22. Chapter 22
Chapter twenty-two
I push my food listlessly around the plate with the edge of my fork, staring at the fluffy eggs and flaky croissant without truly seeing them. My death slithers around my wrists and forearms, and though pain lances through me, it is more distant than usual. Perhaps because my mind isn’t at this table at all, but seven floors above, where I left Willa still curled asleep in my bed.
‘Left’ is generous. ‘Ran away from’ is probably more accurate.
No matter how exhausted I’d been, I hadn’t expected to get any sleep with Willa so close. Close enough to hear her sounds, but not be able to see the way she looked when she made them. To smell the scent of the soap on her skin but not be able to taste it. It was a unique form of torture, wanting her so badly while hating myself for every moment I did.
But in the end, the same awareness tormenting me, lulled me into the deepest sleep I can ever remember. There was comfort in the rhythms of her: the soft breathing, the warmth of her body, the rustle of the sheets as she tangled herself up in them.
When I opened my eyes this morning, there was no stiffness in my muscles, no raw ache over my skin. My mind was clear of the usual haze of agony for the first time in so long, that for a brief moment, I wondered if I was dead.
But when I’d turned to Willa—her hair sprawled over the black silk pillow like a halo, her mouth parted and quiet for once, her cheeks rosy with sleep—that sense of quiet had given way to a furious rush of emotions spiraling through me so fast, I nearly tumbled off the bed.
I liked Willa being close enough to protect, and that was an abject problem, considering my plans for her. Considering how gloriously I’d ruined everything the last time I’d let my heart wrap itself around someone.
I lurched out of the bed, hopping around in an ungracious attempt to escape the sheets knotted around my ankles. Yanked my ribbons away from where they’d been nestled happily beside her, and wrapped them so tight around my waist, I had to bite my lip to keep from crying out.
Even as I devoured the sight of her, drinking in the luscious curve of her thigh left bare by that ridiculous nightgown and the delicate arch of her neck, I anchored myself in pain. A reminder that this relief, however Willa’s presence grants it, is temporary. She is not mine.
I’ve learned not to allow myself reprieve. Enduring pain is an acquired skill, and a moment’s relief only makes it worse when it returns.
Sighing deeply, I take a bite of breakfast and attempt to focus on the buttery flavor rather than anything to do with Willa. Though even the thirty minute cold bath I’d wallowed in before showing my face in the dining room hadn’t been enough to cool the heat pumping in my veins. It certainly hadn’t done anything to temper my death’s anger at having been pulled away from her so abruptly.
I can feel the longing in the strands of ribbon, the wish to pull away from me—to be near her.
I’m so deep in my thoughts, that when Marina sets tea in front of me, I startle as if the noise of the cup against the table is as loud as a gunshot. She arches a brow, her curiosity deepening as I clear my throat and motion vaguely to the cup.
“I, uh…I actually don’t think I need a dose this morning.”
Her pale brows leap up her forehead, and I don’t miss the dubious looks exchanged between her and Sam that indicate they believe I’ve lost my mind.
I grunt and stare down at my plate, refusing to engage in their silent speculations on my wellbeing. Instead, I shovel a large forkful of eggs into my mouth and begin to chew with slow deliberation.
A pervasive sense of calm settles over the table as the spears of Sam’s magic sift gently over me like grains of sand. I wave off the invisible tendrils with a harried sigh of annoyance.
“I don’t need that either.”
The table goes silent for so long, I think they’ve dropped it, when Tiernan abandons shoveling food into his mouth long enough to ask bluntly, “Is this all it took, then?”
“All it took for what ?”
“For you not to be an asshole?”
I drop my fork mid-bite to glower at him. It clatters on the table, shooting eggs everywhere, but Tiernan only grins wider beneath my stare, a thick tendril of his auburn hair flopping over his eyes. Annoyance rankles as I finally notice it isn’t just Tiernan. Rather than tiptoeing around me as they do most mornings, catering to the pain of waking, all three of the Lunaedon residents are smiling at me.
I lick my lips, shifting beneath their conspiratorial stares. “I’m not sure I understand your meaning,” I maintain primly.
Marina, ever a beacon of candor, replies, He means we would have found someone to warm your bed thirty years ago if we’d known that’s all it took for you to be pleasant company.
