Chapter 16
Chapter sixteen
She is the most beautiful, and the most terrible, thing I’ve ever seen.
A beauty that sundered my heart the moment I laid eyes on her again, for somehow, even the vibrancy of my daydreams hadn’t come close to the truth of her. The moment she appeared in the Crocodile, I hadn’t been able to breathe. Hadn’t been able to think.
Hadn’t been able to do anything but reach for her.
I’d wanted to fall to my knees at her feet; to confess every sin, every thought, every desperate longing I’ve had in our time apart. I wanted to tell her the whole goddamn truth, starting with why I’d laid down and died when I promised never to leave her.
But the words all evaporated along my tongue the moment I noticed the dark shadow looming behind her.
Feeding off her self-hatred and shame and selfishness, poised at her throat, waiting for the moment she tries to stray too far.
I felt the hunger of its stare, like it was daring me to try and sever their connection; daring me to name its existence and give it a reason to devour Willa whole.
Malevolent gloating pours from its void as it wraps Willa in its dark embrace. Shadows wash over her skin; pour from her mouth; leak from her tear ducts. Black, but not the abiding shade of my ribbons. It is the muddled grays of misery and torment, brackish and slimy.
The shadow shudders in grotesque pleasure, believing it has won.
But the darkness it whispers in Willa’s ear will never pierce deep enough, to the places I’m embedded.
For I am in the shape of her bones, in the very colors of her soul, just as she is forever in mine.
No matter how the shadow tries, it will never be able to touch that which is immutable.
And as I told Willa—death is covetous. It does not share. Not even with darkness.
In a flash, my ribbons dart toward her, lashing around her wrists like macabre chains.
At the first touch of my death, the malignant shadow screams, the sound somehow both a whisper and piercingly loud.
I wrap a ribbon around her torso, while another binds her legs, pulling my death taut even as she thrashes in fury.
When she is bound and immobile, the shadow dives into her chest with a terrible shriek. It uses her skin as a shield from my death, and there is no way for me to follow it. To dig it out without doing irreparable damage.
I wind another ribbon gently around Willa’s throat, laughing at the furious way she fights against her binds. She gnashes her teeth with a screech of frustration and I laugh harder, pleased that no matter the ruin between us, Willa will never cede to me.
Her fight is like a breath of fresh air expanding in my lungs. I’d almost forgotten what it felt like to be looked at without fear.
“Let me go, you necrotic asshole!” she shrieks.
“What’s wrong, Darling?” I purr, drinking in how prettily her skin flushes beneath my death. Pure void against such a multitude of color. “Forgive me if the time apart has tainted my memory, but as I recall, you used to enjoy being lashed and leashed.”
I run my tongue lasciviously over my upper lip. Willa’s lips peel back in a vicious snarl, tendrils of caramel hair falling in front of eyes. Then she goes entirely still, her sudden compliance setting my teeth on edge far more than her fight.
Willa doesn’t relent, which can only mean that shadow inside her is scheming. I can almost feel it clawing at the inside of her skin, railing against the cage of her ribs in fury. Desperate to feed. To destroy.
Cocking my head, I run my gaze lazily down the length of her. “I’d almost forgotten how pretty you look tied up in my death.”
A boldfaced lie. Every detail of Willa—from the bob of her throat to the way she takes her tea—remains in vivid form in my memory.
But the lie serves its purpose, familiar rage sparking over her expression.
I want to bathe in the light of its fire, for it is a familiar comfort on the otherwise foreign landscape of her face.
For while she is still undeniably beautiful, there is something different about the edges of her. The greens and golds of her eyes are clouded by shades of gray, like a film has been left to fester over the irises, sapping their usual vibrancy.
As I take her in, I realize it isn’t just her eyes—all of Willa appears dimmer somehow. Like she’s been fed upon and drained, bit by bit.
Exactly as my brother said would happen.
Willa tilts her head, her eyes narrowing viciously at my small frown. “What’s wrong, Corpsey?”
