44. Chapter 44
Chapter forty-four
T he world goes quiet.
Not the soft silence of peace, but a violent hush that resonates against my entire body. Niko’s presence has always taken up so much space, his wild charisma and enigmatic power always such a consuming, physical thing, that its absence resounds through the island.
There are no more screams. No ring of swords, or crack of explosives.
There is only a silk shirt gripped in clammy fists, and hot tears falling on unnaturally cold skin. Only the stubborn beat of my own heart, its rhythm a taunt against the silence of Niko’s.
No, no, no.
I don’t know if I speak the words aloud or if they pound in my head. Over and over, a chant, a prayer. A goddamn plea.
I haven’t begged for anything since my father sold me, having learned well enough whatever gods inhabit the universe are too distant to care anything for human plights. But I beg now. Without restraint.
“Niko, wake up. Please wake up.” I dig my nails into the tattoos decorating his shoulders, like if I can keep hold, it’ll somehow prevent him from drifting further from me. “Wake up, you necrotic bastard! Wake up! ”
Sam kneels beside me, but I feel none of the usual soothing of his magic. Whether because he depleted himself during the battle, or because he can find no peace without Niko, I don’t know. I don’t want it anyway—I don’t want relief when Niko gave himself up to his pain. So, when Sam tries to put a gentle hand to my shoulder, I shrug him off with a snarl.
I throw myself on top of Niko’s body, the familiarity of him beneath me enough to drive away the last of my reason. Balling my hands into tight fists, I hit his chest with the last of my strength. Pounding blows, over and over, as ragged sobs wrack my body. As silent as his heartbeat.
“You promised,” I cry. “You promised me we were eternal. That you wouldn’t leave me alone.”
“Willa…” Sam tries from beside me, his own tears leaving tracks over his blood-stained cheeks.
“You promised, you promised, you promised.”
The words are a horrible rasp, dragged from the depths of my chest. Somewhere deeper than my power; somewhere that is caving in, shattering apart. Like shards of my delicate glass heart are exploding, shredding through everything tender left in me. Every soft space I allowed Niko into.
“Willa, you have to let him go,” Sam whispers gently. “ We have to let him go. It’s what he wanted. For you. For the island. For the mainland. He did it to save all of us.”
I bare my teeth, brushing at wild tendrils of hair falling in front of my eyes. In this moment, I’m more animal than human; the vicious, desperate creature I always revert back to. I cannot think beyond the silence, beyond the absence, beyond the grief threatening to swallow me whole. Because if Niko is truly gone, he isn’t the only thing to die.
Every piece of me I trusted him with will die along with him. The good and the kind and the brave.
Because if he’s dead, it proves Dawson right. It means that Niko orchestrated every movement, every emotion. He led me to sacrifice the only thing in the world that matters to me—him—without giving me a say.
How could this be the world Niko wanted when I am his world? There is no universe that makes sense unless we’re in it together—creation and void, death and life.
I shake my head, clearing my tears from my cheeks and sucking in a breath. Niko is king no longer. He gave up his royal seat, his right to craft futures and manipulate kingdoms. To me.
And I’m no longer the girl who runs.
So instead of falling apart or caving in, I erupt. A detonation of power, of rage, of willful determination.
I am the decider of fate, the creator of possibility.
I am the anchor of Letum. I am Queen of Dreams.
And what is truer, or more desperate, than a dream?
“Willa, no!” Sam shouts, but it’s far too late.
I throw my head back, and dive into the magic simmering beneath my skin. With a harrowing cry, I yank it from my chest, pouring it into the air around me. Sam lunges for Adira, throwing her to the ground, shielding her with his body as screams of shock and terror begin anew. People collapse where they stand, covering their eyes, as the air around Niko and I begin to burn with magic. The endless possibility is too much to gaze upon without being consumed; its power too bright to bear.
My body thrums with energy, and my veins sizzle. The pressure of it is agonizing, and my bones creak beneath the weight of time and space. Gritting my teeth, I thrust my arms into the heart of the shimmering starlight and begin to paint.
“Willa, stop!” Tiernan’s shout is distant as he lunges for me. A cry of pain escapes him as his body cracks uselessly against the thick cage of magic I’ve shrouded myself in, and my heart pulls as I realize it has burned his skin.
But Tiernan—kind, funny, loyal, Tiernan—doesn’t stop trying. Not for Niko, I realize, but to protect me. I wish I could tell him what it means; how the moment will be etched into my soul for centuries to come.
“Willa, there will be a cost!” he shouts desperately, slicing at the shimmering shield with his sword. “There’s always a cost!”
You’re no hero, Willa. You have the heart of a villain.
Niko was right. Because for villains like me, carved into jagged edges by the world until the only choice left to us was to wield the weapon created, the cost is never too high.
