Chapter 11
Chapter eleven
The Aeternalis leads me up to the main deck, before crossing to a door at the back of the ship. I know before we enter it leads to the captain’s quarters—know by the ornate spiral of the carved designs, threading over the wood like lace.
Pan shoots me a mischievous grin before ducking inside, leaving me to a moment of indecision.
Could I somehow lock him in there and get the children off the ship?
While I’ve gotten far faster at using my magic over the past year, he’s had thousands to learn to wield his with precision.
He doesn’t seem to need the time I do to paint the imaginings in his mind.
They come effortlessly, like his magic is innate rather than something to control.
Anger rises in my chest, the dark shadow clawing up my throat and pooling along my tongue until I taste my own resentment—acidic and bitter.
I swallow it down, determined to be patient.
I can no longer afford to be the reckless woman who would ruin everything to save her own life.
There are so many more that depend on me now.
I have to be smart, and wait for the opportune moment, even if waiting feels like death.
I follow Pan through the door.
The moment I step over the threshold, my breath catches and the shadow balloons behind my ribs. Because everything about the captain’s quarters is darkly beautiful—everything is Niko.
The gleaming black floors, the luxurious velvet couches and plush throws; the paintings of distant seas and foreign skies hanging neatly in polished frames; the shelves lined with leatherbound books; the desk scattered with maps of the stars; the wall at the far side composed entirely of windows, that frame the way the sunlight sparkles over the violet waves; the bed tucked into a large alcove, seven stars carved into the ebony wood arching above it.
I choke on my grief as I drink in every detail, each one carefully considered. As everything always was with him.
Pan saunters to one of the sofas with an infuriating air of ownership.
He sinks into the cushions with an exaggerated sigh of relief, gaze fixed on me like he’s daring me to do the same.
His shadow remains standing behind him, its dark form looming like a malevolent cloud.
I feel the void of it even from this distance—the wretched hunger, the twisted sentience.
It feels as if the Aeternalis fed his shadow every dark want for a thousand years. Niko’s death had been sentient, but this is different, like teetering on the edge of a malignant hole—like if I step too close, I’ll be dragged into it.
Skin crawling, I rip my gaze away from the shadow to set flatly on Pan. “If you’re expecting me to pour that drink, you’ll be waiting awhile.” I lift my chin. “I’ll take a whiskey.”
He lets out a merry laugh that stands my hair on end. “I must say, Willa…you are not at all what I imagined.”
In his mouth, the words don’t feel like a compliment. Even as his eyes light up with indescribable hunger, and his entire body seems to vibrate with magic. Like he’s drinking something from me I haven’t willingly given.
“I get that a lot,” I mutter, clasping my hands in front of me to keep them from wandering to my weapon.
“I’m sure you do.” He leans back into cushion, crossing his legs as he studies me. “As the stories have gotten you all wrong.”
Alarm threads through me that I’ve done something warranting any story, good or bad. Even after a year as queen, attention feels like an ill-fitting glove—a garment made for someone else.
“What did you imagine? Some simpering queen who lives in fancy dresses and never gets her hands dirty?”
“Never.” The word is a velvet purr, and light sparks at his fingertips. Magic I wish didn’t look so much like my own. Less than a second later, a tumbler of whiskey appears in my hand.
“Only a vicious heart and a heathen spirit would call to my island. And your heart, Willa…” He makes a satisfied noise in the back of his throat that makes my blood go cold. “…is filled with the most delicious darkness…if only you’d allow it room to grow.”
As if in answer to his words, the darkness in my chest lurches so violently, I jerk. Whiskey slops out of the glass, splashing down my arm.
Pan smiles, conjuring his own glass and toasting to me. “You’ve felt it growing, haven’t you? Each time you use your magic, it becomes a little more…alive.”
I toss back what remains of the liquor, hoping the slight burn in my throat will warm the cold dread burrowing into my veins at his implication.
The Aeternalis speaks of the shadow in my chest like it is not a conjuring of my imagination, nor a passing symptom of my anger. He speaks of it like he knows it.
I smack my lips, feigning a calm I don’t feel. “I don’t know if the stories told you this, but patience has never been one of my strong suits. So why don’t you get to your fucking point before I die of boredom?”
