Chapter 22 #2
He knows the person who loves him most has the power to end him, but does he understand my ribbons cannot steal his death, no matter how they wish to? The Darlings cannot be killed by magic, only by the hand of the one who loves them truly. Willa’s imperviousness to my magic is proof enough.
I don’t correct his misassumption. Instead, I allow my ribbons to draw closer and watch in delight as he vibrates with rage—with fear.
My death shudders in pleasure as I drink it in with relish, as I remember the first time I realized the Everlasting feared me.
I was ten years old, kneeling before his throne in a pool of my own blood, knees scraped raw by the stone of the Hollow City.
The Aeternalis had ordered me punished because I’d disappointed him again.
He was an ancient god—the most powerful being in the universe—and so it was inevitable for us mere mortals to fail him.
But I seemed to fail him more than most.
By that point, I’d been on my knees more nights than not, and I was accustomed to the loud jeers of the Strayed echoing from the stone.
The Everlasting considered it a deepest insolence to remain silent when others were tortured, as all of his decisions were to be met with the greatest excitement.
But even if he had not encouraged them, the others would have cheered.
They could not touch me, nor take the vengeance they so often bestowed on one another.
My skin was deadly, and though this made life in the Hollows lonely, it also granted me the unique privilege of escaping most things unscathed.
I could not blame the other Strayed for their hatred of me.
So, when the Aeternalis brought me before him night after night, it was not the other children’s excitement that made me feel like crying.
It was my own failure to earn the love the Aeternalis so easily bestowed on others.
Those like Marina, the pixie who fluttered behind the throne, stone-faced and ethereal as she stared down at me.
Those like my brother Dawson, who brought the glass-laced whip down over my back with an unforgiving crack.
Lash after lash, I stared up into the green of the Aeternalis’ eyes.
The Creator always appreciated strength, but he didn’t appear to appreciate mine.
I never made a sound during my punishments.
I never even flinched, which only added to the rest of the Strayed’s dislike.
They did not understand that no punishment was worse than the pain I endured daily to hold the curse of my death close to my heart.
Another lash, and then another. My back was raw, skin peeled back from muscle, hanging in grotesque slices, and still, I did not cry out. The cacophony of the Strayed began to shift, the sound no longer angry and clanging but—awed.
Hatred flashed like lightning in the Everlasting’s eyes. Hatred and something else I couldn’t place as he rose quickly to his feet, and snapped, “Enough.”
I thought it was a mercy; I thought maybe I’d finally proven my worth to him. It wasn’t until years later, I understood.
I’d scared the most powerful being in the universe because pain did not control me. Because he could not control me.
As I meet his gaze now, I see the same thing in his eyes. The deep-rooted fear of abandonment that binds his simultaneous repulsion and obsession with death.
“I brought you to the land of dreams, Nikolas. I freed you from a lifetime of mediocrity and brought you to a world that gifted you unprecedented power. I gave you a family, I gave you an adventure. You should be on your knees before me.” He tilts his head, the corners of his mouth turned down in disapproval.
“Your insolence and arrogance have always been your downfall. They will be again.”
Ice cold rage surges beneath my skin, the sharp and jagged edges carved by a childhood of wanting. Rising to my feet, I snarl, “You gave me nothing.”
“I gave you everything.” His shadow grows so large, darkness seeps over each of the walls and creeps over the ceiling. “Get on your knees before your Creator, or I will take everything I’ve gifted you, Nikolas. Piece by piece.”
I pull the pistol from my waistband and level it at his heart. The Aeternalis’ eyes fall to the gun, as both of us wonder the same thing:
Do I still love him truly enough to end him again?
“I was born with death in my heart, Peter. You have no claim to my power.” I thumb the hammer back with a metallic click.
“I am the fucking King of Carrion. Of this realm and the wards to every other. I get on my knees for no one. And you have ten seconds to get off my fucking ship, before I pull the trigger and find out just how much love remains in this decayed heart.”
The air shimmers angrily around him, like it’s taking everything he has to keep his magic from bursting from him. But his eyes narrow in that clever manner of his, his sudden calculation far more bone-chilling than any threat of violence.
“From what your brother has told me, that isn’t quite true,” his voice is calm once more. “There is one who’s brought you to your knees.” His eyes glint. “Over and over, if the stories are to be believed. And we both know, truth lies at the center of every tale, no matter how fantastical.”
My heart ratchets higher in my chest to flail against the cage of my ribs, even as I school my face into cold indifference.
“You think one must be a Darling to be ruined by love?” He laughs, the merry sound so at odds with the skeletal mask he wears. “You wear your biggest weakness outside of yourself, Nikolas.”
