Chapter 57
Chapter fifty-seven
A few months later
Asoft melody drifts from the atrium, and I grin, following it through our chambers to where Niko leans over the grand piano.
The sight of him leaves me as breathless as it had the first time I saw him in the throne room of the Lunaedon.
Thick ebony curls tumble over his forehead as his fingers dance over the keys, coaxing a beautifully haunting song from the instrument.
His eyes are closed as if he needs no music, only the tempo of his own heart.
For a long moment, I simply watch him in wonder—the grace with which his body sways; the sensuous writhing of his death in the air; the lines of the song mirrored in the movements.
The music ends on a hopeful crescendo, that arrogant smirk already tugging at the corner of his mouth as he opens his eyes. “Watching me from the shadows, are we, Darling? Who’s the creep now?”
I bite back my laugh, settling instead for a mischievous hum as I slink into the atrium.
The stone trees sparkle beneath the brilliant Letum sky, the candles tucked into their boughs, and trailing along their hanging vines, casting the atrium in a soft glow.
“Not watching. Just inelegantly hovering.”
Now, it’s Niko’s turn to laugh. “I see we aren’t letting that go any time soon.”
“I don’t let anything go, Corpsey.”
He grins, opening his arms. I settle myself on his lap, leaning into him until all I breathe is sandalwood and ice. He runs his fingers over my bare arms, the gentle touch sending shivers scattering over my skin, as he nuzzles into the juncture of my throat and shoulder.
“You look ravishing tonight,” he purrs, sliding his hands over the beaded bodice of my dress. “Like a dream come to life.”
Indeed, I spent more time than usual getting ready in preparation for our first Dreaming’s Eve as king and queen.
The dress, in particular, had taken days to paint just right.
The silk is the exact shades of indigo and violet as the Letum sky, the beading a whorling homage to the constellations.
The back hangs open, the soft fabric creating a flowing a frame for the tattoo of our story.
“It has pockets,” I tell Niko proudly.
“For weapons or cutlery?”
“Both.” I roll my eyes. “Obviously.”
His death slithers up the bare skin of my back, and I wiggle in his lap.
“You don’t look bad yourself,” I admit.
I feel his smile against my throat. “There’s no need to bore us both with simple facts, as everyone knows I am always radiant.”
I hit him half-heartedly in the arm, laughter bubbling loudly from me as he tackles me to the piano bench to shower me in kisses.
Laughter that once felt so foreign in my chest, seems to flow freely these days, like its own sort of magic.
Smiles that had once felt heavy and ruined, now glow between us brighter than the second star, because in healing the island, we have begun to heal ourselves.
It is still messy, as healing always is.
Old wounds still reopen at times and restitching them is always painful.
The ache of growth is poignant, the stretching of new skin, the strengthening of weak muscles.
And though fate may have brought us together, it is not what holds us there.
It is the choosing of each other, day after day. Through the work. Through the pain.
It is in choosing love over shame.
“Niko,” I whisper when the laughter fades. “What’s next?”
The question is soft, quieted by a worry I don’t know how to explain.
“We go to Dreaming’s Eve and give our people their gift,” he replies, searching my face with his gaze. “Then we eat piles of delicious food. And definitely make fun of Tiernan for having to be saved from drowning during his latest sexual escapade.”
His death roves over us in a silent caress, as he continues, “We laugh with Sam and Adira, and lament that you now have to go all the way to the Grove to paint your terrible sunsets with him. We get roaring drunk and dance the night away.” He brushes a kiss over my lips.
“And then, Willa Darling, you whisk me home before my intoxicated ribbons accidentally rot someone. Where you hopefully take entire advantage of me, like the feral woman you are.”
I laugh. “I mean, after. What is next after every dream has come true? When eternity is endless?”
A fear I never had the freedom to feel. One that no longer has to be my own, for in everything, Niko is with me, always.
He only smiles. “We live, Darling. To live…that is the next adventure, the next dream. For you are the first dream of my heart, and it has become the seed from which all others are borne. And I assure you—” His voice is a wicked promise. “—they are endless.”
He kisses me with abandon, his touch a torch to my heart. And I am the burned ruins beneath him, the destruction from which new life grows. Iridescent magic flows from my skin as we come together, a dichotomy written in the stars. His death to my creation.
And later that night, as we dance with our family beneath the ward to a thousand other worlds, the dreams of a million children skating across the Letum sky before dipping into the heart of the island, I hope I will always remember every beautiful moment, and cherish the pain of all the moments before—as they led me here.
For not every story is meant for a happy ending, but they are all meant to teach us something. And though my fairy tale was never destined to be one of light, I pray to the second star it serves as a reminder to us all:
Creation can only begin in the darkness.
And it does so now, as somewhere deep in the heart of the land of death and dreams—a morphellia vine blooms.