I flinch, unprepared for the way her husky voice slides down my spine like a caress. Star above, I missed it, all of it—even that infernal fucking name.
Willa’s gaze is as sharp as the edge of a sword. “All your incessant talk of thriving in the darkness, and now you can’t stand the sight of mine?”
“That darkness,” I say slowly, watching the shadow rise behind her eyes, “is not yours, Darling.”
At my words, the shadow thrashes against my death’s hold.
It doesn’t like to be spoken of—doesn’t like when I allude to its foreign nature.
It is a virus eating away at the truest parts of her, and it has wielded Willa’s guilt and shame like weapons.
It has sliced through her chest, planted itself behind her heart like it has always been there.
But I know the landscape of Willa’s heart better than I know my own. I know the warm touch of her rage and the softer spaces it protects.
“You don’t know anything about what’s mine anymore.” She laughs, a hollow sound that is nothing like the one that’s woven through my dreams. “You’ve been gone for a year. Things change.”
Her words are bitter and aching and they tug a swell of emotions up into my throat.
I want to take Willa in my arms and shake her; I want to confess every terrible thing I’ve done in the past year and every terrible thing done to me; I want to pin her to the ground and crush her body beneath mine, mark that flawless skin with my teeth and my hands in punishment for daring to send me away; I want to bury myself inside her in worship and apology for giving her a reason to do it.
But I only grit my teeth, trapping a cry in my mouth as I’m inundated in waves of agony.
There will be a time to address the wreckage that lay between Willa and I, but it isn’t now.
Not when I cannot bear my magic for more than a few moments, weakened as I am by the months without it.
Not when that ominous shadow lies in wait for the moment the pain overcomes me, and escapes to destroy us both.
“Things may change,” I tell her, ignoring the exhaustion heavy in my limbs as I pull my ribbons tighter against her skin. “But not that which endures.”
Something softens in Willa’s gaze. It is only a moment, but a moment is all I need to know she is not too far gone. My words conjure a memory, a deep hope we’d once both held onto as if it were the only anchor in the world.
A moment later, the softness disappears, lost to the shadow rearing up like I’ve attacked.
It churns behind her eyes like an angry storm.
Willa’s anger has always been intimate, but this anger is righteous, a fury that feeds on the vulnerable.
It is not born of preservation, but predation, spawned in the darkest of holes.
Willa lets out a feral shriek of pain, and my heart leaps into my throat as the shadow lashes against the inside of her skin with increasing furor.
A pressure that cannot abate with my death wrapped around it, it builds and builds until she screams. The will-o-wisps floating in the empty sockets of the island scatter, and for a moment, it is not the island that appears skeletal, but Willa.
A blink, and the image is gone, but it remains long enough for an icy dread to seize my heart, because I’ve seen someone look like that before.
When I knelt before the Aeternalis’ throne, my knees stuck to the rock by the tackiness of my own blood.
“Niko,” Willa moans, the name enough to undo me entirely. “It hurts. You have to let me go.”
My fingers spasm, and my jaw locks as I fight to keep hold of my magic. The shadow pounds and I hate myself for not being strong enough to stop it—for not being able to shield her from the darkness. Black edges my vision, and I know I’m running out of time.
“Never,” I snarl, a lethal vow. Gritting my teeth, I pull my ribbons as tight as I can and shove Willa into the lake.
And then I run.
Marina is waiting for me when I slink up the shore. Her mouth thins in distaste as she takes in the bedraggled state of me, her lips nearly disappearing when my feet slip, and I tumble face-first into the sand.
My body aches and nausea clenches my stomach in an iron vise. Recoating my tongue with saliva, I crawl toward her, sea-salt and regret grating between my teeth.
How did it go? she asks, her eyes drifting to the sudden barrage of shadows billowing from the mouth of the cave.
Each breath feels like needles have embedded themselves in my lungs. I curl into myself, bracing my hands on my knees and willing myself to stay conscious.
