Chapter 56 Nothing Cradles Me Anymore #3
I don’t know what I expected—but it wasn’t to see Visnatus in ruins. Large chunks of the academy have collapsed—the girls’ wing the smallest loss.
The ballroom, most of the classrooms, the main library, it’s all gone. Lucian’s suite still stands, and that’s where we go. He drops Damien’s unconscious body on the bed and gives me new clothes to wear—his academy shirts and a pair of pants.
“Do you want me to…?” he asks, gesturing to my dress. It’s burnt and tattered, the back holding on by a thread.
I glance over my shoulder. Shake my head. “I need a second.”
Lucian nods, turning to leave the room, but he lingers at the door.
“Alone,” I say.
Lucian nods, stepping out of the room.
My gaze turns to Damien. A line of dried blood sits on his forehead. I hadn’t realized he was injured. I touch a finger to the wound, flaking the blood away.
If Lucian hadn’t brought him here, Damien would have died. He would have left with my mother, whom I’ll never get a chance to forgive, to ask any more questions, to understand why she did what she did.
Like everything else in my life, our relationship was cut short.
My fingers extend to Damien’s auburn hair, brushing it out of his eyes in case he wakes up.
He’s it, now. I’ll take care of him. I have to. He’s going to wake up to the same pain I have—but worse. It’s not just his mom that’s gone. It’s his sisters.
I rise, walking to the bathroom. As I strip off the burnt dress, I look over my shoulder at my back. My breath shakes. I try not to cry. After a moment, I have to look away.
The skin is gone—from my shoulders all the way down my spine. There’s nothing but red pus and boils, and I don’t know how to clean it.
I grab a cloth, dampen it, and press it to my back. This time, I scream. Tears pour from my eyes, feeling like acid against my skin.
The fire wasn’t… I thought I was over fearing it. It’s not supposed to hurt me. I’m Arcane, not Fire Folk. I shouldn’t be injured right now.
I throw the cloth down. From one touch, it’s covered in pus—a terrible shade of orange.
When I exit the bathroom, I sit at the foot of Lucian’s bed. He left clothes for me. The academy’s uniform. But I stare at the floor, tracing the beige, swirling lines in the marble. One turns into a branch, falling from the sky and into Mom.
Then there’s Piphany’s death, the ease with which I took her heart and shattered it. All the people in the ballroom… all the times I felt bad for not feeling bad. All the horrible things I’ve done finally feel sore when I think of Mom’s words: You’re better than this.
Did she know what I’ve done?
My last actions against her were so full of pain—sending her out of The Void to spite her, giving her back her memories to hurt her. Is that who I want to be? Someone who lashes out at the universe at every chance?
I’m holding onto my anger, but what am I without it? I can’t accept. I can’t forgive. If I let go of what Mom did, what the worlds did, will I have to face the humanity I lost? I did it all to myself.
I killed the people I promised to help.
“Desdemona,” Lucian breathes, stepping into the room.
As he moves closer, I cover my mouth, holding my sobs in. It’s this all over again. Wanting to hide from him.
But he’s been hiding from me.
I meet his gaze. To tell him to leave? To tell him I’m sorry for what I’ve done? The moment my hand drops and I try to speak, my voice breaks. I gasp. The words don’t come out, and the more I fight the racking sobs, the harder they ache in my chest.
Lucian says nothing. He sits beside me, pulling me close, holding me like I’m something precious.
I’ve been trying to bury my feelings beneath my anger. But he ruins all my defenses by being here, by touching me like I’m worth saving, by looking at me like I’m not a monster carved out of blood and fire.
I don’t want him to be the one seeing me like this. I don’t want him to be the one who holds me together when I’m the one who breaks things.
But here he is. Here he always is.
What’s the point of fighting this? I seem to kill everyone I love, yet he is the one I can’t kill.
His thumb brushes against my cheek. I bring a finger to his lips. His eyes widen. I nod.
“You’re mourning,” he whispers.
“I’d rather do anything else.”
He cups my cheek, his other hand moving down my back.
“I’m here,” he says, his voice low as he drops my cheek. His hand wraps around my back, pulling me close. My head falls against his chest.
The tears come again.
Then the door opens. Terrible timing—or good?
I glance over my shoulder, suddenly convinced I’m in a hallucination. That I’ve been in one this whole time.
Gods I hope none of this was real.
Because Azaire enters the room. Had they succeeded the night of the ball? Did they bring him back to life?
Azaire runs across Lucian’s room, moving with blinding rage and crashing into the nightstand. I step back, but Lucian remains still.
Azaire quickly picks himself up and lands on top of Lucian.
“Hey!” I shout, but it does no good. I try to wield Azaire’s blood, but his body is bone dry.
I inch back as they crash to the floor, with Azaire on top.
His hands are wrapped around Lucian’s throat.