THIRTY-TWO #3
I didn’t, but seeing his face now makes me certain that I don’t have another choice.
Maybe one of us will always fuck this up.
Always retreat when things get complicated.
After everything, I don’t think my heart can survive that push and pull again.
“Watch me.” I look him in the eye. “Please leave so I can get dressed.”
A muscle tightens in his jaw. “I’m not finished—”
“I am,” I cut him off again. He can issue whatever edicts he wants. He can walk away. But I don’t have to stand here and listen to his excuses.
He hesitates like he might argue. Instead, he turns and walks out of the bathhouse. The second the door closes behind him, the strength drains out of me. The room tilts the way it did the night I was poisoned, and I sink onto the bench so I don’t collapse.
I fold forward, the tears slipping free before I can stop them.
Because part of me hates him for not turning around.
For sacrificing whatever this is between us and calling it duty.
I hate myself even more, because he warned me.
That night on the balcony. He implied he would always choose his oath.
He proved it every time he restrained himself.
And I was stupid enough to turn a moment of weakness into something more.
When I finally leave, my skin is still damp, the winter air biting into it as I make my way home.
No. It’s not home.
Not anymore.
My steps slow as my mind races. Not toward where Miradores looms across the bridge.
But to some distant future that I can’t quite see.
Suddenly, I’m grateful Lenora made me put Kieren’s money aside.
It’s not much, but it’s a start. If I’m serious about leaving, I need a plan.
Somewhere to go. It doesn’t matter where as long as it isn’t here.
I won’t hide behind his shadow just to stay alive.
And ever since that night on the stairs, I know my magic is starting to awaken. I can’t be here when it fully does.
For so many reasons. Including the one I’ve been desperately trying to ignore. That I was right when I pushed Bishop away that first time. But I’m not ready to face that yet. Not ready to admit I might be the one who destroys us all.
The bridge creaks like it’s greeting me, and I swallow a new wave of sadness at what’s waiting for me on the other side.
Lenora’s cooking. Taliesin’s terrible jokes. Hadrian and his rules.
All of it was beginning to fit together into somewhere I could belong, and now I have to tear it apart.
But stepping through the gate, I find Bishop in the garden.
He’s not waiting for me. His coat and shirt are gone. Despite the cold, sweat glistens on his skin, catching on the lines of his vestiges as his shovel bites into the hard soil around the stump I’ve been fighting for weeks. Its roots rip free, dirt scattering as it topples over with a heavy thud.
“What are you doing?” The question is out of my mouth before I can stop myself.
He glances up, sweat streaking the dirt on his face. “Fixing something I should have handled a long time ago.”
A pang starts behind my ribs. I fold my arms over my chest, but it does nothing to soothe the sudden ache there. “I don’t need your help.”
“Yes,” he says, wiping a hand across his slick forehead. “You made that very clear.”
But he’s still here. “Then stop.”
“That’s not how this works,” he says softly, setting down the shovel.
I hold my breath, trying to ignore the urge to move closer. “Is avoiding each other how it works?”
His eyes meet mine as he takes a tentative step in my direction. “I almost lost you.”
A hot rush of tears fills my throat, but I swallow them down. “I’m right here.”
He shakes his head. “I didn’t know if you were going to make it through the night,” he continues quietly. “I can’t let that happen again. I won’t.”
But I know exactly how he felt that night. I watched Kieren die, and I couldn’t do anything.
“We all lose people.” The truth catches in my burning throat. “Shutting everyone out won’t change that. It’s just forgetting how to live.”
His jaw locks, the muscle there jumping slightly as he looks over my shoulder.
“Right,” I murmur. “Good luck with that.” I turn, gulping hard to keep more tears from falling before I can get away.
Bishop grabs my wrist, and then I’m spinning, time reversing in an instant to somewhere before the angry words and broken promises. To that fleeting moment where we belonged to each other—and I find myself in his arms again.
“It’s been so long since … since there was life in this garden. In this house.” He presses me closer. My hands land on his chest, and I’m back in the night that he died, and he’s solid. Real again. “Since I felt alive.”
His face angles closer, his breath whispering across mine, but he doesn’t kiss me.
And I can’t admit that I want him to—can’t risk it even if there are no assassins waiting around the corner.
“Don’t let me disappear again. Don’t let me become a ghost.” He gives the words to me like that dagger in the astrolatory. Like it’s my choice. Like his fate has always been up to me.
Mercy.
Sacrifice.
I think we’ll always be tangled in both.
Maybe the knife is the least painful path.
But maybe I was never the one who needed saving.
Because something wild beats in his eyes, pounds in his chest. Caged and broken by a life he can’t control no matter how hard he tries. Trapped like that bird.
I surge up, bringing my mouth to his, and release it.