Chapter 33 Hate To Admit
Hate To Admit
Desdemona
S
omething pokes into my wrist, and I reach to pull it out.
“I wouldn’t do that,” a voice hums. “You’ve lost a lot of blood.”
I open my eyes, but the world remains blurry. I blink hard, gradually making out the wooden walls, the plants, the crystals, and Elva—the school’s head healer.
A clear tube pumps red liquid into my veins. Lost blood? Are they pumping blood into me?
“How would I have lost blood?” I mutter.
Blood is mine. My magic.
“That,” she says carefully, “is my question. You have no wounds, no internal bleeding that we could find. Yet you’ve lost over two liters.” She lowers her voice, eyes steady on mine. “Any reason you can think of?”
I swallow, shaking my head.
“Your body shouldn’t be able to lose that much blood without a source,” she says. “Whatever is causing this is beyond anything I can identify. I’ll run more tests. Try to…”
She can’t run tests. What would a test even say about me?
Something wet trickles from my nose into my mouth. Metallic—blood. Quickly, I wipe it on the back of my hand and sit up. A sharp wave shoots through my head, but I force my legs over the side of the bed.
“And what are you doing?” she asks.
“Bathroom.” The word comes out rough.
I just need to get out of here.
She places a hand on my shoulder with a small amount of force, and my body falls back onto the bed.
“Apologies, but I’m under strict orders to keep you in this room—”
The door behind Elva bursts open, and Lucian rushes inside. “You can’t be here,” Elva reprimands. But when she recognizes the prince, she bows her head. “Apologies, Your Majesty. I did instruct you to wait outside.”
“I need to speak to Miss Althenia privately,” Lucian says without looking at me.
Has he been waiting outside this whole time?
Elva presses her lips into a line, nods, and exits the room. Lucian sits in the chair next to my bed.
He smiles at me.
“If you’re going to torture someone, make sure you don’t pass out on the job,” he quips—like it’s all a big joke.
I sit up with a groan, and Lucian reaches for my hand. It’s a comforting, aiding touch. Then his gaze flickers, as if he wasn’t aware he was reaching out for me. I tug my hand away.
“I did it for you,” I say, dropping my head into my hands. Even in the darkness, the world spins. I peek between my fingers at the needle in my veins. “How did I lose so much blood?”
Lucian glances at the blood bag. “My guess is your magic.”
“But I didn’t use my blood.”
“These matters are rarely linear.” Lucian shrugs. “In my youth, when I overexerted myself wielding shadows, it weakened my body over time. The shadows never originated from inside me, yet the power left some sort of residue.”
If my body can’t handle the magic, then the extent of my magical ability doesn’t matter.
“But you got stronger,” I say, eyes wide.
Lucian gives me a long look, one I’m not used to. “You’re already one of the strongest here, Althenia.”
A sigh escapes me as I look away. One of the strongest. Not the strongest. Maybe the quest for power is a dead end, and maybe I should be okay with this. But what would happen if I died from overextending myself? If I bled myself dry with magic?
Would that be permanent?
“Hogan wants to speak to you about Belle,” Lucian says after a lapse of silence.
I squint at him. “Who?”
Lucian looks at me sideways. “The girl,” he says, as if that’s all the answer I need. I shake my head incredulously, and he continues, “Lilac found her in your room. She said you tortured her. Her brother Alec wants you sent to a prison in Folkara.”
I settle back on the bed, staring at the ceiling. “Shit.”
“I’ll speak to Hogan.”
I jab my knuckles into the sockets of my eyes. “You can’t just talk me out of all my problems.”
“You did this for me,” Lucian says slyly, a clear smile in his voice. “Did you not?”
Shaking my head, I sigh. “Damn you, Aibek.”
“Damn me,” he murmurs. “Because I want to believe you.”
I drop my hands. Meet his eyes.
“Everything you say.” His voice is low.
I twist the tube full of blood around my finger. The needle pulls at my skin with every tug, burning my veins. I need something to do, a way to ignore what I’ve done. I tortured Jermoine, then grabbed that random girl, Belle.
And I’d do it again if it got me answers.
“You want to believe an Arcane?” I say.
“It’s more than that between us. Isn’t it?” he asks.
I meet his gaze. “Are you asking for you… or for me?”
“Me.” Lucian’s hand reaches toward mine, but never touches. “I must know. Who were we to one another?”
I hate being reminded that, to him, it never happened. It’s a fairytale he wants to know the end of, but to me, the story is still playing out.
I glance away from him. “It would take days to tell you.”
“And I would listen,” Lucian says. “Even if the world were still on fire, I would stop to listen.”
My heart catches at his words. Of course it does. It always did. “You were always good at saying romantic shit.”
“We were?” he asks. “Romantic?”
“Some of the time,” I whisper. “Yeah.”