“Am I not always the most pleasant of company?” I counter dryly.
The little pixie gives a disbelieving scoff, which Tiernan and Sam promptly echo.
“You were smiling at your scrambled eggs, and you don’t even like them,” Tiernan says, as if this settles everything.
I don’t like them, but I’d rather eat the entire plate than agree with him. He continues regardless, which isn’t a surprise. Even the brutal removal of the tip of his tongue by the Aeternalis hadn’t been enough to hinder the unfettered deluge of words from Tiernan’s mouth. “I might understand the smiling if it was crepes, but the house hasn’t made those in ages.”
Marina and Sam both nod along. I push my plate away mutinously.
“You all have far too much time on your hands if you know my breakfast preferences in such detail. Can a man not simply enjoy a good night’s sleep and be left alone about it?”
“A man can. You can’t,” Sam remarks succinctly. “Normally you’d be in bed for two weeks recovering from such a great use of magic. And yet here you are, looking chipper and healthy.”
Like death warmed over, Marina signs with such a delighted shimmy, I wonder how long she’s been holding that joke in.
I mash my lips together to keep from laughing. Instead, I do what I’m best at and kill the mood entirely. “She’s a relation of the Aeternalis,” I snap harshly. Marina goes still at the name, while all traces of humor on Sam and Tiernan’s faces evaporates instantly. “Have you not considered what that means? Who else she’s related to?”
Marina watches me sadly. It doesn’t have to be like it was with Wendy.
I steel my jaw, as my ribbons wrap tighter around my wrist, squeezing and scraping. “It won’t be like last time, Rina, because that man—the hopeful captain who made decisions with his heart—is dead.” The word is a sharp gnash of teeth. “There is no more empathy, no more softness to muddle my ambition. I am only shadows and death and pain, and I will use them all to do whatever it takes to free the island.”
Sam opens his mouth to argue, but I’m spared his response by Willa’s appearance in the doorway. He shakes his head with a pointed look, indicating his decision not to press the matter is temporary.
Willa dances awkwardly in the threshold, as if she can’t quite decide whether to join us or to bolt out of the Lunaedon entirely. My death doesn’t appear to share my resolution to keep our distance, as the ribbons unwind instantly from my wrists, slithering through the air to greet her.
Tiernan’s mouth falls open in a comically wide manner at their apparent excitement, as they swirl around her feet and tickle the air in front of her face. His mouth drops even wider, if possible, when Willa doesn’t run away screaming from my tendrils of death, but instead, greets them with a shy smile and a soft wiggle of her fingers.
I shoot him a lethal look, and thankfully, Tiernan closes his mouth. His face breaks open into his most charming smile. “Morning, Willie!” And then, with an entirely too innocent look in my direction, “How did you sleep?”
I’ll kill him .
Willa’s smile wavers slightly, her gaze guarded as it flickers between the four of us like she doesn’t quite believe Tiernan’s geniality would be directed at her.
Undeterred as usual, Tiernan motions to the chair beside him. “Here, have a seat! You must be starving after being trapped in the Crocodile.”
Willa flushes. “Oh, it didn’t actually feel long enough for me to be hungry.”
“If you weren’t starved of food, you were certainly starved of good company,” Tiernan laughs with another pointed look in my direction. “Join us!”
Willa stays where she is, eyeing Sam. “ If I sit, am I going to wake up two hours later not knowing what happened? Like I went on some sort of tequila-fueled bender with none of the fun?”
Sam dips his head with a sheepish smile, raising his palms in a show of peace. “I promise to keep my magic to myself.”
As if you’re capable of keeping anything to yourself, Marina replies snidely.
His promise is enough to appease Willa, and she hesitantly lowers herself into the seat beside Tiernan. My ribbons swirl at her feet, keeping a respectful distance from her skin with a carefulness I don’t understand. In the two centuries I’ve wielded them, they’ve always speared for life like they’re starved for it. Always hungering for what they cannot have.
But with Willa, they seem—content.
Sam fills a plate and slides it to her. With a small noise of pleasure, Willa digs in with impressive enthusiasm.
