32. Into the Water
I ’ll see you soon.
What a dumb, stupid, foolish thing to say.
But then what else could he say?
Don’t leave.
Stay with me.
Wait a moment longer, just so I may look at you.
I have dreams of you that leave me in agony, and yet when I turn to dream again, I pray for the pleasure of the pain?
Physical pain—the type still etched into his body—had no bearing on the type she caused. And yet, it was worse when she moved away. A hollow ache grew in his chest the further away her footsteps sounded.
Around him on the bed, his shadows twitched. One wound down across the bed and pawed at the door, like a dog waiting for his master to return. He was only semi-conscious of what it was doing.
“Are you all right?” Cordelia asked.
Nicodemus yanked his shadows back. “You chased her away.”
“I didn’t. She left.” Cordelia looked at him. “Do you want me to call her back?”
“No,” he said, a little too slowly.
“You hesitated.”
“I’m not at my best. ”
He didn’t want Cordelia to call Viola back. He was equally sure he wanted her to return. He just didn’t know how to make that happen without asking for it, and if she only came because he asked her to…
He wanted her to want to come, in the same way he wanted her to give up her secrets rather than have him pry them from her. It wasn’t the same if she was pressured.
“How long did she sit there?” he said, trying to sound casual.
“Well, she wasn’t attached to your side the entire time, but can you blame her? Watching people sleeping is boring. ”
“I see.”
Another moment ticked by. Nico tried to find another thought to occupy his mind with, or somewhere to focus his gaze other than the door, in the desperate hope Viola was about to walk through it.
“She did seem appropriately worried,” Cordelia added, “if that’s what you’re asking.”
“Right. I mean—no! I don’t care about that. Or her. Or anything.”
“Liar.”
“ Villain.”
Cordelia wound a finger through one of her spirals, chewing her lip, clearly thinking.
“What is it?” he asked.
“She likes your face.”
“What was that?”
“Viola. She said she liked your face. I thought you might like to know that.”
“Oh, did she now?” Nicodemus returned, still aiming for nonchalance. “Did she say anything else?”
“Um, something about not liking that she liked your face, and that I’d understand when I’m older.”
“Oh yes, that makes sense to me.”
Cordelia shook her head. “Adults are weird. ”
“We are,” he agreed, trying not to enjoy that strange pitter-patter feeling inside his stomach at the idea that Viola liked his face of all things. Cordelia was probably taking it out of context and he didn’t care anyway.
Except, of course, he did care. He cared quite a lot.
He let out a groan.
“Are you sure you’re all right?” Cordelia asked. “I don’t want to give you any more painkiller for a while, but perhaps…”
He half wanted to ask her to knock him out again, only the idea of dreaming about Viola was almost as bad as just thinking about her .
“Just… pass me that book,” he said, pointing to the one Viola had abandoned and wishing she was here just to slur through the passages again. “And maybe fetch me my notebook?”
There was a possibility that Viola might message him, and he wanted to be ready for her message whenever it came.
“All right,” said Cordelia. “But you’re going to have to eat something first.”
Viola landed the borrowed airship in the harbour and was greeted by Josef on the docks, his face beaming wildly.
“You seem happy,” she remarked.
“You will be too, when I tell you who rocked up this morning.”
“Who?” said Viola, already knowing what the answer would be.
“Freya, of all people,” he said, still grinning. “She’s alive.”
Viola feigned shock, and then relief. “Freya’s alive?”
“Yup. And the dragon is dead, leaving quite the hoard behind, or so I hear.”
Viola started to move, knowing she would be expected to want to see her. And she did want to see her. She wanted to see her so she’d know for certain that the memory potion had worked and to appease her guilt at abandoning her to save Nico.
She rushed off without another word, hurtling towards the barracks, amazed and slightly disgusted with her ability to move her face into an expression of relief and shock.
Unlike Viola’s sparse space, Freya’s room was heavily decorated. The walls were adorned with intricate carvings of mythical creatures and forest scenes. A grand canopy bed strung with translucent curtain and embroidered linens sat invitingly at the centre, its posts carved to resemble ancient trees. The air was perfumed, carrying the faint scent of pine and lavender, and light stones bathed the room in a gentle glow.
Freya lay in the bed, clean and bandaged, Heindrich beside her with a tired, weary smile on his face.
“Frey—” Viola sat down on her bed and yanked her into her arms, surprised by the initial stiffness of her—nothing like when she’d pulled her out of the hole. “What happened?” she forced herself to ask .
“She’s a bit hazy on the details…” Heindrich began.
“I remember hiding in the dragon’s lair,” Freya told her, her face weary. She’d doubtless been forced to tell this story multiple times by now. “I was stuck in a hole. Getting delirious with hunger and exhaustion. The next thing I knew, I was waking up beside the dragon’s body.”
