23. Chapter 23
Chapter twenty-three
“ A re those faeries?” I ask, gesturing to a particularly boisterous cluster of the small lights sparkling between the tree boughs of the forest.
Niko’s hardly looked at me for the duration of the ride, and he doesn’t now. “Not truly, no.” His eyes are hidden by a few stray curls that have tumbled down to frame his face, and his long fingers—encased once more in his thick leather gloves—dig into the tops of his thighs like claws. “They’re will-o-wisps.”
The carriage rolls gently over the mossy forest path, sending shadows rippling over the high angle of his cheekbones, the slashes of darkness illuminating swathes of his pale skin while entirely consuming others. The contrast gives him a spectral appearance as he stares out the window, ethereal and intangible.
His avoidance of me is both a blissful relief and profoundly infuriating. Something shifted between us last night in the wake of nightmares. I’d given him a piece of my truth, and he’d allowed me a fraction of his. When we laid in his bed, it was with the most vulnerable parts of ourselves spread in the space between us. We’d seen each other at our weakest moments—laid bare and broken—and found an intimate balance in that.
But this morning, the King of Carrion is as enigmatic as ever. When I entered the dining room, he’d looked at me like he’d eat me alive. And now, after his confession that he’s the only one on the island capable of taking a life, he’s hardly deigned to speak to me at all.
“Are they sentient? The will-o-wisps?” I ask, mostly out of spite. If he wants me to help his precious island, he’s going to have to realize he doesn’t make the rules anymore. He doesn’t get to retreat into himself, sink into his own pain, and leave me on the surface alone.
“In their own way, I suppose,” Niko answers offhandedly. “Though no one’s ever figured out a way to speak to one, so it’s hard to say for sure.”
His death ribbons have settled on the floor at my feet. I smile to myself as I watch them vibrate cheerfully, swirling after each other in a macabre game of chase. Befriending personified death probably indicates a myriad of unresolved issues, but I’ve grown to appreciate their cool companionship. They have a distinct presence, ice cold but also cozily weighted, like the dark of a winter’s night.
The heaviness presses in around me, relief from the heat roiling through my veins at every moment of the day, borne of rage and powerlessness. It soothes the tightness of my skin, the unsettled hollow in my chest that expands and contracts with each of my breaths. A dark solace to fall into.
Though they don’t feel like solace to Niko—they feel like purgatory. Perhaps it’s because he saved me from my own hell last night that has me feeling merciful, or perhaps, it’s simply inane sentiment. Either way, it keeps me from turning away and allowing him to drown in his agony, to suffocate in self-loathing and bitterness.
“If you aren’t up to this today, it’s okay,” I tell him gently. “We can go another time.”
It’s the wrong thing to say, but I’m not at all sorry for it, as it causes Niko to finally look at me. His eyes glint dangerously, and his fingers dig further into his muscled thighs like he’s grounding himself in more pain. Pain he controls, I realize, to shield himself from the pain he can’t.
“Do not fool yourself for one moment into believing the nature of my condition makes me some weak sycophant in need of coddling,” he says in a voice so tight, my skin goes cold. “I’ve been ruling Letum longer than you’ve been alive. And besides,” he narrows his eyes with a predatory intensity I’ve come to recognize as an indication he’s going to strike. “Gentle pity doesn’t fit you, Darling. I’d prefer your cowardice to insipid kindness.”
He means to wound me, but I only grin smugly. Niko may know the way under my skin, but I’ve learned the path to his just as well. “Good to know the pain hasn’t soured your natural charm, Your Putrid Majesty.”
The corner of his mouth twitches.
“And I don’t think you’re weak. I think you’re sulking. Quite unseemly for a king, don’t you think?”
Niko doesn’t smile, but he doesn’t look away again either. Like now that I’m under his attention, he can’t bring himself to yank it away. His gaze is horrible—it sucks the breath from my lungs, fits itself beneath my ribs. It pulls and pulls, ravenous and demanding.