“Thank you,” she tells him through a mouthful, and I wonder again at her life before she fell into my kingdom. Though her body is toned, she has a slight appearance of malnourishment. Like she’d only eaten enough to keep up her strength, but never enough to be entirely filled. Like anxiety and guilt had sapped not only her energy, but her appetite.
A possessive pleasure rolls through me that she won’t have to worry about nightmares any longer; that I’ll be close enough to chase them all away. As quickly as it comes, I shove it away. The thought is far too dangerous. She is not mine to protect. She is mine to use.
Willa hasn’t met my gaze once since entering the room, but I find I don’t mind, as it gives me time to study her. To take in the flush of her cheeks, the movement of her mouth. The way her eyes dart between Sam, Marina and Tiernan as they engage with her. The shy way she answers them, the hesitation in her responses.
I understand it now. The reason Willa runs. The cause of her fear and her desire to remain invisible. And even more so, her outbursts of rage when she feels cornered or trapped. She said her tormenters were dead, that she’d killed them herself, and it still hadn’t slaked the hot thirst for vengeance against all those who wronged her. And I understand that perhaps better than anything else—how centuries can pass, and the demand for justice can still pump through your heart.
Her eyes drift away from the conversation, absently raking over mine. She stills, like she hadn’t meant to look at me, but now that she has, it’s impossible to look away. Her mouth pops open, and my entire body heats as the image of her in my bed fills my mind .
A rosy flush spreads over her cheeks like she’s remembering the same, and then it spreads lower—lusciously coloring her throat and collarbones, rolling over the tops of her breasts. I follow it slowly, greedily drinking in every inch of her. When I finally return my gaze to her face, her eyes are narrowed in challenge.
I told my friends I have no heart left to interfere with my goals, but perhaps I’d discounted the danger of my body; of the way it sings in her presence. I’ve felt only the ice of death for so long, the sudden heat of wanting is an addicting elixir. I should be thanking the star above I can’t touch her without killing her—or I might find myself at her feet right beside my ribbons, begging for even the smallest taste of her skin.
“Star above,” Sam mutters good-naturedly. Willa startles at his voice, and it’s only then I realize the table has fallen silent while we’d been staring at each other. “I think I’d take the death threats and stabbing at breakfast over whatever this is .”
Willa’s blush deepens, and she tears her gaze away from me.
Now you know how we all feel every time we have the misfortune of being in the same room as you and Adira, Marina replies, and for once, I find myself thankful for her blunt honesty.
Tiernan snickers. “Unbearable, the two of them,” he agrees.
Sam rolls his eyes. “I’d like to think I have more restraint than to eye-fuck a woman at the dining table,” he replies mildly. “Even one as beautiful as Adira.”
Tiernan leans conspiratorially to Willa. “Three hundred and thirty-four years old, and the poor sap still doesn’t know what women want.”
“To be eye-fucked while eating waffles?” Willa deadpans.
“I can assure you, Adira wants nothing to do with my eyes,” Sam insists with a wince. And then, after a thoughtful pause, “Or my waffles.”
Tiernan’s snicker turns into a full-bodied guffaw, as Marina signs with an innocent shrug, Maybe you don’t make them very well.
Sam’s eyes flick to the ceiling, and he sighs deeply with a shake of his head. “Star grant me the patience not to murder my friends before lunch.”
“Speaking of the enchantress herself,” I interrupt, partly to spare Sam anymore ribbing, but also because I’ve known the three of them for over a century and am well aware if I don’t stop it now, the conversation will only grow more raucous, and I really do have things to do today. “I’ll be taking Willa to the Grove after breakfast to see Adira.”
I ignore Sam’s coughed choke of surprise.
Willa tilts her head, the movement exposing the supple curve of her throat. I grit my teeth as she says, “Why?”
“As Adira’s power deals with the mind, and that’s where yours originates, I believe she’ll provide insight into how to harness it. Also, she’s gathered some information I need.”
“But she hates you,” Willa points out doubtfully. “Why would she help someone she hates?” Despite her dubious tone, there’s an eagerness beneath it. She’s excited to find out more about her magic.
I give her a small smile. “Because there are things she hates more than me. Particularly the Strayed. And they'll only hit harder after the events on the beach.”
