Chapter 38
For tonight's ball, a heavy fur lay across Will's shoulders, and the severe cut of the military-inspired coat held his chest upright, forcing him to keep his shoulders squared whenever he threatened to fold in on himself.
But it was far too warm, so he escaped the group of chattering guests quickly in search of the courtyard.
None of the corridors led where he remembered, and even when he followed a group of guests, he would find himself alone again after the next turn. Heat built beneath his heavy winter coat, and sweat gathered on his brow until he finally stumbled through a door into the cold.
But instead of the broad courtyard, he found himself on a narrow bridge spanning the space between two towers.
Snow drifted through the stonework of the balustrade, and above it stretched a sky that was not quite black but steel grey.
He stood so high among the rooftops of the Red Hand’s mansion that he felt he could reach out and touch the heavens.
Will had not noticed climbing so many stairs. Confused, he turned around, but the small door opened only onto the narrow spiral staircase, and he could not remember ascending it.
“What the…” Will shook off his confusion.
After three months in this city, nothing should have surprised him anymore—and yet.
The intoxication of the height, the song of the wind, and the clarity of the cold eventually drew him out onto the bridge.
The full-moon night, though largely veiled by clouds, painted the snow and gables in stark contrasts, and once his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he realized he was not alone.
Someone else leaned against the railing, looking out across the snow-shrouded sea.
Will’s steps slowed until at last he stopped.
Eric looked up. Tension marked his face, worry casting deep shadows beneath his eyes. The gaze that usually threatened to strip the flesh from Will’s bones looked broken tonight.
“You,” he said, then turned back toward the sea.
That single word struck Will unexpectedly, and his leather gloves creaked as his hands curled into fists. After everything, was that all Eric had to say?
“I can leave.”
“Stay. It is my own fault you are here. Otherwise, the house would not have led you to this place. It enjoys tormenting me.”
Will glanced over his shoulder at the dark doorway and the spiral staircase beyond. Red light glimmered around the corner.
He shuddered.
“You could simply admit that you want me here.” He drew the fur collar up.
Eric laughed without humor but did not look at him. “It is admirable how convinced you are that you know what I want.”
Will swallowed as all his doubts rose again. “Send me away.”
At last, the devastating look returned to Eric’s eyes, grey steel cutting into him.
He looked like a King from ancient times, dressed as always in black, a great white fur draped over his shoulders and held in place by a heavy chain and engraved clasps.
It was one of the garments that suited him best. He looked like the prince of winter night, arriving when frost descended upon the fields like death.
For a moment, they stared at one another across the bridge. The wind tore at their furs, sent Will’s coat whipping around his legs, and drove black strands across Eric’s brow.
Eric’s shoulders dropped, and he leaned his hip against the railing.
“How are you?” His gaze moved over Will until it settled upon the scars on his face. He should not have been able to see them through the snowstorm, but memories passed across Eric’s eyes, and his stubborn brows softened.
Slowly, Will approached. “I still have nightmares. I am hanging in those chains while someone drinks from my throat, but I cannot see who it is. Warm hands touch me, and it feels forbiddenly good, yet I know they will drain me to the final drop.”
Only the twitch of a muscle in Eric’s jaw betrayed him. “I have similar dreams.”
“Are you ever the hunted prey in your nightmares?”
“No. I am the hunter. An enormous monster with claws and fur, made to kill.” Eric flexed his hand. “But I am never fast enough to catch my prey. I lose their trail in the snow or starve before a laden table. Always too late to save what is mine.”
Will turned his back to the sea and looked down into the courtyard, which served as the dance floor tonight. The wind carried the sounds away before they could reach this height. It was like watching a puppet show—wound-up dancers spinning inside a music box.
“My life was so different three months ago. The Capitol is not a perfect place. Its abysses are deeper—different—than the ones here, but we know freedom. Since arriving in Bloodgrove, there has scarcely been a moment when I could truly breathe.”
“When are you going back?” Eric now leaned fully against the balustrade with his back to the sea. Spray danced upon the waves of mercury water. Night was never entirely dark when it snowed, even with the full moon hidden behind clouds.
“The morning after New Year’s. Perhaps you could visit me sometime when you are in the Capitol.” Their eyes met, scarcely an arm’s length between them.
And indeed, something like pain carved fresh lines into Eric’s brow, and he turned his face away, unable to hide it behind a mask.
Suddenly, the wind died. Snowflakes hovered forgotten in the air, and a new energy rose from the castle. It lifted the hairs on Will’s arms until he could almost hear the tension crackling.
Eric’s eyes widened. “Elodie.”
He did not explain. He merely seized Will’s arm as though it were the most natural thing in the world to bring him along, and together they ran.