I have not used magic at all since my arrival in Letum, and though the memory of agony is ingrained in me, memory does not hold weight. I am unaccustomed to the heft of it, my bones brittle, my muscles atrophied beneath the pressure.
And though I am ruined beyond measure, the absurd urge to abandon all reason and dart back into the Crocodile rages through me. I hate myself for leaving Willa alone, but I know better than anyone: you cannot save someone from their own darkness, no matter how you may wish to.
Swallowing the sand in my mouth, I climb gingerly to my feet. “About as expected.”
The corner of Marina’s mouth twitches as more shadows erupt from the from the cave, skittering across the lagoon before dissipating over the sea. A year on the mainland hasn’t hindered your ability to piss off females.
“I’m afraid that talent is innate, and isn’t limited to women,” I reply. My voice is hoarse, the syllables as slurred and messy as my thoughts. I force another icy breath into my lungs, shuddering as my death crawls over my chest. “We need to get out of here before Willa makes it out of the lake.”
Marina’s eyebrows leap up her forehead. The lake?
I wave off her questions irritably, and motion for her to lead the way.
She shoots me a curious look, but begins up the sand toward the trees.
When I take a step to follow, my death wraps tightly around my ribs, nearly yanking me backward into the tide.
My heartbeat skitters and agony sears through my body, cold and sharp.
Releasing a strangled groan, I struggle to trap the ribbons close; to wind them around my body and prevent them from dragging me back into the belly of the Crocodile.
Mine, mine, mine.
Their possession pulses through me alongside the pain, an abiding compulsion that steals my breath.
It goes against the nature of death to surrender what is ours—to not storm back into the cave and steal Willa away from that aberration—but I’ve become learned in patience over the centuries.
There are things that must be done before I can reclaim what I’ve lost. Strength to be regained and schemes to plan.
I’d only come to the heart of the island tonight to see for myself how true Dawson’s prediction was. Now that I know the extent of what’s been taken from Willa—and how much more there is for her to lose—determination has been branded into my dead heart.
Wendy was right. I don’t care if I cause another plague; I don’t care if I suck the entire universe into a black fucking hole—I’ll take back the kingdom if it kills me. I’ll shred myself apart to take back what’s been stolen. Believe me.
I’d said it as a sacred vow. A promise to Willa that I will never leave her to her shadow. A reminder that I know what it costs her, and she will never have to pay it alone again.
My teeth clack together and my joints scream in protest as I call my death back to me. The ribbons crawl up my arms, circle my throat. They slither over my chest and rake over my skin until each of my nerves is raw.
I squeeze my eyes shut and try to remember to savor the pain for it means I have made it. After a year of scraping, I exist once again in the same world as Willa Darling, and that alone, is blessing enough.
A moment later, I force my feet forward.
One feeble step, and then another, until I find the shade of the forest. Flowers wither beneath my bare feet, and will-o-wisps scatter up into the dark canopy.
For so long, I couldn’t stand the feel of death against my skin, but now, I thank the star above for that, too.
Death is who I am—who I need to be to protect what’s mine, for death is an end. The only end.
Marina hurries after me, her curious gaze burning at the back of my neck. When I stride past the nearest tunnel leading into the Hollows, she shoots me a suspicious glance.
I take it you’re not going back to rest.
It isn’t a question so much as a statement of fact, so I don’t bother to answer.
I slip past her once more, glacial fury burning in my chest. I will rip the Aeternalis’ spine from his body for daring to sully what is mine.
I was merciful in granting him the relief of death once; I will not grant it again.
I will make him beg and plead for the very thing he’s always feared. I will dangle it out of his reach, over and over. I will slice open his chest and fill the cavity with every bit of the pain he’s bestowed throughout the centuries until his organs rot and slide from his body.
I do not forgive. I do not forget. I will always burn with it.
Marina steps in front of me once more, and I’m forced to stop short to keep from bumping into her and sending her into the afterlife.
She throws a haughty hand on her hip. Where are you going?
“To go get my fucking ship.”