Chapter 42
FORTY-TWO
Traditional nish thatsha betrothal vow:
More than the stars in the sky. More than every angel in the seven echelons. More than the air I breathe. I swear to become more until I’m everything you need.
MALACH
She’s going to face him alone. It’s a repeat of her cursed childhood all over again, and I hate it. The door slams behind us. I drive my fist into the wall, knuckles splitting on impact. The pain isn’t enough. It changes nothing.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Luca steps toward me with his hands up. “Take it easy.”
“I-I can’t . . .” I throw my head back and yell at the bland white ceiling. “This isn’t right. I didn’t lose my wings for this!”
Celine frowns until the expression consumes her entire face. It reminds me of her father’s scowl, although it would take more than torture for me to admit that out loud.
She says my name and reaches for me.
The echo begins before her hand can touch mine.
Young Celine runs through the foyer screaming, heading toward her bedroom with S’lach hot on her heels. Valenara steps into his path. “Leave her alone, S’lach.” Her voice is low and full of fury. “You swore you would stop these ‘lessons.’”
He rolls his eyes. “Honestly, Valenara, you’re being overly dramatic, which is exactly where she gets it from. Those wings . . .” He shudders.
“They’re beautiful.” She lifts her chin. “And unique.”
“She’ll make us a laughingstock,” he snaps. “Wearing her emotions where everyone can see them. You have no idea what I went through before—”
Valenara chuckles bitterly. “Yes, before you convinced me to marry you. Back when you walked the pathways of our echelon to the sounds of constant scorn.”
“Not everyone can be born with your pedigree.” He spits the word as if it disgusts him, and for a fleeting moment, his disgust extends to the beautiful woman blocking his path.
“You’re respected here, S’lach,” Valenara says calmly. “You hold a position on the council. When will you release this hatred in your heart?”
The backhand comes without warning, knocking Celine’s mother into the arched casing of the hallway. He looms over her, eyes wild. “Perhaps when my wife treats me with the same respect within the walls of this house that she claims I’m afforded outside them.”
Celine makes a low, pained noise in her throat and charges toward the echo. She steps between her parents, as though she’ll be able to change the past if she tries hard enough.
I know she doesn’t want us to see, but the echo came on so suddenly, we didn’t have time to do anything else. And now I can’t look away.
“Stop!” Valenara’s voice warps and slams into S’lach like a physical blow, magic shooting from her mouth in rippling rings of silver light.
He snarls. “You would use your word against me?”
Valenara’s laugh is bitter and broken, but the determination in her eyes is unmistakably familiar, even in the transparent projection. “Why shouldn’t I? You break our vows daily. If you can live a life without honor, I can, too.”
“You would declare war on me?” His voice is dangerously low.
Valenara wipes blood from her split lip and glances down the hall. “For her?” her voice breaks. “For her, I would do anything.”
“You are my wife,” he roars.
“And she is my daughter!”
S’lach advances on her, and the echo fades to mist, leaving adult Celine standing helplessly in the empty entrance to the hallway.
No one speaks. Lyklan stares at his feet. He’s a silent, uncomfortable observer. In a way, we all are. Celine doesn’t want to relive this. But Valenara’s word is powerful, even in death.
“My truth . . .” I take a step toward her. To do what, I’m not sure. I can’t erase the past or change the future. I’ve tried to defend her, but everything I do fails. My stomach twists, and I drop my hand—every direction I turn, failure smacks me in the face.
“She tried to protect me,” Celine murmurs. “I didn’t know that. It always seemed like she had given up.”
Like I’m giving up? I swallow around the lump in my throat. This isn’t about me. I’m caught in the crossfire, but this is Celine’s story—the history of her family. Pushing my own pain to the side, I approach her slowly. “You were young,” I whisper.
“B-but later, I have so many memories. She rarely stood up to him, Malach. I blamed her for the weakness. I thought she was a coward.”
I wince. Fighting a war requires sacrifice. There are always casualties, and Valenara didn’t have S’lach’s cruelty or his careless disregard for radiant traditions. I suspect she lost part of herself every time she betrayed her vows to defy him.
“She was always tired; she might have fought back more than you think.” The faded observation is all I can offer Celine. It isn’t enough.
Sadness sinks in as I remember the first time I was invited to the estate. My mom made me wear my best clothes, scrubbing my hands until they stung. She was thrilled that her son would get to play with Valenara’s child.
I was annoyed, but that changed when I met Celine.