I siphon the lifeblood of the island, draining the heart of it until all that’s left is barren sand. Wild power flows through my veins, addictive nectar pulsating through me with dizzying intensity. My throat grows dry, and my muscles burn as pieces of myself slip away entirely, replaced by the ancient power of dreams. Of nightmares and hope.
More and more of the island floods into me, and I push it outward. My fingers tremble as I paint, using every color—those I’ve never even imagined—to create my vision. Not a place or a person.
I paint time.
I erase harsh lines and remake them as something softer. I smudge shapes and darken shadows. I blend colors, millions of them, until everything around us begins to glow, and I think I’ll burn alive with the power coursing through me. My nerves crackle, as light and magic spill through my skin. Every breath stokes the embers in my lungs, scorching my chest as the wild magic of the island expands. In me, around me. In the rush of my blood, and the marrow of my bones.
You are mine. The words resonate through me, and I don’t know whether they’re mine or the island’s. You are mine, and I will never let you go.
Mine, mine, mine.
I’d felt it in every one of Niko’s touches, in every one of his movements inside me. Burrowed too deeply for the universe to ever erase, etched into our fucking bones. Mine. I carve it into the painting, glaze it with power, set it with blood. Until it is as permanent and enduring as the universe itself.
Black edges my vision as I add one last stroke of color. And then, with a manic peal of laughter, I let everything go.
The starlight explodes.
A force of light and sound and time so deafening, for a moment, I’m sure I’ve incinerated existence itself.
I squeeze my eyes shut as I’m blasted backward, hitting the ground with a pained gasp and throwing my hands over my ears to shield them from the surge of noise. It is the opposite of silence; a sound that floods my ears, presses into my chest, dives into my belly.
There is no sky—no world —around me. Only infinite color that will incinerate me where I lay, face pressed into my knees.
And I deserve it for meddling with things I have no right to touch. But even if I’m entirely consumed, even if I take the universe and its millions of worlds with me—I won’t ever regret it.
Then, the roar of magic subsides and the air around me settles. Like the world tilted from its axis for only a moment, and has now tipped back where it belongs.
For a moment, there is only the horrible sound of my own heartbeat. Tick, tick, tick. A taunt, a curse—that even if I dabble in the darkest parts of the universe, if I erase every other human from existence, my heart will stubbornly beat on.
A relieved breath fills my lungs when I hear the distant warble of a bird. The angered roar of a creature in the forest, and the soft rustle of branches above it. And then, the sounds of cheering. Of happiness and victory.
When I dare to open my eyes, it’s to find everyone rushing toward me. Silva Lucai, pixies, and outcasts of Caelum, alike. Tears of gratitude pour down their faces, words of respect and awe and love. My heart still halfway between dreams and reality—lost in the space between human and celestial—I peer past the crowds, and watch as the hundreds of people slain by the Strayed, rise to their feet.
Whole. Healthy. Alive.
Somehow, the girl who never wanted to be a hero became the queen who saved her kingdom.
It’s what I dreamed all those years ago, when I was terrified and alone and hurting. A way to end the agony, the loneliness, the desolation. A way to staunch the invisible wounds inside us all, the ones that consume and isolate us. The ones that destroyed Celie and so many others.
I’ve always been ashamed of my heart—of its desperate wants and vicious thorns—but its these same faults that have liberated us all.
I push past the crowd, not bothering to apologize, as I trip over my feet and barrel through a group of particularly harried-looking pixies. I hardly notice as the kingdom begins to chant my name— Willa Darling, Willa Darling —I have eyes only for the Carrion King.
He’s still sprawled on the ground beside Sam, Tiernan, and Marina. As I stumble toward him, my heart leaps so far into my throat, I’m sure it’ll come tumbling out of my mouth. Because at that moment, one of his fingers—those long, beautiful, tattooed fingers—twitches.
I crawl to his side, cupping his face between my palms. A sob escapes me, as the warmth of his skin sinks into mine, fresh tears springing to my eyes as the icy touch of his magic climbs from my fingertips to my arms. Lethal and perfect.
Niko’s dark lashes flutter, and his chest begins to rise with steady breaths. I lay my head on it, listening to the strong beat of his heart, it’s rhythm in time with my own. His death rises to slither over me, relief and pain wrapping over my arms, warring over my skin, binding me to him.
“Willa.” My name is a rasped prayer—an anchor back to myself in a sea of chaos. It is the path back home, and as it settles beneath my skin, the last of the inhuman magic still swirling inside me ebbs, and I am only Willa once again.
I lift my face to Niko’s, expecting to see so many things—gratitude, contrition, anger. Love.
But what I find slices through me more surely than any blade. Niko’s beautiful mouth is parted, the line between his brows deep, as he gazes at me in abject horror.
“Darling…” he gasps. “What have you done?”