“Did I know…” Lucian clears his throat. “Did I know you were an Arcane?”
I smile, not meaning it. “It would be kind of hard to know when I didn’t either.”
He exhales like it’s a relief, and I twist away, yanking the needle from my arm. Of course it’s a relief. I glance at my burnt skin and swing my legs off the cot, ready to leave.
Lucian finally touches my hand.
“I didn’t mean it like that,” he says.
“Then tell me,” I spit, gripping the linens with my free hand. “How did you mean it?”
He flips my hand over, examining my burns. The tattoo is barely visible. My heart aches for what I’ve lost.
Then, Lucian lowers his mouth to my palm, his lips cool against it.
“I mean, beautiful is too delicate a word for you. Cunning isn’t strong enough.” He licks his lips, a gesture that seems oddly insecure on him. “You’re compulsory. Likely then, and even now. Arcane or not.”
I pull back my hand, covering my face. “Stop.”
“Stop what?”
“Making me feel crazy. Looking at me like that…”
“Looking at you like what, Althenia?”
I glance past the fingers covering my eyes. He’s closer than before, inches away with my name on his tongue and affection in his eyes.
“Like that,” I say. “Like you know me. Like you could.”
Lucian shakes his head. I swallow hard. I can’t decide if I like or loathe him.
“I didn’t want to come back,” I say, my voice rising. “Because of this. Because you look at me the way you do, but never the way you did.”
His hands drop to his sides, no longer reaching for me. I tell myself to be happy about it. This is what I wanted.
“I see,” Lucian says, leaning back.
“Every single person I’ve ever known has forgotten I exist. You don’t see shit.”
“Why did you do it?” He clutches the arms of his chair. “Why did you go, knowing what you’d lose?”
My frown deepens as Lucian looks at me, awaiting my answer.
I wish I could look away from him, but his eyes are magnets.
“The Arcanes were killing you,” I whisper. “They wanted me, and they were going to kill you.” I wipe my nose, hoping no tears follow. “I had no option.”
Lucian’s eyebrows fall, and the rest of his face follows, leaving him entirely unguarded, with shock and a strange bit of admiration.
“You left to save me?” he asks, as if he’s coming to the conclusion instead of me telling him as much.
“And the others,” I add bitterly.
“But it was me?” he whispers. “They were hurting me when you made that choice?”
I sit up, pressing my bare feet to the cold floor. “I don’t know what you’re getting at.”
“Your kin murdered my father,” he states. “Yet I’ve never looked at someone and felt more.”
I rise, stars filling my vision, and hobble toward the door. I twist the doorknob, but it hardly moves—locked. I sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose.
Without looking back, I say, “Tell her to let me out.”
I hear Lucian rise to his feet, walking closer behind me. Still, I don’t turn.
“If you tell me something I knew before,” he says, his voice low, “about you.”
I stare at the door like I can open it with my mind, moving closer until my nose presses against the wood. “You didn’t know much.”
Lucian stands just behind me now. I don’t have to see him to know that.
“I don’t believe that,” he says. His fingers glide up my arm, covering my flesh in goosebumps, just like they once did.
I glance at the ceiling, taking a deep breath. Pressure builds behind my eyes, and I don’t know why. He didn’t know me, and I didn’t know him. It wasn’t a big deal. If anything, it was fate—sick and twisted—bringing me closer to the one thing that can kill me.
His voice is lower than I think I’ve ever heard when he says, “Look me in the eye and say it.”
I twist in his direction, pushing his hand off my arm as I do. His eyes meet mine immediately. His mouth is slightly open, like he’s surprised I turned at all.
I open my mouth, but the words don’t fall out, almost as if one of the gods is burning the lies from my tongue before I can spew them.
“Why?” I whisper.
“I don’t remember you.” His hand rests on my cheek. I inhale sharply as his fingers thread through my hair. “Yet it’s like my mind is begging me to.”
I look down at my bare feet on the marble. Lucian’s thumb traces my jaw.
“If I tell you, you’ll get her to let me out?”
“Yes,” he says.
I sigh, raising a hand to run through my hair. Lucian’s hand is already there—and I push it away when I meet it. Then I press my hands on his chest, feeling it expand and contract beneath my palms.
Lucian stiffens at first, glancing at my hands, his heart racing. Quickly, it returns to normal. With a thought, I could change that—but I let it be. I take a moment to feel a heart and not cause it pain.
Lucian’s hands flex at his sides, a pulse jumping in his neck. But he doesn’t reach up. Doesn’t stop me when he knows what I could do.
I mean to push him away. But he’s warm beneath me, the faint hitch of his breath brushing against my hands. Tangible and real.
I lower my voice, admitting, “I clench my left hand when I lie.” Lucian breathes harder. “You were the only person to ever notice it.”