Chapter 21
Lucina
The first of the sun bleeds through the crack in the curtains, spilling grey light over the mess of sheets and blankets we’re wrapped in.
Callan’s skin is warm against my hand as I lightly trace the ink along his torso. His muscles contract, flexing beneath the path my finger takes, and I watch it all with rapt fascination.
I vaguely remember falling asleep, but each time I stirred, he was there, pulling me tighter against him. His soft exhales against my ear lulled me right back into a blissful unconsciousness. I don’t remember the last time I felt so safe.
When I look up from his chest, Callan’s gazing back at me. His hair is a bit out of sorts, dark brown locks made into a perfect mess. His eyes are half-lidded, and there’s a shallow crease between his brows that deepens the longer I stare back at him.
“What is it?” I ask, laying my arm flat across his chest and propping my chin against it.
Callan reaches up to brush back my hair, his chest sinking as he exhales. “Have you…trained it?”
It takes me a second to place what he’s referring to. I look down at my hands, then back up at him. “The magic?”
Callan nods, his fingers stilling in my hair.
“Yeah.” I fist my hands, tucking them further beneath me. “I mean, sort of. I’ve been exploring it in small quantities.”
He doesn’t say anything at first, and the silence grows thick between us. Panic pricks the back of my throat. “Do you want me to…help you?” Callan asks.
I can tell that it makes him uncomfortable, talking about this, but at least he’s trying. I can tell that he’s trying.
“Um,” I roll my lips together, suddenly feeling a little uncomfortable myself. It feels…wrong to talk to him about it.
I’d kept it a secret from him, mostly because I was afraid, but there’s a small part of me that felt ashamed, too. Embarrassed by this…monster I didn’t ask for. It isn’t my fault, I know that, but the thought of Callan helping me train it?
Mortification blooms, heating my cheeks. “I mean, what would happen if I just…didn’t? Didn’t use it, I mean.”
What my father warned me about the night of the Soul Binding rings through my head, and as soon as the question leaves my lips, I remember why it was a senseless one to ask.
It will consume you. It will eat you alive. Control or be controlled.
It isn’t possible, what I’m suggesting. I couldn’t suppress my mother’s magic when it first manifested, so what makes me think I could turn a blind eye to the evil born beneath it?
My father’s magic is hungrier, darker, and less forgiving when it’s denied. It’s more painful to harness and more suffocating to smother.
I exhale a heavy breath, dropping my chin back to my arm. “Never mind.”
A burning starts behind my eyes, and I avert my gaze to Callan’s silver pendant resting in the divot at the base of his throat. It rises and falls with each breath he takes.
I can sense his attention on me, and the gentle drag of his hand through my hair only serves to make the burning worse.
“It isn’t ideal, Lucina,” Callan sighs. “I don’t want this for you, and if I could find some way to—” he terminates the statement when I lift my head, shaking his as he throws the thought away. “I don’t have any experience with that kind of magic, but I can try. It might make you stronger.”
The real reason for his offer clicks then, and I can see it on his face—in the fierce yet fearful look in his eyes, and the somber drop in his tone. Even his heartbeat quickens, thumping harder beneath my arm.
You’ll have to cross the ward alone, and I won’t be there to protect you.
A cursed and corrupt weapon is still a weapon, one that could save you if I can’t.
And he’s right. I will be alone—that’s always been the plan.
The second I slid that cup across the ward that Selene spun at breakfast, I knew where this would end.
I’d enter the Estate alone, and I’d be solely responsible for taking down the ward once inside.
There’s no other option, and honestly, it doesn’t scare me as much as I think it should.
The risk to my life for the potential to save hundreds? When you look at the choices for what they are, it’s hardly a dilemma.
“I can do it,” I exhale, going back to tracing his tattoo. “Training it, I mean. I don’t need help.”
Callan is silent for a long moment, and when I look up at him, I can tell he’s still worried. Still thinking.
I force a smile. “I’m already pretty strong.”
Callan snorts. “I know you are.”
Pulling myself up, I swing a leg over his hip, wincing at the strain on my inner thighs. My body certainly aches, but in a good way. Pleasantly sated and sore.
It takes me a second to relax into the position, and Callan’s hands slide up to rest on my hips. “What are you going to tell Delia?” I ask.
Any hint of playfulness falls from his face—he must not have thought that part through.
