45. Chapter Forty-Five
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
AGGONID
A zazel remains in the room beyond, his body barely moving beneath the heavy blankets, save for the shallow rise and fall of his chest. For weeks, he’s slept—his body a battlefield, fighting to restore every part of itself, the trauma of death lingering, though the worst of it has passed. He stirs sometimes, whispers incoherently, his eyes cloudy as though looking beyond the walls, beyond us, but never for long. Each time he closes his eyes, the silence becomes unbearable—an ache that settles deep within my bones.
I sink into the armchair in his small living room, the fabric worn beneath my weight. My usual armor lies abandoned, replaced by loose black trousers and a simple tunic that feels almost foreign on my skin. The absence of my usual darkness leaves me feeling exposed, stripped bare without the comfort of the clothes I’ve relied on for centuries. Or perhaps it’s the souls gone from my throat where I kept them for millennia.
The hearth flickers, flames lobbing dancing shapes across the walls, their warmth barely noticeable. I’m not even sure how long I’ve been staring into that curling glow, lost in thought, when Morte's quiet footsteps draw my attention upward.
“Hey,” I murmur .
She wears one of Azazel's shirts—a simple black tee that falls to her upper thighs. Her crimson hair, tangled and wild, cascades around her shoulders, hinting at the days spent beside him without rest. She moves like a ghost—soundless, wary, her eyes fixed on me for a beat longer than necessary before she crosses to the couch. My sweet phoenix pulls her legs under herself, leaning back as though every muscle aches. Her eyes—red-rimmed, hollow—fix on the hearth for a while, a tired kind of melancholy softening the sharp lines of her face.
Silence stretches between us, weighted, and I find my attention drifting back to the flames, to the memories that claw at the edges of my mind. My parents. Their souls, a fractured light that once represented hope. I remember the moment I placed them in Emeric’s grasp, trading the one thing that earned my soul bond millennia of torment, for the one thing that mattered more than my own flesh and blood—to right all the wrongs I’ve done to her. The weight of it settles again, familiar but fresh—an ache, deep and raw. I did it for her, for Azazel—for us—and I'd do it again. But the grief remains, nestled in the hollow space they left behind.
Morte’s voice breaks the quiet. There is a trace of lavender in the air, the lingering scent of the candles she's been burning throughout the night, trying to calm her restless mind. Her pale fingers toy with a stray thread on the couch cushion. It’s such a novelty, her porcelain skin to my pewter, and Caius’s nearly blue translucence.
Her words yank me out of my quiet contemplation.
“I’m sorry. And thank you.”
I glance up at her, brow furrowed.
“For giving up your parents to bring Az back.” Her voice, hoarse from lack of use, scratches at something vulnerable in me. She turns her stare to me, her eyes glistening, filled with too many questions—ones I’m not sure I can answer.
I shake my head slowly, my own fingers curling around the armrest. “I’m the one who should be sorry.” The admission cuts me, though it’s no longer a secret—it’s a wound shared between us now.
My throat feels tight, as if I've swallowed a rock, making it hard to even swallow. “Even if I didn’t know who you were, I shouldn’t have condemned you. It wasn’t a mistake, but a conscious decision I made, and it was the wrong one.” I force myself to look at her, to let her see the grief, the remorse, the truth written in every line on my face. “I thought I could keep you at arm’s length, that it wouldn’t matter … that you’d just be a stranger, an abstract consequence I’d never have to deal with. But then I met you, and everything changed.”
Her lips part, a sharp breath slipping past her teeth. “You killed me after you met me.” The thread she’d been toying with falls forgotten, her eyes drilling into mine, her breath hitching. “When I became more than a concept to you … when I became real … y-you killed me.”
A shudder runs through me. I press a hand to my face, fingers dragging through my hair, tugging at the strands—grounding myself in the pain of it. “You have to understand …” My words falter, caught between the past and present, between duty and the overwhelming tide of love I’d never thought myself capable of outside of Caius. “You showed up, and I thought I could put it all to rest. But then?—”
“But then what?” she hisses quietly.
“I loved my parents, but they’ve been gone for thousands of years. Their souls, trapped, suffering—I should’ve set them free a long time ago, let them have peace.” I shift in my seat, my eyes meeting hers. “And then I fell in love with you, and suddenly their peace seemed less important than yours.”
She stares at me, her expression unreadable, her silence deafening. The seconds tick on, and I almost find myself reaching out—needing to touch her, to feel something other than the emptiness gnawing at me.
“Aggie …” She whispers my name like a lament, her stare shifting to the fire. Her lips quirk, something almost like disbelief curling in her expression. “You gave them up for Azazel?”
“For all of us,” I answer, the words strained, raw. “I thought losing them once would be enough. But giving them up again, knowing it’s permanent, knowing I can’t undo it …” My shoulders sag, the weight crushing, the sorrow there, always, as I bury my head in my hands. “I’d do it again. If it means keeping you safe, if it means Azazel gets to live again—I’d do it a thousand times. ”
She shifts then, moving to the floor in front of me, her hands pressing into my knees as she kneels between them. “Look at me,” she murmurs, her fingers wrapping around mine, tugging my hands away from my face. Her touch burns, searing away the numbness, the ache, until only the intensity of her presence remains.
I obey, my regard drifting to hers, the soft angles of her face, wild crimson hair, the vivid blue-green of her eyes—a tempest I’ve never been able to escape. There’s something different there—something that blurs the edges of her scrutiny, that makes the tears brimming in her eyes even more painful to witness.
“You brought him back to me,” she whispers. “You saved him even after everything. Even after you condemned me, cursed me before you even knew me—you still gave them up for us.” She swallows hard, her lips pressing into a thin line. “It’s enough, Aggie. It’s enough to know that.”
My breathing stutters, my heart hammering against my ribs as her words sink in, the knot in my throat tightening. She forgives me—or, at least, she’s trying to. Her fingers tighten around mine, and I close my eyes, leaning forward, my forehead brushing hers.
“I’ll never stop trying to make it right,” I murmur, the promise escaping before I can stop it—an oath that binds me more than any ancient magic ever could.
“Just don’t betray me again,” she breathes, her lips barely brushing against my skin. “Stay. Fight with me. Fight for us.”
I pull her closer, my hands cupping her face, my thumbs tracing the lines of her cheekbones. Her eyes close, her breath hitching, and I press my lips to her forehead. “Always.”
For the first time in what feels like an eternity, the ache lessens, the heaviness easing, just a fraction—just enough to breathe again. We sit like that, tangled together, fragile hope blooming between us.