It had not glowed since Haven, no matter what I did to it, as if only death could please the runes enough to light up.
Henry did not mention my aloof state again, opting to grab my hand and lead me quickly out of our cabin. Slow, that was what he often called me. This ship had made walking especially difficult, so he was prone to drag me around and ignore my nausea in favor of arriving places quicker.
I could not wait to never step foot on one of these wretched things again.
We stopped once so I could dive for the edge, dry heaving as my body attempted to find anything to expel from my empty stomach. Henry huffed but once again held my hair, mumbling under his breath about how horribly embarrassing I was.
“Ah yes, I am a poor excuse for a sailor. Remind me to find a new dream, as being a pirate is officially off the list.” There was very little bite to my tone, but I rolled my eyes and squared my shoulders all the same.
“Dramatic as always.”
When we found an open spot on the deck that would allow us to train, Henry opened his faded brown jacket to reveal multiple black straps and sheaths covering his body, cinching the thin white tunic and highlighting the thick muscles of his chest. Daggers, smaller and sharper than my own, sat poised for dealing death. Each of them had blue hilts, the same stunning color of the demon sigil.
He grabbed one, freeing it of its confines and placing the tip against his finger. The sharp metal glinted in the morning light, the beauty lethal and violent and strangely alluring.
“First lesson of the day, little brat. We all must face death eventually, but it is what we do when we stare into its wicked eyes that defines our fate. I do not believe in choiceless lives and moments of chance. You see an obstacle, and you overcome it. You hear the call of your end, and you deny it,” Henry said, pointing the dagger at my chest. “You, Asher, will not lose. You will not concede. You will not die. Now, repeat that.”
I sighed, rolling my eyes. There was something about a demon demanding me to repeat an oath to live that really got on my nerves.
“I will not lose, concede, or die. Can we move on now?” I asked, batting the dagger away. I felt the blade slice through my skin, blood welling on my hand.
It was impossible to deny how good it felt, the bite of pain. More than that, the idea of a beautiful new scar to tell the story of where I had been was enticing, addicting.
My olive skin now bore evidence of the afriktor attack, the demon fight, the battle of Haven, and all of the many sparring sessions that had left me bleeding. This would be a wonderful new addition.
Quickly, I slid my hand across my black trousers, the blood smearing away, as Henry watched me with keen eyes that always saw more than I wanted him to.
“Ash,” he said, the soft whisper of his voice making my heart ache. His dagger slowly lowered, the concern he felt evident in the furrow of his brows and the downturn of his lips.
Silence was my friend in situations like these. I could not talk about the way I felt, could not explain the pain when a lifetime of experiences and rules had taught me to hide it.
So I did the only rational thing I could.
I punched him in the face.
My fist connected with his cheek with a resounding crack, his head flinging backwards upon impact. Pain rippled from my knuckles up to my elbow, not nearly as bad as when I first hit Bellamy those many months ago but still enough to leave me gritting my teeth.
“I should have seen that coming,” Henry chuckled, touching a finger to the cut on his cheek. He smiled, his white teeth shining and his eyes crinkling at the corners.
With as much speed as I could muster, I grabbed my dagger, slicing towards his unprotected midsection. The Sun barely jumped back in time, my blade singing through the air like a song of death and retribution and fear. So much fear. Fear of the unknown, the known, and every question that sat in between the two.
Henry was on me in a second, beating me down with two of the smaller daggers, overpowering me. I was sloppy and angry, not to mention that the act of sparring was overwhelming.
A part of me thought of how easy it would be to simply not pull back, to throw myself in the line of one of his vicious strikes and allow death to have me. If only to finally know peace.
That part of me was loud, but I fought against it in the same way I fought Henry—with desperate maneuvers and careless aim.
Henry soon ditched his blades, as if he knew just how badly I was losing to myself. Fists raised and body tense, he pressed forward, swinging at me. I pushed out my power, seeking a foothold that would allow me to hear his thoughts. He winced when I attacked, clawing at his shield with the type of despair and ferocity that could bury entire realms.
It was then that he dove for me, one thick arm wrapping around my waist while his other elbow struck my wrist with enough force to send my dagger flying across the deck. My legs collapsed from under me, my back hitting the floor. Henry’s hand flew up to my head to protect it from the fall.
I laid there, trying to catch my breath and looking into his knowing green eyes, and the fight left me swiftly. In its place, the sorrow I had been working to drown with distractions and vices quickly took root.
Henry’s warm hand met my cheek, cradling it with the tenderness I imagined a brother might have for a sister—the love of family. That one touch sent me over the edge, tears spilling from my eyes and my body shaking. I sobbed into Henry’s chest as he rolled us over and pulled me into him.
“I know, Ash. I know,” he murmured against my head, placing a kiss to my hair.
In the near distance, I heard a male call above the crashing waves, “Land ahead!”
Henry leaned down, whispering into my ear, “Welcome to the Mortal Realm, little brat. Time to get to work.”