“Some are saying she went into a fugue state and killed the monster herself,” Heindrich said, although he sounded doubtful. “Or stumbled upon some ancient magic object that imbued her power. We don’t know. They haven’t brought the dragon’s body back, but they’ll be emptying the lair for days.”
“The treasure was… quite impressive,” Freya mumbled, her eyes glazed and far away.
Viola could only imagine how disorientating it must have been to wake with a gap in your memories, to have no idea what happened or quite where you were. Her insides squirmed with guilt; this is not what she’d wanted to happen.
But Freya was alive. They’d gotten her out. And Nicodemus would recover.
This was the best possible outcome.
“She walked down the mountain by herself and got a lift in the nearest town,” Heindrich went on to explain. “Arrived back earlier this morning.”
“I’m glad you’re safe,” Viola said. She wanted to say more—that she’d been worried, that she’d lost her mind a bit, that she hated the thought of losing her—but she was aware that all of those things sounded romantic, a precursor to feelings that weren’t the ones Freya wanted. “I’ll leave you to rest. Heindrich, let me know if either of you need anything.”
He nodded, and Viola slipped out of the room again.
She checked in with the Captain and headed back to her old, cold chambers. She had a wash, changed her clothes, and lay on the bed staring at the ceiling, half wondering why she’d come back in the first place. There was nothing for her to do here. She felt bored, restless.
The shirt she’d borrowed from Nico lay on the back of her chair. She picked it up again. It still smelled him. Almost on a whim, she yanked off her new one and pulled on his again, trying not to think too much about what she was doing or what it meant.
Oh, who was she fooling. She knew exactly what it meant, what it meant and how stupid and foolish it was and how close she was coming to not caring at all.
Sighing, she grabbed Nico’s notebook and picked up a pen, tapping it so absent-mindedly that she started to flick ink all over her bedsheets. She grumbled to herself, shifting upright.
The words wouldn’t come .
Just tell him you’re back. That Freya’s safe, that she doesn’t remember. Ask him how he is!
Tell him you miss him.
Ridiculous. Impossible. She couldn’t miss someone she’d seen merely hours before.
Could she?
She’d not told him how worried she’d been or spoken of how relieved she was when he finally woke. She’d not thanked him for what he’d done. She hadn’t even shown him his new cane.
Suddenly, Viola realised she didn’t need words, or that words alone weren’t enough. The Captain hadn’t amended the rota for tomorrow. Viola was still off duty.
She threw a few things into a bag and went to find Blackberry.
Cordelia was in the courtyard when Viola returned, staring at the flowerbeds as if she expected them to sprout at any moment. Moon Bunny was hopping through the piles of discarded weeds, goosegrass sticking to his silk ears. He paused when Viola landed, raising his nose as though sniffing the air.
“You’re back!” said Cordelia, racing over. Blackberry butted her cheek, forcing her to pet him. Her aversion to touch clearly didn’t extend to animals—an entirely relatable exception, Viola thought. Animals were different.
Cordelia frowned, fingers still stroking Blackberry’s silken feathers. “Did you forget something?”
“No.” Yes. “I just realised I had nothing else to do, and…”
“And you missed us,” Cordelia said proudly.
A sly grin escaped Viola. “Yes.”
Cordelia extended her hand, holding out her skeletal fingers. Viola hooked her own into them, and allowed the girl to pull her back inside and into Nico’s room. He was propped up on the pillows, reading the book she’d left there, although his eyes kept drifting to the familiar-looking notebook propped up on his bedside table.
Cordelia coughed .
Nico’s eyes looked up, and his smile reached the pit of Viola’s stomach. “You’re back.”
“I am,” Viola answered, quite forgetting any of the things she came here to say. She stared at Nicodemus for what felt like a full minute.
“Sit,” Cordelia told her.
“Right!”
Viola moved towards the chair, but Cordelia yanked it back. “No. Not here.”
Not entirely sure how to respond to that, Viola said nothing, gingerly taking up a spot on the end of the bed, mindful of Nico’s leg. The bone was healed. The muscles, she suspected, would take some time, and the burns, the lesions, the bruises…
Cordelia vanished as soon as Viola sat. She leaned against one of the bed posts, as far away as she could get. She and Nicodemus exchanged awkward grins. Viola didn’t think she’d felt quite so nervous since she was thirteen and trying to pluck up the courage to ask one of the dairy maids to dance at the harvest festival. Was it too late to go home?
“So, I think Cordelia might like me now,” she said quickly.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” said Nicodemus, almost as fast. “Lela doesn’t like anyone. That’s part of the reason I like her. Because I don’t like anyone, either!”
