Chapter 38
THIRTY-EIGHT
Instinct and knowledge aren’t enough on their own. You need both to win.
CELINE
I’m losing Malach.
Even with his hand in mine, I sense it. The soul-deep certainty that something is wrong. The headaches, his withdrawal. It settles in the middle of shoulder blades—an itch I can’t reach or wait out.
I clear my throat and glance around the table. “We need to talk about the plan.”
Riven nods. “Timing will be critical.”
“Do you have a witch stone that can get us close to the portal?” Luca sounds awkward, but he’s clearly trying to be civil.
Riven shakes his head. “I have one to access my rooms at the arena, but I’m sure they’re being monitored. Using it isn’t worth the risk.”
“If we try to walk, that big ass alligator will have us for dinner.” Ciprian clanks his fork against his plate for emphasis, and I wince.
I’m not interested in fighting the tracking monster again either.
He doesn’t have a weak point, and unless I keep sawing toes off until he tips over, I’m not sure how to beat him.
“Crag also comes with a small army,” Riven says.
Ciprian snorts. “I still can’t believe that motherfucker’s name is Crag. Did his mother hate him?”
Riven’s lips twitch. “We’ve never discussed his mother, but if I run into him again, I’ll be sure to ask.”
“We need to time the patrols,” Alistair cuts in. “Combine them with the eclipses and then build a plan around both. They were searching the forest in a grid pattern.”
“If we walked the whole way, how long would it take?” I ask.
Riven purses his lips. “Too long. I’ll work on an alternative.” We all look at him expectantly. “What?” he demands, face glitching.
“Trust runs thin,” Malach says. “We need communication, not vague guarantees.” I squeeze his hand gently. He’s right, but the delivery could use work.
Riven sits up straighter in his chair. “So what?” he snaps. “You don’t trust me, therefore you want to hear every thought in my head?”
“Fuck no,” Ciprian mutters. “But have you ever heard the expression show your work? That would be a good place to start.”
Riven’s fingers clench around the edge of the table, then he nods slowly. “I will share the details as soon as I’ve thought of a reasonable workaround.”
“We appreciate that,” I say firmly, looking around the table with narrowed eyes.
A reluctant chorus of grunts follows my warning, and my lips curl. We’re not working with much, but we’ve got plenty of stubbornness to go around. It’s taking a lot for the guys to play nice with our jailer.
Riven is hard to figure out.
He’s the ultimate lie, but he carries horrible pain. When he’s not masquerading as someone else, it’s written in every line of his body—easy to recognize if you’re used to carrying your own burdens. And his pain is made worse by his magic.
It must be exhausting.
One problem at a time, Celine.
Once dinner ends, I pull Malach into the bathroom. I don’t want to ruin his evening, but I can’t wait anymore. I need answers, and I need him to assure me that my concerns are off base. I can’t shake the dread on my own.
Malach looks at me, his handsome, chiseled face lit by the bobbing witch light. From the dimple in his chin to his bright green eyes, I know him.
He’s Malach and I’m Celine, and it’s time we had a heart-to-heart.
“Something’s wrong,” I say. “But you’re not talking to me about it. The headaches, the quiet—I don’t know what to think, Malach.”
A shadow crosses his face, but it disappears too quickly for me to be sure if it’s a trick of the light or an actual change in his expression.
“The last few weeks have been stressful,” Malach admits. “I don’t want to worry you.”
He sounds serious, but there’s a pit in my stomach. I would never use my truth on him—our vows to each other forbid it—but I’m tempted. It has been a horrible few weeks, though. Maybe I’m being paranoid.
“You know, we haven’t talked much about your guardians,” I say. “I’m sorry you lost them.” Malach gave up a lot for me, and I’ve barely asked how he’s coping. I glance at my feet as a trickle of shame rolls through me.
He lifts my chin, his fingers painfully gentle. “Don’t worry about me, Celine. Every choice I have made has led me to you. I have no regrets about my path, even when I find it hard to walk.”
I lean into his touch. “I know that, but I want you to know I’m always here to listen, Malach.
Even if it seems like someone else needs my time—” I puff out a breath and roll my shoulders back.
“Once upon a time, it was you and me against the world, and it still is, I promise. I won’t let you down. ”
Malach’s gaze turns fierce. “You’ve never let me down. I’ll kill anyone who says otherwise.”
I smile and wrap my arms around his waist. He’s sturdy. Strong. An angel anyone would be proud to have by their side. I want to give him the same support he gives me. I hold him tight and hope it’s enough.
“You would tell me, right?” With my head buried in his chest, my voice is muffled. “If you needed my help?”
