Chapter 53
Chapter fifty-three
Death is easy.
There is no pain in death, as there is in life—that is how I know I’ve died.
The burning of my nerves, the constant scrape of my bones, the tearing of my skin. All of it is gone.
When I was here before, I’d been at peace believing I’d given Willa what she wanted.
There is no peace now, because I am what Willa needs.
I thrash against the darkness; I gnash my teeth and dig my claws against it, determined to fight my way back to her just as I promised.
There is no world, no eternity, where we are not together.
I will crawl back to her until my knees are bloodied—until my soul gives out.
I will find my way through the endless sprawl of time, even if I have to burn through the entire universe.
I will bend death to my command, just as I always have. King of Carrion.
Like I’ve willed it into existence, a small rhythm flutters near my chest. Softly, at first. Then, stronger—a heartbeat.
Not mine, but hers.
I would recognize it anywhere, a cadence more poignant than any song in any world. And if I can feel the pulse of Willa for eternity, perhaps death isn’t so terrible after all.
“Niko.”
My name in her rasping voice wakes my dead heart. Or maybe I simply dream the tears springing to my eyes; dream of the warmth seeping through the ice I’m encased in; dream of the scent of her hair drifting over me.
Do the dead dream as vibrantly as the living?
When I open my eyes to find Willa’s radiant face hovering over me, I realize with certainty death has not come for me. For though they may dream, the dead do not feel as I do now:
Like the universe begins and ends at the touch of her body against mine. Like the synchronous beat of our hearts is enough to power the stars themselves.
I wrap her in my arms, listening to the melody of her heartbeat.
And then the tears come, the sobs full-bodied and consuming. Because there is no pain when I hold her.
My muscles feel strong; there is no ache in my joints.
My lungs expand in my chest, and my ribs don’t feel bruised.
My death threads through the air in dark spirals above us, and I stare up at it in vague wonder because though I can feel its power, it does not pull at my heart or slice through my skin.
For the first time in three centuries, my death does not need.
Willa runs her hands frantically over my body, her panicked gaze searching mine like she’s terrified I’ll collapse at any moment. “How are you feeling?” she asks, her voice tight with worry.
“Willa.” I say her name like a breath of air.
Like a prayer of the most sacred divine.
Just the shape of it on my tongue is comforting, and the last of my disquiet slips away.
For we are anchored to a land of dreams and death, where even the wildest imaginings have the possibility of coming true. And she—she is mine.
“How is your pain, Niko?” Willa demands, her fear for me bubbling into irritation.
I cock a grin. “Pain…” The word feels foreign on my tongue, and her eyes widen in alarm, like she believes I’ve lost my mind. “There is no pain when you are near, Darling.”
I tell her the same words I had a year ago, back when they’d been a wish, instead of a truth.
In all my years of suffering, even in my wildest desperation—I was never able to dream of the relief I feel now.
Never able to conceive the weightless, airy feel of it, nor the newfound energy pulsing through me in the absence of it.
I climb to my feet, pulling Willa with me. I wrap my body around hers, burying my face in her hair and breathing as deeply as I please with no rattle in my lungs.
“How are you?” I whisper into the juncture of her throat, before pulling back to cradle her face. I search her gaze, waiting for the rise of the malignant void—but I find only Willa. No shadows. No emptiness. Just her.
And I want to fall to my knees, both as king and as a man, in gratitude.
“I feel like myself again. I feel…” she pauses, searching for the right word. “…whole.” Her eyes shine with her own tears, as she brushes mine away. “Thank you, Niko. Thank you for—"
I kiss her, sweeping the words away with my tongue. We have both sacrificed so much, and in each, we’ve been given so much more. She is the first dream of my dead soul, and as her tears mingle with mine, the light of it blooms in my dark heart.
“Willa…” I whisper, her name nearly lost as I glance around the heart of the island.
“I know, Corpsey. We need to go before there’s nothing left to return to.”
“No,” I bite out, gripping her chin between my fingers and wrenching her gaze away to the walls of the cavern. “Look.”
She does, and I watch the wonder light her expression from the inside out. Wonder I feel in my renewed ties to the island—in the tie of my heart to the universe itself.
Because the heart of the Letum—a heart that has been empty for as long as I’ve been alive—is full.
Dreams of every kind dance along the cavern walls, their sparkle illuminating and warming the cave. They swim through the water and light through the air—dreams of a hopeful future, dreams of want and desire. Dreams of fear and anxiety. Of heartbreak and healing.
They are terrifying and beautiful and dark and decadent and bright. They are the deepest hopes of humanity and their most shameful desires.
They are the best and worst in all of us, and as I watch them overflow the heart of the island, I overflow with the same. Dread. Hope. Light. Dark.
Creation and death.
All the sacred things that make existence. The infinite dust in the seven stars I tattooed on Willa’s back, now made concrete.
The island was never meant to be the Aeternalis’. It was meant to belong to every heart that’s ever dreamed.
Silent tears pour down Willa’s cheeks as she takes in the dreams of the universe. The dreams she saved through her brokenness.
“Do you feel it?” she whispers. “The wards. They aren’t mine anymore.” She turns to me, joy and sorrow and everything in between etched in the lines of her expression. “They no longer belong just to the Darlings. They belong to everyone.”
I reach for her, because reaching for her has always been the most natural thing in the world; because her hand in mine has always been a grounding force, even when the world as we know it upends.
“Do you know what this means, Niko?” Her voice is watery and jubilant, and I want to bottle up the sound and drink it. “It means anyone who feels desperate, anyone who needs hope…anyone who needs the light of a dream…they can find the island now.”
I know she is thinking of Celie; of the desperate little girl who’d lost all hope. Of Zenni, and the thousands of others lost. But I am thinking of Willa, of me, of Sam, of Marina—of all those who have found what they needed in the kingdom of death and dreams. And how blessed we are for it.
“Let’s go make sure there’s something left for them to come to, Darling.”
When Willa smiles, it is not bright nor hopeful. It is devastating; it is vengeful. And it is exactly why I love her. The island may belong to everyone now, but her fierce heart—the one made of claws and weapons—is what will safeguard it against any who would try to take as theirs again.
Her skin emanates starlight—deadly if one were to gaze upon its full power.
Death slides over my wrists and skin, spirals in the air above my head.
The pain is still there when I reach for my magic, but there is no bitterness as I welcome it to my skin.
As I told Willa before, taking lives should hurt.
But now that my body is no longer a wasted shell, now that I feel strong and rested, I am able to bear the weight of sacrifice.
“Should I be terrified of whatever idea is taking shape in that wicked mind of yours?”
Willa’s smile grows. “You said we’ll need my nightmares. I think it’s time we brought them to life.”