“You like me.”
“Yes, but I’m not happy about it.”
Viola giggled, a noise she was well aware she didn’t make too often. You are an adult, she told herself. Act like it! Tell him why you came back. Be honest with him. Be honest with YOURSELF.
“Freya doesn’t seem to have any memory of the rescue,” she blurted.
Good start. Really. Fantastic.
“And she seems fine. A little disorientated, but… fine.”
“I’m glad to hear it.”
“Thank you,” Viola rushed. “I don’t think I got the chance to say that before what with… with everything. But thank you for helping me save her.”
Nicodemus looked away. “Don’t mention it.”
“You took on a dragon, Nico, and you nearly died in the attempt. I think it could stand to be mentioned a little bit more.”
A spot of colour darted across his cheeks. “Say that again.”
“Um, it could stand to be mentioned a little bit more?”
“No.” He shook his head. “The part where you said my name.”
Viola’s own cheeks heated. “Oh,” she said quietly. “Nico. ”
It sounded strange—too small, too soft, too intimate. She’d undressed people and felt less nervous about it .
Sweet gods above and below, what was the matter with her?
Nicodemus was smiling, his gaze not fully on her. “It was rather impressive, wasn’t it? Killing the dragon. I only wish I could have brought its head back. Cordelia would love to get her hands on a dragon’s skull…”
“I fear what she would do with it.”
“It would be a lot of fun to watch, though.”
For once, Viola found herself sharing his love of chaos. She imagined Cordelia in control of a giant dragon skeleton, chasing down her enemies.
A comfortable pause stretched out between the two of them.
“Can you help me with something?” Nicodemus asked eventually. “I’d ask Bones, but she’s rather tired at the moment—”
“Anything,” Viola replied.
Nico swallowed. “It’s a bit embarrassing.”
“Need help getting on the chamberpot?”
He laughed. “Ah, no. Not at the moment. But, um… could you help me get to the bathroom? I feel disgusting and would really like a bath.”
Viola smiled. “I’ll go and run you one right now.”
She hopped along to the bathchamber and prepared him a bath, scattering the water with healing herbs and ointment. She waited until it was full before returning to Nico’s side, passing him his cane. He stopped, staring at the handle. Viola hadn’t even thought to present him with it.
“Ah, yes, um, since I broke your other one—”
“Did you make this yourself?”
Viola fiddled with the lace cuffs of her borrowed shirt. “Yes. I know it’s not very good—”
“Is that a bird?”
“A raven.”
“And a sword, and a skull?”
“Yes, and they’re both terrible, but I wanted you to have something in the meantime. I completely understand if you hate it—”
“Hate it? Windbright, I’m going to use it until it’s no more than a splinter.”
Viola’s chest went uncomfortably warm. “Viola,” she told him. “You’re supposed to call me Viola now.”
Nicodemus smiled, one of those real, genuine, soft smiles again, the ones that somehow stole a little bit of her breath. “Viola,” he repeated.
He held out his hand to be helped off the bed. Viola hauled him upright. He stumbled, and she slid an arm around his middle to keep him steady. Almost all of his weight was pressed against her.
“Has Cordelia sanctioned this bath?” Viola asked.
“She’s not the boss of me.”
“You know full well that she is. ”
“Well,” said Nico, shooting her a grin, “maybe not the only boss of me.”
Viola felt her cheeks reddening again. “I’m not sure you should do what I tell you to.”
“And yet, I find myself increasingly likely to follow your orders.”
“And if I told you to give up your life of crime and return everything that you’ve ever stolen?”
Nico groaned. “Well, I’m not saying I’d do it willingly…”
It was a long, slow walk to the bathroom, each of Nico’s steps clearly paining him. Viola was unprepared for this, how his pain seemed to spill out and into her. Only one other time had she ever felt this way—when Sebastian had broken his leg as a child, doing something on her instructions. Viola had watched him scream in pain as the healer tended to him, each sound a knife against her gut.
This was like that, and different, too. Nicodemus was nothing like Sebastian to her. She didn’t have a name for what he was, or if she did, she didn’t want to speak it.
This can’t end well, a voice reminded her.
I know, she told it. I know, and I think I don’t care.
Finally, they made it to the bathroom. Viola deposited Nicodemus into a chair in the corner, hovering uselessly by the door.
“Would you like me to leave?” she asked him. “Or… maybe just sit outside until you’re done?”
Nico paused. “I think it might be wise if you stayed here. I’m… I’m a bit unsteady.”
“Of course.”
He started to disrobe, wincing as he did so.
“Here,” Viola said, placing a hand against his chest. “Let me help.”