He stiffens. It’s subtle. I wouldn’t have noticed at all if I wasn’t wrapped around him like a vine. There’s a long pause, then his voice rumbles, gravel in my ear. “Of course.”
A chill runs through me. I can’t prove it without using my magic, but I don’t think Malach is telling me the whole truth.
And I don’t have a clue what to do about it.
Every time my eyes close, I see a new way it could go wrong.
I spend a sleepless night doing everything I can not to toss, turn, or accidentally elbow anyone in the face.
Surrounded by deep, even breathing, I tell myself everything’s fine.
Or it will be. I’m nervous about our escape.
Terrified something will go wrong again and our planning won’t be enough to keep everyone safe.
Ciprian could get squashed by Two-Toed Crag.
We could mistime the eclipse, and Alistair could freeze to death.
Luca could get snatched and mutilated by a veydra.
And Malach . . . Fuck, whenever I think of Malach my back itches like crazy.
When I crawl out of bed, my eyes feel as if someone replaced the lids with sandpaper. But there’s no time to stress, our recon starts after the first eclipse.
And that requires my full focus.
We watch as veydran scan the forest. They’re searching methodically, getting closer to Riven’s mountain with every step. My skin crawls. Inaccessible or not—no safe house is ever safe when magic is involved. And complacency is the quickest way to be taken off guard.
We keep our distance.
And spend days watching.
Our uneasy alliance gets stronger. Patterns emerge. Numbers. Rough, then specific. Combined with Riven’s inside knowledge, our facts and figures get far more concrete.
Papers litter Riven’s living room table. I organize them methodically, only to find them scattered again an hour later. Dishes pile up in the sink, and the dust beneath the bed taunts me. Until, one day, I can’t take any more.
I find cleaning supplies in the cellar, shoved behind a jar of iridescent green preserves.
Peppers maybe? Except they’re shaped more like pears.
Either way, I’m not here for them, so I push them aside and grab a bucket stuffed with soap, a rag that’s seen better days, and a broom missing half its bristles.
It’s pathetic, but it’ll have to do.
I scrub the house with all the compulsive energy I’ve been fighting for days. By the time I get to the walls, my muscles are aching, but my mind is blissfully calm. I scrub a section, inspect the dust on my rag, then freeze.
Gods alive and dead.
Painted runes on the walls. The break in at my apartment. Malach’s headaches since we got here. The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.
The gateway. Someone sabotaged our destination, but I haven’t been able to figure out how. It’s a heavily regulated piece of celestial technology. Only Malach or I could activate it. I thought my father must have had it coded to my signature, but Malach activated the gateway.
His radiant heritage triggered this trip.
I pace. There’s a chance my father coded the gateway to activate if either of us touched it. That makes sense, but my stomach is churning.
It can’t be. He wouldn’t. Malach made vows to me. But I can’t pretend it isn’t suspicious. I have to at least think about it, right?
I left Malach. According to nish thatsha customs, I broke our vows by moving to the Fringes. Anyone else might have wished me dead for that betrayal. Could Malach be lying to me? Would he work with my dad to get revenge on me for leaving?
The thought takes my breath away. He said he helped me get away, and I believed him. But he avoided all the arena fights.
Shit. I’m stuck between two worldviews: the rigid system of honor my homeland runs on and the eye for an eye mentality of the Fringes. There’s strength in both, but which do I choose?
I don’t want to believe Malach is capable of this, but the motives check out, the logic holds, and the opportunity lines up.
Even Malach’s injury the night I fought Riven at the Mouth of Hell.
He told me he couldn’t remember what happened, but what if the missing guardians are fine?
I know the horrible bruising on his chest was from a radiant attack, but he could have done it to himself.
Gods, I first saw Malach cast that assault on a courtyard training dummy when we were fifteen.
I wrap my arms around myself.
I think I’m going to be sick.
The air crackles and pops, and my alone time ends abruptly. They’re back from recon, but I’m not ready. I haven’t decided what to do yet. Should I confront Malach? No. If I’m right, it could force his hand, and if I’m wrong, I’ll break his heart and destroy any hope of a happy future together.
I can’t risk either alternative.
I tuck my wings and smile as they tease me about my deep clean.
Riven is stunned, looking around his house like he’s never seen it before.
Luca and Alistair say they’re surprised I lasted this long.
Ciprian shoots me a worried glance and kisses my cheek, his lips cold from the mountain air, and Malach stares right through me before excusing himself.
My fingers spasm at my side.
Could Malach betray me? I don’t know. But until I do, I’ll act as if everything is fine. More lives depend on me getting this right than just my own.