And though I squirm beneath it, I still want it. Not just want it— crave the electrifying spark that ignites every time he looks at me. I’m too cowardly to examine why—if it’s because he personifies the very thing I chased for so long but have always been denied. Chased so furiously, my very dreams drove me to the rooftop night after night trying to achieve it.
The carriage comes to a stop, but Niko doesn’t move. He’s gone completely still, but for the swipe of his tongue over his lower lip. My entire body heats as I follow the movement, and his eyes flare as he drinks in the abrupt flush of my skin. For a wild moment, I think Niko will lunge to taste the flush for himself; give in to the ravening desire and fucking devour me.
And for an even wilder moment, I desperately want him to.
But then something shifts in the fathomless depths of Niko’s eyes, and his face goes cold and hard. The tension in the air between us ices over, and without a backward glance, he ducks through the carriage door out into the darkness, his ribbons flapping behind him.
I hike up my skirt furiously and leap from the seat, unsure whether I’m about to chase after him to demand he finish whatever the hell he just started or run in the opposite direction. It has to be the latter. I haven’t lost my mind enough to truly want anything to do with the King of Carrion beyond the power he can grant me.
A few pretty words and a nice gesture aren’t enough to change that he isn’t to be trusted. He’s no different than anyone else in my world. Niko doesn’t see me ; he sees what I can do for him. I’ve lived through enough to know the difference.
Once I figure out how to use my magic, I won’t be beholden to him or anyone else. I’ll be truly free for the first time in my life.
My thoughts abruptly dissolve as I glance around Adira’s home. I can’t spin my head fast enough, nearly tumbling down the carriage stairs in my excitement to take it all in. I’m only spared by Niko’s steadying hand at the small of my back, the warmth of him discernible even through his thick gloves and my cloak.
I yank away from his touch with an indignant snarl to which he responds by bowing sarcastically. But I’ve no interest in a snide remark in the presence of such a striking place, choosing instead to gape up at the natural beauty spreading overhead.
The trees of Adira’s Grove are larger than any I’ve seen. They’re as wide around as the skyscrapers of my world and so tall, they appear to reach the swirling skies above. Vines hang from the boughs, themselves as large as usual trees, in natural verdant curtains that shroud the borders of the tree-city from the outside forest.
Nestled high in the leaves, some of them lofty enough I have to squint to see them properly, are sprawling residences built into the branches. Their construction follows the natural lines of the forest making it nearly impossible to delineate where the trees end, and the homes begin. Their exteriors are carved in spirals matching the spread of branches and painted with the exact colors and patterns of the foliage around them, both an echo of the forest’s beauty and a shrine to the spirits of the trees themselves.
Bridges span the spaces between structures, a tangled web of walkways layered stories above us like the threads of an intricate web. Orblike lanterns are strung throughout, odd blue fire crackling merrily in the confines of the glass. Will-o-wisps dance in the air, both on the ground and high above, congregating together in small, dancing bunches that float softly on the breeze.
Despite the inherent peace, the forest-city bustles with soft activity, much like the wood itself. People dart between houses, their voices ringing over the walkways. A few bars of music spill out from a window high above our heads, the melody entwining with a soft exhale of laughter from somewhere lower.
I close my eyes, just for a moment, letting the sound wash over me. Music was one of the first things to die when the plague began, which makes such terrible sense after Niko’s explanation. Death of imagination, loss of wonder and hope. And what is more hopeful than song?
When I open my eyes, it’s to find Niko already deep down the mossy path that meanders through the center of the city. I hurry after him, but even as I fall into step beside him, he keeps his gaze straight ahead.
Though most of the activity is relegated to the trees above, a few women are scattered along the edges of the path. Dressed in overlapping, dyed leather armor with matching braces laced over their wrists, they each carry a spear similar to the one I’d seen with Adira.
Sentries.
