Chapter 4
DIEM
Well . . . I wasn’t dead.
My life might have become a crumbling, rotting refuse pile of a mess, but I was alive and breathing.
I spat out the clump of waterweed I’d been chewing, wrinkling my nose at the acrid tang it left behind.
It tasted like licking the underside of a horseshoe, but with no fresh water on the island and no rain for more than a fortnight, my options were down to bad or dead.
Waterweed held just enough liquid to keep me on this side of the living.
Not that this was much of a life to live.
I grabbed another handful of tangled roots and ripped them from the ground, then shook them free of the soil that clung to their tendrils. I popped them into my mouth and grimaced at the grinding of sand between my teeth.
I hate it here, I thought for perhaps the thousandth time that day.
I forced myself to my feet and wandered west, snatching a spray of crimson flowers as I walked.
In the early days, I’d searched every inch of this cursed place for something rarer than the fluffy red blooms that peppered the island, the source of the flameroot powder that had started this mess.
After finding nothing, I’d told myself the man I planned to give them to wouldn’t care.
He’d never been the type to ask for special treatment.
Oh, how I wished he had.
I whistled a song—lively and a little crude, something that I knew would bring a wide, toothy smile to his face.
“Did you miss me?” I asked him as I approached. “I know I said I’d leave you alone for at least a day, but I just can’t seem to stay away.”
The only answer was the wind whipping over the tall island grass.
I sank to the ground beside him and added the flowers to a pile at his feet.
More were scattered in the brush, carried by the breeze.
This close to the shore, the sea was visible through the weeds, along with a faint smudge on the horizon that might have been the Lumnos coast—a sight I liked to believe brought us both a little comfort.
“Alright, you know the rules. Every time I start to feel sorry for myself, I come to you and say three things that bring me joy instead.” My eyes lifted to the dark grey clouds hanging low in the sky.
“Looks like it’s going to rain today. That means we can give up waterweed for a while.
” I pulled the chewed-up plant from my mouth and flung it away. “I’m pretty damn joyful about that.”
My attention caught on a flicker of movement out on the sea—a passing army patrol boat. “Get down,” I hissed at him, flattening my body to the ground.
There had been a lot less of them lately.
The first week, the water had been swarming with boats, some even pausing at the island’s many docks.
The soldiers would creep down the piers as close as they dared—and, seeing nothing, nervously scurry away.
As the weeks went on, there were fewer soldiers, fewer boats, fewer signs of anything beyond this island.
The boat neared the shore for a moment, then sailed away. I rolled onto my back, tucking my hands behind my head. “Where were we? Oh yes—the rain.” A rumble of thunder rolled in the distance, and I chuckled. “That was you, wasn’t it? Impeccable timing, as usual.”
He’d always shown up right when I needed him most, inspiring me to keep fighting when I was at my lowest. Just like now.
“That’s number two,” I whispered. “You, Perthe. You brought me joy.”
I turned my head, staring at the rock that marked his grave.
With the soil cold and hard from the winter, it had taken me a full day to claw out a shallow hole in the grass with my fingers.
I’d gently laid him inside—pointed toward Lumnos, so he could always keep sight of home—then meticulously searched out the prettiest stone on the island to set on the upturned soil.
Perhaps a smarter person might have stripped his body down and taken his thick clothing and collection of blades.
I couldn’t deny I’d considered it. Doriel, the Sophos Crown, had taken my weapons, making hunting damn near impossible.
Though I’d thankfully worn the cloak gifted from the late Montios King, its warming spell was another casualty to the island, leaving me in a permanent state of miserably cold.
You should at least have taken a knife, Perthe chided me from my thoughts. It’s my duty to serve you, Your Majesty. Even in death.
“You’ve done enough,” I argued back, laying my hand on his gravestone. “You kept my brother safe, just like you promised.” A gust of wind swept by, sending the red flowers whirling into the air and fluttering my tunic. “You saved Teller and Luther.”
In doing so, he’d saved me, too.
I glanced down to the torn fabric exposing the skin just above my sternum—the same spot where, weeks ago, the Ignios King’s godstone blade speared through my heart.
It should have killed me.
