Chapter 5
Chapter five
The winter wind whispers of change as I step out of the carriage into the shadows of the Grove, the breeze heavier against my skin than it’s been all year. It chafes uncomfortably along the back of my neck, its words scraping like sharp nails: he’s home, he’s home, he’s home.
Swallowing roughly, I brush it away and sweep aside the curtain of vines draping the borders of the tree-city.
My skin feels too tight on my bones. Maybe the lingering echo of the anxiety I siphoned from Willa, or maybe it’s the unsettled current of the wind.
Or it has nothing to do with either of those things, and more to do with the fact I’m about to barge into Adira’s home unannounced when she’s made it clear I’m not welcome.
Coward, the wind sings in my ear.
I wave it off with a scowl, ducking down the forest path toward the Nyawa.
The eyes of the Silva Lucai follow me, but none step from the shadows.
I speed up, slightly heartened, because at the very least, the Princess of the Wilds hasn’t ordered me attacked on site, which I’ve known her to do on several occasions.
If she had, her warriors would already have me pinned to a tree by one of their spears.
As natural death has made its long-awaited return to Letum, I’m thankful for Adira’s uncharacteristic restraint.
The city is quiet above me, most of the Grove-dwellers having turned in hours before, content in the safety of their treehouses.
None know of the ancient danger lurking somewhere beyond their boughs—a danger whose true horrors have been muted with time.
For though Dawson’s Strayed were monstrous indeed, their reign of terror was incomparable to the atrocities committed under the rule of the Aeternalis.
At nine years old, I’d been one of the oldest to come to Somnya.
As an orphan in the poorest corner of London, I’d been destined for a life of inhaling fumes in a workhouse until one night, a black-haired boy appeared outside the orphanage window.
Most children were lured to the land of dreams by the promise of adventure, but it was the way the boy spoke of family that enticed me.
Later, I’d learn the reason the Aeternalis preferred younger children and orphans.
None of us had any idea what true family felt like, so he was able to twist it however he pleased.
I’d been an easy target, a lonely boy looking to fill the gaping wound of abandonment in my heart with whatever scraps I was offered.
Centuries later, the wound remains, no matter how I’ve tried to fill it with the emotions I siphon from others.
With a sigh, I begin up the spiraling stairs of the soul-tree, attempting to corral my thoughts back to the present.
As I climb higher, this proves impossible, the heavy sound of my footfalls in the silence teasing more memories to the surface.
Memories of when I’d make the trip up this tree nearly every night, chest filled with hope and heart filled with a wild love that made me feel like I could float to the utmost branch.
Shamefully, both of those things still exist inside me two centuries later, but they are no longer light. They are sharply edged; muddied by the pain of living as most things are.
“Sam,” Addy’s voice whispers from the deck above.
She stands at the top of the stairs, the curtain of her hair haloed by the iridescent light of the moss and the will-o-wisps tangled between the inky strands.
Even in the dark, her gray eyes churn like a storm born between the stars, and despite my earlier resignations that this visit is purely in the best interest of the kingdom, my heart lurches at the sight.
Her towering above me beckons images of the many times I’ve been on my knees before her, none of which bear thinking about if I intend to maintain my sanity.
When I’d buried my tongue inside her until she called out to the sky above; when I’d fallen before her and begged her to let me love her—to let me stay.
I clear my throat, my face heating. I should be more adept at governing my thoughts, but even after all this time, it seems the simple sight of her sends them careening wildly out of my control.
“I’m sorry to show up in the middle of the night like this,” I begin awkwardly. I climb the last few steps to the sprawling porch of the treehouse, hoping to the star above Adira hasn’t been listening to the ridiculous thoughts ricochet through my head.
“I’ve been waiting for you to come to me.”
Her words stall the breath in my lungs, and for a long moment, I just stare at her stupidly.
“I—you have?”
I’m certain I’ve misheard. Adira has made it clear since the death of dreams that I am only welcome in the Grove on occasions of urgency, though I’d be lying if I said I haven’t thought about whether she’s changed her mind since the sun rose on Letum; lying if I said I haven’t thought about running over here and stealing her away like the true pirate I am.