Peter licks his lips, and I dig my fingers into my thighs to keep from lunging for him; to keep from tearing out his throat, no matter whether it kills him or not. “I will admit, you were always the most complex of my kin. So impervious to pain, you wore it like some kind of armor.”
His magic pulses in his chest, and with an irreverent wave of his hand, an image of Willa appears between us.
I know it is only an echo—know, because no matter how active Peter’s imagination, even it cannot come close to recreating the brilliance of Willa’s colors—but the sight of her unsettles me all the same.
“But now…now you are so easy to disarm. Her ruin will be yours, and I will revel in the unraveling.”
Willa’s echo stares through me, bleak and defeated. A waif of herself, drained of everything she is.
“I don’t even need my magic to keep Willa with me for eternity, as I have wound her shame so tightly around her, she doesn’t even feel the pieces of her humanity she gives up day after day.
She’s already so…close.” He hums the word with a pleasure that sends bile barreling up my throat.
“So close to laying herself down before me, and giving me everything she thinks she doesn’t deserve. ”
My hand spasms, the painful tremor upending the barrel of the revolver. Agony slices through me as my death shreds through the air, yanking on my heart.
“Soon, she will be nothing…nothing but mine to play with. To torture. To love. And you, King of Rot…I will keep you alive to witness how I fill every bit of her emptiness.”
He tsks in false pity, stepping behind the false Willa and pressing himself against her with relish. I memorize the way it looks, imprinting it behind my heart where all my deepest revenges live.
I do not forgive. I do not forget. I will always burn with it.
I will burn him with it, too. Even if it takes me an eternity. Even if it ruins world after world. I will tear him apart piece by piece.
He licks the side of Willa’s throat. “How foolish of you to believe you could hold on to anything alive, when death has no companion. You began this world alone and so you will remain. For eternity.”
Before I can respond, Peter’s eyes suddenly roll backward. His body loosens at once, like his bones have turned to jelly, and he falls to the floor with an ungraceful thwump. The ghost of Willa winks out, along with his malevolent shadow.
I blink at his unconscious form stupidly for a few long seconds, when a familiar voice says, “Star above, I forgot how unbearable his affinity for hearing his own voice is.”
I whip around to find Sam shadowed in the doorway. His shoulders are nearly as wide as the frame, and the whites of his teeth glow in the dim light as he shoots me a grin. “Sorry to interrupt, sir. But you know how I hate overblown monologues.”
There is no thought to the way I move toward Sam, nearly tripping over Peter’s body in my haste.
My ribbons spread wide in the air above me as I grip my friend’s shoulders with gloved hands, and squeeze as tightly as I can.
It is all I can do to convey how full my heart feels at his nearness; all I can manage, to impart just how much I missed his presence.
Suddenly, I hate my magic so fiercely I think I’ll combust with it, for it isn’t fair the universe gave me someone like Sam but stole my ability to embrace him; to reassure the panic and fear and loneliness of the last few months; to express what it means to me that he is always here in my worst moments.
But Sam understands me without words or touch, just as he always has. He dips his head, his deep brown eyes shining. “I missed you, too.”
For a brief, beautiful moment, I inhale a breath and there is no pain. My lungs expand like there is no weight pressing against them; no burden squeezing them like a vise.
“How did you know I was back?” I ask, my voice uneven with emotion.
He shrugs. “I read you all over Willa.”
“Ah.”
“Not that I needed to. No one else would be stupid enough to push her into a lake.”
“I seem to do a lot of stupid things when I’m near her.”
Sam chuckles, striding past me to nod at the Aeternalis’ unconscious form. “I take it you can’t kill him again.”
My mouth twists in annoyance. “What would give you that impression, Sammy?”
“The lack of his bloating corpse was my first hint,” he replies dryly. “What do you want to do with him?”
Sam’s magic brushes against me, like its drawn to the unsettled beat of my heart and the sharp prick of my skin.
“Tie him up and keelhaul him. Then sink him in the sea. Recovering should keep him occupied for at least a few days, while I figure out how to kill him permanently.”
I expect Sam’s dissension for the barbarity of the order, but he only nods. Perhaps Sam’s empathy only extends to those who possess the capability themselves.
“Consider it done, sir.” He tilts his head, a knowing smile toying at the corner of his lips that sends a wave of both agitation and appreciation washing over through me. “And where are you going?”
I don’t tell him the entire truth: that Pan’s words dug beneath my skin just as he meant them to, leaving behind an icy fear that won’t abate.
I only reply, “To make sure the kingdom’s affairs are in order.”