The Dame will need to approve our rescue mission, and Callan can’t very well tell her that our plan to pass the ward is to let me cross it.
“Um.” He drags a hand through his hair while he thinks, deciding with a decent amount of confidence, “We’ll tell her we figured out a different way to take down the ward, and I’ll be vague with the details.”
Sounds good enough to buy us some time.
I nod, toying with the chain around his neck. “And what about when I get back?”
Callan must notice the unease in my voice, or the defeat in the slouch of my shoulders, because he leans up to kiss me. It’s intentional and reassuring, the dread in my stomach lessening at the touch.
He cups my jaw, running his thumb over my cheekbone.
“You’ll be saving our people, Lucina,” Callan tells me.
“Regardless of how you are able to do it, you’ll be the reason we get to see our families again.
I doubt the Dame or anyone, for that matter, would question you or your magic, but we will figure it out. Okay?”
I chew on my bottom lip, not sold.
Callan exhales, eyes dipping to my chest. To where my silver necklace hangs between us. “Your heart is good.”
Something about the simplicity in the statement makes me smile. A real smile.
A screen door slams shut and I flinch.
“Boss,” Devon calls out, heavy footsteps echoing through the cabin as he makes his way down the hall. When Callan doesn’t answer, there’s a firm knock on the bedroom door. “Cal,” he says again.
Gathering the sheets to my chest, I roll out of Callan’s grip and reach for one of his shirts, sliding it over my head while Callan hurries into a pair of pants.
I’m trying to get my fingers through my tangled curls when he pulls the door open, and the second I see Devon’s grim expression, I know something is wrong.
“Is she awake?” Callan asks, and a pit opens in my stomach. We’ve been so blissfully in our own bubble for the last however many hours that I’d almost forgotten about Ceres’s…comatose state. Almost.
Devon shakes his head, dark eyes shifting from me to the Captain. “She’s not going to wake up.”
My jaw slackens.
“What do you mean?” Callan seems equally as shocked as I am, quickly reaching for a shirt and his discarded boots.
“She used an Eldral that didn’t belong to her,” Devon explains. “Her body is failing, but Gemma has managed to keep her brain active.” His gaze hardens on Callan then. “If we want answers, you’ll have to get them.”
A beat of silence passes, and then Callan curses, scrubbing a hand down his face.
My attention darts between the two of them, a bit lost as to what’s happening but too stunned at the news to voice my confusion.
Devon turns to leave, expression still vacant. “We’ll meet you outside,” he calls over his shoulder.
Watching Callan hastily get dressed, my mind goes to Pax.
I know he hates his mother, but there’s no way he doesn’t feel a fraction of hurt from the news that she won’t be waking up.
She’s the last of his biological family members—not that he needs them when he has us.
But still, he can’t be satisfied with this news. How could anyone be?
Pulling on some jeans, I match the hurried pace Callan makes around the room, waiting until he’s finished lacing his boots to ask, “If she’s not waking up, then how are you supposed to get answers?”
“Gemma is keeping her brain alive,” Callan explains, letting out a deep sigh. “And as long as her mind is still active, I can access—”
It dawns on me then, with brutal clarity. “Her memories.”
Those who attended the initiation have done well at keeping the horrific events of the night contained, but I get the feeling that all of that is about to change as we approach the Infirmary.
Devon goes in first, holding the door open for Callan, who in turn holds it open for me, guiding me into the waiting room with a hand at my back.
It’s not that different from the first time I came here, having just been found washed up on a beach. I’m just as unsure now of what I’m walking to, and I feel the same reluctance to speak. The quiet is heavy, and I don’t want to be the one to break it.
The Mender at the front desk keeps her head down as we pass, the hallway empty. Devon takes us all the way down, pushing open the door at the far end.
As soon as we enter, I make eye contact with Gemma first, relief shaking out some of my concern when I see that she’s perfectly intact. Maybe not mentally, but physically.
She scans my body head to toe, a soft tilt to her lips when she catalogs the same information about me.
“Kimber?” I mouth to her.
Gemma nods. “Good.”
More relief soothes my tense muscles as I move cautiously into the room, taking note of everyone in it.
Delia and Laverna stand rigid off to the right, the latter wringing out her hands beneath the yellow fabric of her robes. Phoenix, Easton, and Hunter linger by the door with blank expressions, gazes cast to Pax, who stands in the opposite corner from everyone else.
His dead stare is distant, pointed at the bed in the center of the room.