But it has only ever been a mad fantasy. The new beginning for the island does not signify a new start for us. Letum may be healing, but the scar tissue between Adira and I is thick and gnarled.
She tilts her head curiously. “Of course. The wild has been abuzz all day with rumors that the king has returned. Is it true, Sam? Has Niko come home?”
The spark of hope in my chest is snuffed out, even as Adira’s hope winds around me. The bright color of candied treats, and just as sweet along my tongue.
“Come,” I tell her softly, stretching my fingers wide against my thigh to keep from taking her hand. “This is a conversation that requires tea.”
Adira’s brow furrows curiously, but she follows me inside the house without further question.
I duck into her kitchen to fill the kettle, while she curls up on the couch.
I set the water on and bend to pull her favorite mug from the cabinet next to the stove.
Feet tucked beneath her, Adira watches with an odd expression.
It is soft, and somewhat fearful, like I’ve somehow stripped her bare from all the way over here.
My magic unfurls toward her, eager to decode the meaning of that look, but I ball it in my chest and focus on the comforting routine of the task at hand.
A few minutes later, I set two cups of tea on the table beside the couch and lower myself down beside her.
Adira takes a delicate sip and I do the same, wishing suddenly it was something stronger than tea—something to slake the heat of anxiety climbing my throat.
Perhaps the feeling isn’t simply the lingering effects of Willa’s despair—perhaps it’s my own simmering silently beneath the surface.
I’ve never been very good at sorting through what’s mine and what belongs to someone else, the emotions always tangled together. But as I examine this one, it feels innate—an intimate fear, filled with things that might be mine.
“So,” Adira begins, gazing at me over the rim of her mug. “He found a way through the closed wards after all. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. If anyone is stubborn enough to twist the fabric of reality to fit his own desires, it’s Niko.”
I open my mouth to respond, but Adira continues, “This only proves I was right about him, you know.”
“What do you mean?”
“He doesn’t know how to live without his pain. I’ve told you for years, no matter how much of it you try to shoulder for him, he will always seek out more.”
I level a breath, her words digging beneath my skin, threatening to dredge up two centuries worth of arguments between us. Instead, I reply flatly, “It isn’t Niko who’s returned.”
Though the words are soft and measured, Addy rocks back like I’ve physically struck her. Her eyes go wide, the storm gray simmering in the manner that means she’s losing her grip on her magic. A moment later, my thoughts filter into hers, spiraling through the wild depths of her mind.
I know the moment she understands what has happened. There is a pulsing, breathless change in the air around her. Her shock is sharp zap against my skin, an electric purple that bursts behind my eyes. It tastes of static; of smoke.
My magic unspools from behind my heart in warm, thick tendrils—drawn to her fear, her despair.
I hold my breath and pull it back, stuffing it down into my chest even as it licks restlessly up my ribs.
My power has always been enamored by the broken things—drawn to the sharp edges and deep wounds—but Addy is different, because it isn’t only the magic wanting to soothe her hurts.
It’s my own soul-deep need. Her pain causes mine, and it has nothing to do with the supernatural, and everything to do with the fact my heart still beats only for her.
But Adira wants neither my heart, nor my magic, so I keep them both to myself.
“Peter is back?” Her eyes are wide and pleading, like she’s waiting for me to tell her the things she read in my mind are wrong. “It can’t be, Sam.”
Her voice is no longer raspy and warm, but brittle. Her hands are frozen around her mug, fingertips white from how firmly they press into the ceramic. “How can he be back?”
She shakes her head, having already read my suspicions of how all of this came to be in my thoughts. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—I shouldn’t have intruded like that. I lost control.”
“You don’t need to apologize, Addy. You know I’ve never minded you in my thoughts.”
The truth is, she is always there regardless of her magic, but I have enough good sense to keep this to myself.
She nods, but her magic retreats from my mind anyway, leaving a hollow feeling behind. She sits up straighter, like the small action serves to pull her out of the past and ground her back to the present. “Willa sent you, didn’t she?”