Their skin, all of varying shades and descents, is painted in a similar manner to the princess, which I now see is an homage to the trees they call home. They blend into the shadows so fully, if it wasn’t for the whites of their shrewd eyes tracking Niko, they’d hardly be visible at all hidden in the exotic foliage.
“The Silva Lucai,” Niko whispers. “The most honored of the Grove Dwellers.”
The Silva Lucai don’t bow as the King of Carrion passes like those in the city had; they only readjust their grip on the spears and fall into a readied stance. The more we pass, the more insistent their whispers, until they feel like a physical wave, lapping at our ankles.
King of Carrion, they say. Rot. Death.
Niko doesn’t acknowledge them, only continues to stride forward, his booted footsteps unnaturally silent on the mossy forest floor. The trail grows narrower the deeper we travel, until it whittles down to little more than a footpath wending between the thick trunks.
We walk on in silence, until the trail ends at the foot of the largest tree yet.
At least as wide as my apartment building and definitely as tall, the magnificent trunk is gnarled with age, the natural weave of the wood as beautiful as any painting.
I gaze up at the pure mass looming above us.
“The Nyawa. Tree of souls,” Niko says softly beside me.
“It’s magnificent.”
“It is.” I swear I feel Niko’s gaze sweep over my skin, but when I glance over, he’s already turned back to the tree. “It’s older than anything else on the island, even more ancient than the Crocodile. Its trunk houses the souls of every one of Adira’s people. From its roots, their souls feed the soil of the Grove, and nurture all those who live beneath its canopy.”
My eyes sting at the consonance of the idea. Something so pure, so balanced. Where life is given freely with no demands in return. I blink rapidly in an attempt to shove the rising emotions away before Niko sees them. Before he realizes just how lonely I truly am, no matter that I’m the one who crafted my life this way.
If he notices, he doesn’t acknowledge it. He walks around the trunk to where the tree bucks up against the rocky mountainside. “Ready?”
Following him, I see a small set of stairs that appear to be natural to the trunk of the tree. They wind up and around the side, spiraling so far up into the canopy, there’s no determining where the staircase ends.
My heartbeat ratchets higher as Niko steps onto the first stair. There is no handrail, nothing to stop me from tumbling right off the side. While I’ve never possessed an inherent fear of heights, the fall from my apartment building has done little to endear them to me. The terrifying rush of the air around me, the rapid rise of the unforgiving concrete below—I’m none too eager to repeat any of it.
Niko senses my hesitation, turning to me with something entirely too close to amusement. “You make death your cozy little pet, but balk at heights? How contrary of you.”
I slide my gaze from the narrow stairway to his smug face. Then I raise my chin and push past him. “Just admiring the construction, is all,” I reply lightly, stepping onto the first stair before my brain can catch up with my body.
Niko laughs as he steps up behind me, leaning so close that his breath tickles my hair. “I’d never let you fall. Not before we’ve had our fun.”
Something curls tightly near my spine, and I force myself to begin climbing upward in a futile attempt to ignore it. “You should be more careful who you taunt, old man. My idea of fun might be pushing you off this tree and listening to you scream the entire way down.”
Niko laughs again, and the sound rumbles through my veins. “Another excuse to nurse me back to health, I’m sure. Don’t think I haven’t noticed how much you enjoy me entirely at your mercy.”
His voice is a dark caress that slides over my skin, and I charge further up the stairs to escape it. My head suddenly feels far too light for my feet, like I’m entirely too aware of my body. Which is not opportune, clinging to the side of a tree a few hundred feet in the air.
But Niko isn’t done. He keeps step behind me, his scent of ice and sandalwood invading my senses, as he leans in once more. His death unspools from his wrists to come trace the outline of my arms, a shadowed implication of what the king could do with his hands if he only deigned to touch me.
“There’s no need to injure me. You need only to ask politely.”
