Chapter 37
THIRTY-SEVEN
The past and the future matter far less than what’s in front of you.
MALACH
I hear them. Pledging forever to each other. Making promises bathed in heat and dripping with sincerity. The words are different, but the intent is the same as the vows Celine and I once made.
Their bonding brings us closer to escape.
Yet I feel as though there’s a giant clock above my head, the pendulum swinging like an executioner’s axe. I’ve escaped its blade more times than I can count, but my time is running out.
I sense it with every throb of my head and every painful beat of my heart.
We’ve accomplished so much, yet it won’t be enough. With no way to explain, I’m falling apart. Self-destructing in the most painful way imaginable.
If I could levy the same judgment against myself that I use against others, I know what I would see. A riot of colors, twisted and partially calcified into a writhing, painful mess.
I once thought I could untangle it before it was too late.
I tried my best.
But I’m no longer na?ve.
It’s an impossible task on my own, and even if I could ask for help, I wouldn’t.
Celine deserves her happiness, even if it doesn’t include me. And if that’s the last thing I’m able to give her—the final way to honor our vows—then by all gods alive and dead, I’ll do it.
We gather in the kitchen and share a simple meal.
A soft, flat bread, as dark as the stone walls, covered in a thick, creamy sauce Riven prepared. He’s been quiet since his return, but a strange energy hovers around him.
He took one look at the mark on Celine’s neck and nodded.
Then his eyes flickered to me.
I forced myself not to react. He can’t know; there’s no way, but his attention returns to me multiple times throughout the meal.
Celine is softer tonight. Her wings are out, the downy white feathers framing her body. I’ve seen wings my whole life. Most echelons have them, but no one wears them as well as my truth.
I take her in, memorizing the details. I want to have this picture of her forever. Deep inside, where no one else will ever be able to reach it. Her lips, smiling and puffy from her time with Luca. Her hair, damp and loose, curls around her shoulders.
My stomach flips, and after a moment of hesitation, I take a second memory. Of the rest of them.
Luca’s watchful stare travels around the room, checking in on everyone.
Alistair’s fang-tipped smile is free of anger as he reclines in his chair.
Ciprian’s laughter is softer than I’ve ever heard it. His jokes are easy, kind, and pressure-free, as if he’s left everything behind but genuine joy. It fits him so much better.
And Riven, who seems surprised, then nervous every time he’s reminded that we’re here.
Our differences are too many to count, but Celine is more than enough to make them inconsequential. When her hand slips into mine and squeezes, I cling tight, reluctant to let her go, now or—another sharp throb hits my temple.
I drive it away by force, running the fingers of my free hand over the polished wood table. The grains run deep. A testament to life’s stubborn endurance—first in the forest and now in Riven’s home. Like no force could erase it . . . not even time.
Perhaps I’ll be that lucky.
Celine holds my hand for the rest of the meal. Her fingers, smaller than mine, are strong and covered in new callouses. Her warmth sinks into me. I get so lost in the feeling that the memory takes me by surprise.
“You’ve got to stop,” Celine says. Her brown eyes are tight with worry.
A bruise curls around the top of her arm, visible every time her sleeve rides up. She thinks I don’t see it, but I’ve seen nothing else for the last half hour. Anger burns in my belly, unfamiliar and deep. Someone hurt her, and I think I know who. Why didn’t she tell me?
“I won’t allow this to continue,” I tell her. “I’ll stop him.”
I want to convey strength, but I sound like a child. Instead of being relieved, Celine’s wings twitch, then turn to blades. She glances around the courtyard for listening ears, but we’re alone out here—training together as we’ve done for years.
“You don’t understand,” she whispers, switching to my family’s dialect. It’s frowned upon to share words with anyone who isn’t related, but once I started teaching Celine, I couldn’t stop. When she speaks to me in my tongue, I can pretend she’s mine.
“If you try to intervene, it will only make things worse.” Celine glances down, her brow creasing with an emotion I’m not used to seeing from her: shame.