When my chest stopped rising that day, I thought it had. I could have sworn I’d sensed the flickering warmth of the Undying Fire and the shadowy outline of a red-haired figure, hand extended to lead me away.
But then . . .
I made a choice, and a vow.
A shimmering veil of gold. An excruciating pain, as if my heart had been torn like a scrap of paper, followed by the purest sense of bliss I’d ever known.
And when my body jolted back to life, miraculously cured of its wound, my heartbeat returned in a soft duet. One, loud and steady, and the other an echo, with a formidable rhythm all its own.
Luther’s heartbeat.
My mate.
And yet . . . not.
Because only I had shed my blood. Only I had sworn myself to him for all eternity—in my mind, if not aloud.
And only I now bore the silvery swirl of two hearts entwined into a blade upon my chest: the mark of a mating bond. A one-sided mating bond.
They’re called stranded mates, Eleanor told me once. It’s all the worst parts of the bond—having to be near them, feeling their pain, never being able to love anyone else—without any of the benefits. It’s the worst fate I could imagine.
I burst into wry laughter. If there was some way to take something so precious and make a mess of it, of course I’d find it.
But as I laid my palm over the mark and felt a rush of comforting warmth, it didn’t feel like such a terrible fate—because I knew the second I got off this island and showed Luther my mark, he would pull his blade and complete the bond without a second thought.
I might be a stranded mate now, but I wouldn’t stay one forever.
“This,” I said, brushing my thumb across my skin and watching the mark turn golden and bright. “This is number three. This brings me the most joy of all.”
My third answer was always the same. The first two were my meager attempts at warding off the hopeless darkness that encroached further every day. The third was about remembering my reason to keep going.
My reason to not just stay alive, but to live.
I pressed a kiss to Perthe’s gravestone. “No more negative thoughts today,” I promised. “This time, I really mean it.”
I stood and smoothed down my pants, frowning at how low they hung on my hips. Food on the island was scarce, and though my Descended healing had slowed the effects of starvation, my stomach ached for something more than roots and bugs.
I started on my evening routine by checking on all the rainwater collectors I’d crafted to make sure they’d be ready for the storm, then rolled out the canopy I’d woven from stalks of tall grass.
I couldn’t leave the makeshift shelter up during the day and risk being spotted by patrols, so every morning I tore it down, only to put it back up again every night.
“This would be a lot easier if you stopped hiding, you know,” I told myself as I tied the corners to one of the few clusters of palm trees scattered among the grass. “You could have a feast with all that food she left you. Maybe she even packed you a tent.”
I stared wistfully toward the Arboros port. Before I knew what I was doing, my feet were carrying me south, lured by an empty stomach and a pitiful mood. When I arrived at the pile of wooden crates, I crossed my arms, staring them down like an old, loathed nemesis.
Doriel had promised I would be taken care of until Ophiucae was dead and my magic was lost to the foolish bonded bargain I’d made.
But, much like on the mainland, prisoners out of sight were easily forgotten, and supplies from Sophos never came.
When shipments arrived instead from Arboros, I knew it was an attempt to assuage the guilty conscience of its Queen.
After a week of debating, my spite defeated my hunger, and I decided to forego the supplies to conceal my survival.
Let the Crowns wonder if I’d lived. Let them lie in their beds at night, fearing that the most powerful among them was plotting their demise. Let them toss and turn with terror that the next time they came to this island for a ritual, it might be their last.
I did, I was, and it would be.
I spat at the crates. “Keep your supplies. The only thing I’m taking from any of you is your thrones.”
I started back for my campsite when a crack of lightning sliced through the sky to the east. I jumped in surprise, but what caught my eye wasn’t the storm. It was a tiny black spot, its bobbing form barely visible against the clouds.
I squinted and leaned forward. Is that . . . ?
“Shit,” I mumbled as I broke into a sprint.
I veered off the twisting pathways and cut through the brush to stay hidden, flinching at the fronds that slapped my face.
I skidded to a stop at my camp and fumbled with the strips of fabric I’d torn from my clothes to tie the canopy, but the sudden surge of adrenaline had set my heart racing and my hands shaking.
A fat drop of liquid splashed against my cheek, then another. “Now you send rain?” I cried out. I could almost hear the laughter of the gods in the thunder that answered.