I make a strangled noise of frustration and stomp up the steps before he can notice the desperate clench of my thighs. There are a million reasons why Niko can never discover there may be more than surface substance to his taunts. For one, his arrogance will be impossible to live with, not to mention the humiliation I’m sure to suffer at his refusal to even entertain the thought of actually touching me.
And far more importantly, I refuse to grant him any modicum of power over me. Not when I’ve just clawed a bit out for myself.
Anger and embarrassment mingle so furiously in my stomach, they’ve driven my feet all the way up to the landing platform before I have time to consider the dizzying height any further. Breathing heavily, I brace my hands on my knees, absorbing my surroundings. The Nyawa rises higher above the canopy than any other tree, its tallest branch reaching nearly as high as the surrounding mountains. From here, I can see the Lunaedon and the lagoon beyond. The sprawling city, and its ship filled harbor. The forest itself stretches for miles and miles, labyrinthine and glowing against the night sky.
The mountains surrounding the Grove shield the land on the other side, but I’m left breathless at the pure size of the kingdom. When Niko referred to it as ‘the island’, I’d imagined something small, but Letum is expansive. Like it could be explored for months and months without ever seeing the same thing.
Freedom. The word sweeps through me, even as I attempt to shake it off. Its antithetical for a place to represent freedom; homes are only chains to ensnare, an iron weight to be escaped. I have no intention of allowing roots to bind me to any land, especially here, beneath the shadow of the King of Carrion.
Turning away from the view, I step up onto the planks of a vast porch wrapped around a sprawling manor. The treehouse is nestled into a crook of the Nyawa, where giant limbs meet to create a natural womb. Unlike the other buildings I’d seen on the way in, this exterior hasn’t been painted. It is covered, instead, in creeping flower vines. They shroud the house in living art, with leaves and blooms so thick, the wood beneath is entirely hidden. Railings span the sweeping edges of the entire structure in gnarled curves, carved to mimic the sprawl of the branches around us.
A few rocking chairs sway gently in the breeze near the open archway that leads deeper inside the house, and an easel, empty at the moment, is perched in the farthest corner of the porch facing the snow-tipped mountain peaks. It’s colder this high, but as I lean over one of the railings, a warm breeze brushes over me, warming my chilled fingers.
Adira’s home is befitting of a queen, but not in the way of my world. There, history tells of monarchs locked in their castles, closed off from the kingdom around them. Adira’s Grove, and her palace nestled at its heart, is open to the elements. There are no walls dividing her from her people, nor from the natural world, poised on the precipice of adventure and freedom.
It’s the kind of place I would have imagined as a fifteen-year-old girl locked in the labs of the Amelioration camps. A place of whimsical beauty—a world that was open and airy, that had no concrete walls to hold me in.
The air thins at the memory, and my ribs pull tight around my lungs as a thundercloud opens overhead.
“You’re making it rain.”
I jolt at Adira’s voice. When I turn around, the princess is leaning against the threshold that had most certainly been empty only seconds before. She watches me in the same unnerving manner she had in the tavern, motioning vaguely to the sky with faint amusement. “As much as I enjoy the monsoon season, the journey back down the steps is far more treacherous when wet.”
“I seem to recall you getting your share of amusement watching me attempt the same journey,” Niko remarks, breezing past me to kiss Adira lightly on the cheek. “With none of the same warning.”
“Well, I like her.” Adira tilts her head with a serene smile. “And when you’re trapped in an eternal stasis, watching a prissy king fall on his ass while his hair goes flat is the epitome of entertainment.”
“Now you’re just being unkind,” Niko says, strolling past her and ducking inside the house. He calls over his shoulder with a flourish, “My hair is never flat.”
Adira raises a furtive brow before following him into the house. I trail after them, wondering both at the fact the princess seems to believe I’m capable of controlling the weather, and that she apparently likes me, as that hadn’t been my impression at all.