Willa shivers at the memory, running her fingers over her arms. She wears another simple black dress, this one with capped sleeves and buttons made of obsidian, again choosing to forgo gloves, to my infernal irritation. She’s loosely braided her hair down her back, secured at the bottom with a thin ribbon. For a wild moment, I consider reaching across the table and tugging it out, if only to see the way the bronze and gold highlights shimmer as the tresses tumble around her face.
“To get me to open the wards?” She chews at her bottom lip.
I lean back, crossing my arms and deliberating how much to tell her. What will draw her in, and what will cause her to flee again.
Finally, I say, “The Strayed have grown restless in the centuries since the Aeternalis’s death, and they’re angry at the cage my power has kept them in. It is my belief the Strayed don’t want you to open the wards at all…but desire the opposite.”
The room suddenly feels ice cold, despite the crackle of fire in the hearth. “They want to use your magic to overthrow me, and ensure the island remains in stasis forever.”
“And if I don’t help them?”
“They’ll torture you for eternity,” I reply solemnly. “Until you no longer remember who you are. Or that you even had power. The wards will remain impassible, and the magic of the island will continue to fester.”
Willa shakes her head. “Why, though? Why wouldn’t they want the kingdom’s magic to be healthy again?”
Sam leans forward. “Because if the magic of the island is restored to what it once was, the Strayed will grow up. And the Aeternalis ingrained in them for centuries that growing old is worse than death.”
“I thought you stayed young forever here,” she says slowly, certainly thinking back to the twisted lore floating around the mainland.
“Not forever,” Tiernan answers, his voice tinged with a sadness I understand far too well. “You were in the Crocodile…you felt how time traveled differently there. It slowed, while the world around it raced. The entire island used to hold that same magic, but now it’s been warped and twisted. Thickening in some places and freezing entirely in others. Letum was never meant to be permanent—only a stop. A dream in a lifetime of cruel realities. Everyone grows up eventually.” His mouth twists, and his words sound far too wizened for the youth of his face. “Or, they’re supposed to.”
Willa’s fork hangs comically in midair, her breakfast entirely abandoned as she considers what this means. “And there’s no restoring them—the Strayed?”
Marina’s gaze sharpens ruthlessly, her fingers flying as she says, Anything good in them has been dead for far too long. There is only decomposition and death. Nothing from which to nurture or grow a new soul. Carrion.
The truth of my name: not the King of Carrion because of my power, but because of the kingdom I’ve been forced to rule over—a land of decay and death. Of putrid rot and scorched earth, where nothing new can grow, and anything that tries is shredded by scavengers.
“Why don’t you kill them all, then?” she says, her voice once more edged in the steel borne of her fight for survival. A steel that has no mercy.
“I’m only one person,” I reply lightly. “The Strayed number in the thousands. And you’ve seen the limitations of my power.”
Willa shrugs this off, as if I hadn’t been entirely useless for hours after our last meeting with the Strayed. “You’re the king and this kingdom is huge. Why don’t you raise an army or something? You don’t have to be the only one to fight them.”
A weighted silence descends over the table. Willa looks to Tiernan, to Marina, and finally to Sam. None of them meet her gaze. And while I appreciate their restraint—a restraint forged in iron after everything we’ve been through together—there is no avoiding Willa knowing of this particular shame.
“So long as I am the anchor to the island, I am the only with the power to grant death.”
My ribbons slither from where they were curled at Willa’s feet, the mere mention of their magic drawing them back to me. My muscles lock as they slide over my skin, agony roiling through me like corrosive acid. Bile surges up my throat, and I clench my teeth together to keep from groaning, inwardly scolding myself for letting them go, even for a moment. For reveling in relief when I deserve none.
I deserve the punishment of never-ending pain. Death was in my heart when the island granted me power, and it’s still there now. In almost two centuries, it has not relented. There is no blood, no soul, residing in my heart. There is only inky black sludge.
“I know that,” Willa says uncertainly. “But couldn’t—"
Willa’s words trail off, her eyes widening fractionally at the darkness she must see in mine. Not the color of a night sky—or a color at all—but the absence of light entirely.
“No one else in the kingdom can take a life, Willa. No matter how hard they try. I am the only one who can kill. It is my gift, and my curse.”