Chapter 73
The brush of something against his arm startled August awake, and he lashed out thoughtlessly, grabbing the hand and flaring his magic. It was so natural now. So easy.
“It’s me.” The sound of Felix’s voice brought him back from the edge. He looked up and found those blue eyes, and everything in him uncoiled.
He was alright. Still breathing. Still the same Felix. But the gold flakes in his eyes were gone.
“Scoot,” Felix said.
He sat up, moving to make room, and Felix perched beside him.
August closed his eyes, sinking into the familiar feel of Felix’s magic, the hum of the air.
It felt different.
He needed time to recover, August reminded himself.
Through the cracked windows, warm golden light spilled across the floor. How long had he been sleeping?
The others sat huddled in their booth, leaning into one another, like a family.
A heavy weight pressed on August’s chest. His mother had his memories erased. She’d been lying to him for years.
He wished he could go back to not knowing. Wished he could lock the terrible memories back behind the walls.
He dug his fingers into his temples, as if he could claw the images out.
Gentle hands wrapped around his, loosening his grip, and his head throbbed where his nails had bitten into his skin.
Felix turned August’s hand over to examine the damage. The Hollow Dark had healed the wound, but the finger was gone.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “For all of it.”
August wrinkled his nose as he studied Felix. “I think I brought back the wrong person.”
The corner of Felix’s mouth lifted, but his eyes stayed on August’s hand, his finger tracing lightly across his palm.
When he finally let go, the echo of his touch lingered.
Lottie appeared, her expression turbulent as she sank into a booth. He’d filled her in when they made it back here, and she was struggling with the realization that there were things stolen from her that she’d never get back. The walls in her mind were still standing, even after death.
“My mother knows about my magic,” he told Felix. “She’s always known, I guess.”
Lottie dropped her head into her hands. She’d wanted August to go home for so long, but now, after seeing Sebastian use the ring, watching August lose control, learning what their mother had done to him as a child, her world had been turned upside down as much as his own.
“She used me,” August muttered. “Like . . . ”
“A weapon,” Felix finished for him, barely a whisper.
That was what Gideon had called him. August hadn’t realized at the time just how right he was.
“She’ll come after me again.”
Felix dragged his gaze up. “She can try.”
“I should leave. Find somewhere to hide. Sebastian took the ring. If she finds me, she’ll use it again.” He didn’t want to think about the things he did. The things he’d almost done. The way he felt, trapped while his body moved on its own. “I don’t want to hurt anyone else.”
“We could go back to the cottage,” Lottie suggested.
But Felix asked, “Aren’t you tired of hiding?”
And the question rippled through August.
His mother had trained him to be her weapon—then, when he showed her how dangerous he could be, she locked his memories away. Locked him away.
For years, he’d fought his own abilities. For years, he’d believed Lottie’s silence was solidarity.
He had been hurt. Lied to. Made to believe he was nothing.
But he was dangerous enough to scare the aesran. Dangerous enough that she forged him his own shackles.
Why should he be the one to hide?
“Do you still want that crown?” August asked.
Lottie straightened, and Felix gave him a curious look.
“My mother doesn’t deserve to rule. Help me stop her, and it’s yours.”
“I was already with you, Auggie. I didn’t need an incentive.
” He arched an eyebrow, then added, “But I would look fantastic in a crown.” He pushed up from the bench and faced the others.
“We all deserve a drink. Today we rest. We grieve. We remember what they stole from us. Tomorrow, we fight back. Tomorrow, we bring this monarchy to its knees.”
The others responded, but August’s attention stayed fixed on Felix, who rounded the bar with practiced ease, lining up five glasses. When Felix caught him staring, he offered a smile—the easy, unguarded kind that August loved—and held out a glass. An offering. A silent truce.
To August’s surprise, his own smile lifted just as easily.