From that first day, I knew we belonged together.
I would have done anything to make her smile, and I can’t help wondering .
. . Did Valenara know her strength was running out?
She encouraged our friendship and helped secure our betrothal before she passed.
Was she recruiting me to fight in her stead after it became clear she couldn’t win the war on her own?
I rub the hairs on my arm. They’re standing on end, a strange energy buzzing along the surface of my skin. “I think she did her best to make sure you were never alone,” I say.
Celine’s face falls. It’s not what she wants to hear, but I think it’s what she needs. The time for lies, both malignant and benign, is behind us.
She rubs her eyes. They’re red-rimmed but painfully dry. “I need to prepare for the duel.”
“Baby, if you want to talk about it—”
“I don’t.” Celine fixes her stare on Luca. “I don’t want to talk about the past anymore. All I can do is focus on what’s ahead. Her echoes, all those memories, they’re behind me where they belong.”
Luca runs his fingers through his hair, and Alistair and Ciprian exchange a glance that Celine doesn’t notice.
Riven sighs. “They aren’t behind you, darling.”
“What did you say to me?” Celine’s expression hardens as she whips her head around to face him. He’s leaning against the white wall, deliberately casual.
“You heard me,” he says calmly. “You aren’t past these things, and that’s painfully obvious; therefore, they can’t be behind you.”
She advances on him, happy to take what he’s offering: an outlet for her pain and anger, and pokes him in the chest. “You don’t know shit, Riven. He killed her, right here in this fucking house. She died, and I left. I chose to put it behind me.”
“But you didn’t bury it deep enough, did you, darling?
It’s clawed back to the surface to bite you.
You’ll fight him, and you’ll win—I know you will.
We all have faith in you, or we wouldn’t be here, but if you choose to wall this off again, it will distract you at the worst possible moment.
Are you willing to let him win because you weren’t strong enough to face this? ”
“Hey, I don’t think this is the best idea,” Luca protests, rubbing the palm of his hand over his heart. He feels her agony through the bond, and I envy the connection, although I suspect Celine’s pain is a hard pill to swallow.
“You aren’t protecting her right now, Luca,” Riven says calmly. “You’re arming the weapon that will kill her.”
“Fuck you!” Luca’s eyes flash yellow, and Ciprian wraps an arm around his waist to hold him back. “You don’t have a clue what you’re talking about.”
“Easy,” Alistair hisses. “Everyone, take a deep breath.” His voice is weird, but I don’t have time to think about it before I’m sucking in air through my nose, holding it for two seconds, and blowing it out.
“Don’t compel us, asshole,” Ciprian snaps.
“I’m only trying to help,” Alistair hisses through clenched teeth. “If you would all shut up long enough to let your blood cool, you would see that.”
Ciprian wants to argue—it’s written all over his face—but he keeps his mouth closed. I inhale again—this time of my own volition—and hold it before releasing the air. It helps a little, but I’m nowhere near calm.
My eyes flicker shut, and S’lach’s hateful stare is waiting for me.
Footsteps clack against the stone floor. I open my eyes, but I’m too late. Celine is already disappearing down the same hallway we watched her younger self sprint toward in the echo. Her bladed wings scrape against the walls as she walks away.
She’s leaving me behind.
It’s one time too many. I swallow and follow her. If she can’t do this alone, then she won’t have to. I’ll face it with her, no matter what it takes.
I find her in her mother’s favorite sitting room.
Like the rest of the house, the room is white and sterile, but it wasn’t always this way.
When we were young, shades of pink and purple filtered through the large stained glass window overlooking the courtyard.
We would play in the colors, plum light dancing off Celine’s hair while a magenta streak bisected the grin on her face.
The outer edge of the window was engraved with inspirational runes, and Valenara would often mumble the words—half song, half prayer—as she stared into the distance.
The window was the focal point of the room, but it’s gone now, covered up so thoroughly it’s as if it never existed to begin with.
“What did he do?” Celine’s hands ball at her sides. Trembling, she eyes the wall, and I curse myself for not knowing what to say to make it better.
Valenara lives on in the estate through her echoes, but S’lach obviously tried to erase her. Should I push Celine to accept that? She needs to prepare for the duel. How can I fix this for her?
“Perhaps the window remains,” I say softly. It’s the opposite of what I intended, but it feels right. When her bladed wings shudder, I move to her side before I can overthink. “Let’s fix it.”
Her gaze flickers to mine. “He walled over the window. We’ll do damage.”