I step closer and slide her sleeve up to reveal the mottled bruising. The urge to commit violence on her behalf startles me. Even while longing to bash his face in, I keep my touch feather light.
“I cannot let him hurt you,” I say. “It dishonors our . . . friendship.” I stumble over the final word, and Celine’s head snaps up.
“That’s a lie,” she says, her voice sharp. “Why did you lie to me, Malach?”
My stomach pitches right, left, and back again, then flips upside down. I scrape a hand through my curls. They’re messy from training. “It’s not a lie, exactly,” I mumble.
“Then what is it?” Her chin tilts, stubborn and proud, and I’m so relieved to see her looking more like herself that I forget all about my embarrassment.
“I don’t see you as a friend,” I say.
Her face falls. She tries to cover her distress with a bland smile, but it’s too late. I’ve already seen it. My heart leaps.
“I understand,” she says.
“No,” I blurt. “No, I don’t think you do.”
“It’s fine, Malach.” Celine winces. I recognize the expression immediately—her magic punished her for lying.
I once asked her how it felt, and she told me it was like the snap of leather, except under her skin instead of on top of it.
At the time, I wondered at the comparison. Now, I miss wondering.
Celine pivots to retreat. She’s fed up with the countless ways I’m failing her, and a desperation bubbles up inside me that’s impossible to hold back. I can’t lose her. I won’t.
I grab her hand in both of mine. “You’re not my friend, Celine,” I repeat. “You’re far more than that. I-I don’t intent to submit myself for matching.”
She stares at my trembling hands, then up at me. “But you’re almost sixteen, Malach. Don’t you want to find the one whose word resonates with yours?” There’s a hint of bitterness in her question, but I’m in too deep to back out now.
Gathering all my courage, I squeeze her hand. “There’s nothing they can tell me that I don’t already know. You are my truth and I am your judgment, and nothing will change that.”
Her eyes widen, and for a moment, Celine’s dazzling smile is all I see. Her wings return to feathers. She steps into me, her chest brushing against mine—then she freezes, her eyes focusing on something over my shoulder.
Metal grinds. Her wings have returned to blades. “I-I can’t,” she whispers. Her lips barely move as she speaks. “He’ll take you away from me, Malach.”
My jaw clenches. I hate the defeat in her voice. “I’ll protect you,” I tell her. “No matter what it takes, I’ll stand between you and whatever seeks to harm you. Always and forever.”
She shakes her head, the whites of her eyes overwhelming the warm brown I dream of each night. She doesn’t believe me. I’m losing her. I’m losing everything.
“Use your word,” I beg. “Test me, Celine. Please.” I sound pathetic, but I cannot begin to care about that when my sole focus is banishing the shadows from her eyes.
I know the danger is real. S’lach is powerful and feared among the thatsha.
Our road might not be easy, but if Celine doesn’t believe . . . I shudder. I cannot stand that.
Her runes flicker, and I fix my stare on her arm and clear my throat. “I swear to always put your happiness above my own. Until the stars fall from the heavens and time loses meaning, I am yours.”
It was the first vow I made to her, but it wouldn’t be the last. I knew it, even then.
The golden runes fade from her bruised skin, and she sniffles.
I drop my forehead to hers. “Do you believe me now?”
Celine nods slowly, then kisses my cheek before pulling her hand free. “I believe you, Malach.”
She leaves me in the courtyard, surrounded by straw-filled dummies, blades, and an unquenchable thirst to judge S’lach and make him pay for every shadow—the ones in her eyes and the ones on her skin.
The next vow I make to myself.
My truth is a warrior, but she will never fight alone. I’ll make sure of it.
A loud clinking pulls me out of the past.
Luca jostles Ciprian, playfully attempting to steal the last bite from his plate. I blink to orient myself, but the determination I felt in the courtyard is as fresh today as it was then.
Only one thing has changed. Back then, I was the only one fighting for Celine. For years that remained true. Until now. She’s no longer alone, and she won’t be—even if I fall.
For the first time in weeks, my mind and body are pain free.