His eyes spark, his mouth twisting. “Darlings do not associate with the rudimentary rule of death. We are life. We are possibility. We are infinite.”
His words hit me square in the chest, the blow hard enough to stutter my breath.
The Aeternalis speaks of dreams and death like one is the antithesis of the other—and once, I may have agreed.
But I’ve felt the heart of death beating in time with mine, the rightness of the rhythms. They are two ends of the same line, meeting at the beginning of a circle.
“Well, that’s awfully rich coming from you,” I snap. “Seems like you were pretty fucking associated, seeing as you were actually dead, and all.”
That skeletal rage flashes over his face, and I know now, the horror of it is not imagined. The shadow behind him jerks closer, the weight of its attention shifting to me.
“Sometimes gods must fall in order to remind their worshippers that death is nothing but a paltry parlor trick. To show them it has no power over their deity.”
He rises from the sofa, taking a few long strides toward where I still stand near the door. His shadow doesn’t move with him, its stationary poise eerie and watchful.
“That is why I wanted you to come tonight, cousin. I’ve been told you had a strong desire for power, one that drove you to sacrifice everything. But your place as queen has made you complacent. Given you a false sense of security.”
Ruling Letum has given me no security at all. It has only instilled a deep dread of when it will inevitably end.
Pan tilts his head in false pity. “What is one island when we are gods, Willa? What is one kingdom when we were made to rule universes?”
“I don’t want universes,” I reply levelly. “Letum is my home. It’s the only thing I need.”
“Your home?” His laugh rings through the cabin, merriment edged with something sinister. “Is it a home when its people gladly take your power to protect them, but would burn you at the stake for the same thing? Look no further than what they did to their own Creator.”
Pan’s eyes narrow in clever calculation. “Or, perhaps…you only need remember what happened to your poor usurper. He laid down his life, and they didn’t even bother to kneel at his grave before they bent the knee before a new queen.”
Rage rises in my chest, a swirling maelstrom of heat and ice.
“The kingdom loved the Carrion King in a way they never loved you. He called himself king because they called him ‘savior’,” I spit, shaking my head in disgust. “You will not stand here and pretend to understand the weight of their love the way he did…the way I do. You’ve only ever loved yourself. ”
My mouth twists in fury as I run my gaze over the Aeternalis.
The windblown tousle of his golden hair, the flush of his cheeks no matter the time of day, like he’s just come from some great adventure.
The mutilated skin and bone of his chest, evidence that death claimed Pan once. It can claim him again.
“I’ve been selfish for most of my life, but we are not the same, Peter. My selfishness was all to hold on to the little I had, to protect what’s mine. And you’ve vastly underestimated the lengths that desire drives me to.”
With a quick blink, I paint a sword into my hand.
Pan watches it eagerly, but even his excitement feels wrong—like everything beneath it has been scraped out.
His tongue darts out of his mouth, tracing his lower lip in anticipation and it takes everything in me not to cringe away. Instead, I step in closer.
Close enough to drag my blade across his throat.
His mouth goes slack in shock, his long lashes flickering as blood spurts from his artery.
I watch it with satisfaction, a feeling of warmth—of connection—spreading through my chest as the Aeternalis’ life source showers my hands and face.
Just as Niko once watched the Everlasting bleed, so will I.
A tribute to Letum’s true king. A man that never wanted the power, but wielded it so carefully. A ruler who held up his people, even as he himself drowned.
Pan sways, his hand going to his throat as his legs give out beneath him.
His shadow winks out of sight, and he topples to the ground with an unbecoming gurgle.
I have watched many men die over the centuries, and though the Aeternalis claims to be more than mortal, his death is no different than any other.
Glassy eyes, soiled pants. Entirely unremarkable.
I wipe the blade clean on my skirts, before turning toward the door.
It swings wide before I reach the handle, and my heart leaps into my throat at the silhouette shadowed in the threshold.
A small blonde boy, no older than five. Though his eyes are closed, tears track down his dirt-smeared cheeks as his little body trembles with deep sobs.
He lists erratically into the cabin, his hands flailing before him like he’s searching for something—a way out from the nightmare he’s trapped in.