The interior of the house is spacious but comfortable. The same sweetly warm breeze that trailed across the porch flows through the open archways, sending the flames of the numerous candles sputtering. Niko settles himself on a cushy purple sofa, his lithe frame sprawled out like he’s entirely at home. Adira’s mouth goes flat when he props his boots up on the small coffee table. She shoves them back to the ground with an impish glare, before shouldering her way onto the couch beside him. His ribbons give her a wide berth, floating lazily in the air behind him, even as she lays her spear across her lap, sharp end pointedly turned in his direction.
The two act more like siblings than adversarial monarchs, and I wonder again at the veracity of Adira’s admission: there is no one in the world I hate more than the King of Carrion.
“Did you receive my gift?” Niko asks, scooting over to make room for the small princess.
She tucks her bare feet beneath her and fits him with a withering stare. “‘Gift’ is a generous way to describe you sending Sam into my Grove in the middle of the night to dump a bunch of unconscious Strayed on my doorstep.”
Niko hums noncommittally. “Which part is it that you object to? The time of day, the unconscious evil, or Sam?”
Adira gives him a flat look, those storm-gray eyes churning dangerously. “You know very well I do not allow Strayed, unconscious or not, into this Grove. And you also know very well that there was no way I could refuse Sam entrance after what happened the last time. Not without permanently destroying our relationship.”
Niko picks a piece of lint off his shirt. “I was under the impression a permanently destroyed relationship is exactly what you’re after with Sam.” There’s a savage edge beneath the casualty of his voice, one borne not of anger, but of loyalty.
“You played me, Niko. And you used your best friend to do it. That’s low, even for you.” Her eyes narrow on the king. “He is far too good for the likes of you. I hope you know that.”
Niko gives her a soft smile. “I’ve known it since we were nine years old.” He kicks his feet up on the table once more to Adira’s clear irritation. “Now, are you going to tell me what you’ve learned from my scheming, or are you going to make me grovel on Sam’s behalf first?” He glances at me with a wicked grin when he finishes, “I assure you, my groveling is quite thorough.”
Adira makes a disgusted noise in the back of her throat, thwacking his shoulder lightly with the broad end of the spear. “Spare me,” she mutters. Heaving an exasperated sigh, she motions to where I’ve been lingering in the archway. “You may as well sit, Willa, as this involves you, too.”
I sink stiffly into the folds of an armchair, anxiety pricking at the back of my neck. With each connection, it feels like the island itself winds another root tighter around me, preparing for the day I’m tethered here irrevocably. I shake off the notion, reassuring myself with Niko’s own words: You could imagine the wards open. You could imagine a whole new world.
As long as I get a hold on my magic, I’ll never be trapped anywhere again. Not even Letum.
“They know who Willa is, and what she’s capable of,” Adira begins with a hesitant glance in my direction. Like she knows one wrong word will send me running.
“I’d gathered as much from her most recent interaction with them,” Niko says. “Is that what this has all been about then? Testing her?”
Adira’s expression is indecipherable. “Not her.” Dread sinks into the pit of my stomach. “ You.”
Niko’s jaw tightens, and his ribbons spear wildly toward the ceiling as he snarls, “Dawson. ”
Adira nods gravely. “After I looked into the minds of the Strayed Sam brought, I sent my Silva Lucai to listen to the forest. It has been whispered everywhere, Niko. Dawson saw you collapse on the beach. He now knows your limitations. He knows when he comes for Willa, when he comes for the island…you won’t be able to kill them all. And the rest of the kingdom knows it now, too.”
Horror settles over me, sickly hot and viscous, as I realize the Strayed attacks have been purposeful. A way to draw Niko out, to test the limits of his power in order to exploit them. With Niko the only one in the kingdom able to take a life, there will be nothing to keep them from overwhelming the island. From coming and coming until they’ve bled every bit of power from the Carrion King, and there’s nothing left to stop them from shredding me apart.
“Yes,” Adira agrees, though I hadn’t spoken aloud. “They will come for the king and then for you, and there will be no one left to stand before their evil. Unless you master your magic and turn the tides. ”