Nico nodded, his throat bobbing. Slowly, Viola peeled back the rest of his robe, discarding it onto the back of the chair. Nico’s eyes held hers the entire time, which kept her gaze from wandering below. The nerves were stark across his face.
Most people weren’t as comfortable as she was with their bodies. If only she could…
She unhooked her doublet and dropped it on the floor, pulling at the drawstrings on her shirt.
“What are you doing?” he asked, his eyes widening as she shucked off her trousers and shirt.
“Evening the score.”
She kicked her clothes out of the way. A small smile quirked in the corner of Nicodemus’ mouth. “You’re still wearing your slip.”
“You’ve already seen me naked.”
“True… ”
She took a step towards the bath, her ankles sinking into the foaming waters. She held out her arms for him to follow, despite the rail he’d installed. Nico didn’t use it. He leaned on her instead, sighing as she guided him deeper into the waters and onto the ledge. His gaze stayed threaded to hers, until her eyes started to wander over his shoulders and skin. His chest and arms were mottled with cuts and bruises, black and yellowing. They almost looked worse today than they had when they happened.
Her fault. All of these were her fault. She should be the one in pain, the one with scars, the one barely able to keep upright. He didn’t deserve any of this.
“They’ll heal,” Nico assured her, catching her gaze.
But will you?
She nodded, leaning behind him to fetch a sponge, dipping it in the water and working it into a lather. She held it over his chest, seeking permission.
He nodded, and she applied the sponge to his skin, working off the sweat and grime. He let out a quiet moan, closing his eyes, his flesh puckering despite the heat of the bath.
“Am I hurting you?”
“Not in the least.”
She worked her hands into his hair, filling it with suds, massaging his scalp, expunging the dirt and grime until it felt like silk beneath her fingers.
Tell him his hair is nice.
Her courage failed her yet again. It was all really rather embarrassing. And she wasn’t even fully naked, and injured, and being bathed by someone who, a few months ago, was her sworn enemy.
Whatever they were now, it wasn’t that.
Nico’s hands drifted outwards under the water, skirting her waist.
“It’s all right,” she told him, “you can touch me.”
“A very dangerous offer,” he replied, his voice deeper than usual. His fingers ghosted her back, before finally closing around her, drawing her nearer.
Too near.
She wanted to do things to him, she realised. She wanted to kiss the nape of his neck, the middle of his throat, the corner of his mouth and the tops of his bruises. She wanted to draw out pain with a kiss, to place an enchantment over him, to prevent anything like this from ever happening again.
She wanted to kiss all of him, but if she started now, where would she stop? He was too injured to do more—
And she wanted more. She wanted everything .
“Viola,” he whispered.
It really did sound too pretty when he said it. Was that honestly the reason he’d avoided it for so long? It sounded like a song, like a line of poetry, rough, raw, unpolished—but poetry nonetheless.
Everything sounded like poetry when he said it.
“Say something else,” she begged him.
“Something else?”
“Another word. Something silly. Ugly.”
“Cankerous,” he said, not awaiting explanation. “Nincompoop. Drivel. Are any of these to your liking?”
“Your voice is too nice,” she whispered.
“Oh, is that so? What else about me is nice ?”
Viola’s hands drifted to his cheek. “This,” she said, and kissed the space there, “and this—” she kissed his collarbone, her hand splayed across his chest, “and this…”
She thumbed his stupid, perfect mouth, slightly parted, his breath against hers. His eyelids fanned shut, hers followed. Never mind that this was foolish, that this was stupid, that they had tried to hurt each other, that doing this could hurt each other more…
Not doing hurt the most. Not doing it was intolerable.
A sharp knock rapped at the door.
“Nicodemus Nightshade! Are you in the bath?”
Nicodemus groaned, pulling away. “I am.”
“You should be resting!”
“I assure you, I was very restful until a teenage necromancer interrupted me.”
“Is Viola with you?”
“Yes,” Viola replied.
There was a pause. “Are you two naked?”
“Dear gods!” Nico hissed, at the same as Viola cried, “No!”
Cordelia breathed an audible sigh of relief. “Good, because with Nico’s injuries, he really needs to refrain from any strenuous activity—”
“There is no strenuous activity!” Nico babbled. “No strenuous activity is happening here, at all!”
“Are you lying?”
“Lela,” Viola said swiftly, “I assure you, I am taking the utmost care of him. Perhaps you could go and make us some food?”
Cordelia paused again. “All right,” she said, “but I want him back in bed by the time I get upstairs.”
“That won’t be a problem.”
Her footsteps disappeared down the corridor .
Nicodemus groaned again, tilting back his head. “I hate her. I love her, but I also hate her.”
Viola laughed. “Come on,” she said, “let’s get you back into your bed.”