Chapter 101 Nikolai
Nikolai
I’m stripped to my raw, scarred core—every horrible part of me exposed, and Taera is still looking at me like I mean something. The weight of her gaze crushes me. I need to offer her something, anything.
“I don’t know how,” I whisper hoarsely.
“Why don’t you start with the scar.” Her eyes trace over the ugliest part of me.
I clear my throat. “The scar was stupid. Some relic I shouldn’t have messed with. My mom would have freaked, so I hid the damage.”
“It must have hurt.” Her brow creases.
I shrug. I hardly remember it.
“This is why you won’t show anyone your face?”
“No. I…” I grimace and turn away.
Taera remains silent as I try to find the words I’ve never spoken aloud. I’ve imagined saying it for years, the difficulty swelling each time—bloating into something too monstrously out of proportion to fathom. When I try to shove it out by force, the awful secret remains glued heavy to my tongue.
“Take your time,” she says. Like it’s going to become any easier.
The only way I’ll say anything at all is if I start from the beginning.
“My magic surfaced early. I began wearing illusions as soon as I figured out how. I spent all my spare pennies on mostly used amulets bought off magicians that passed through—once I learned to distinguish them.”
Taera stays silent.
“I was cocky. My mom didn’t approve of my new faces, but I’d invent new tricks to hide my amulets. By the time I received an invitation to the Halls of Glass, I thought I was indestructible.”
She smiles.
“The next summer, my sister’s magic surfaced.
I wanted to teach her everything.” The world fades into memory.
“We created worlds together. Our imaginations were endless. We designed fireworks, feasts, we had a whole cast of characters that we would tell epic stories about—bringing them to life. We were always making them more grand, more intricate—”
My throat closes, and I have to exhale slowly.
“In the middle of a story, Hazel collapsed. She—” I flinch. “I took too much. I didn’t know what had happened and panicked—dropped all my illusions.”
Taera is perfectly still, expressionless, waiting.
“Hazel… she hadn’t seen my real face in years. She didn’t recognize me.”
She shrieked—terrified—thrashing and screaming for help. For her brother.
A confused crease between Taera’s brows draws me back to her. When I go silent, she bites her lip, then says, “But, your real face, it isn’t even that different.”
I glance away. “I wore an entirely different face back then. I guess… it’s drifted back toward who I…” Not who I am. “Who I wish I could be.”
Taera nods. “What happened… when she saw you?”
“I ran—I tried to get help—but when I realized what happened.” The words claw out of me, reopening wounds. “I needed to save her; I—I wore a mask again when I returned. She clung to me—told me how she’d been attacked.”
“And she remembers the scar,” Taera whispers.
I don’t linger on it; I can’t. So I keep going.
“She was broken after that. Her nightmares went on long after l figured out the amulets for her.” My voice is scraped as raw as I am. “I couldn’t go home, couldn’t bear it. Eventually, I broke down and lied to her.”
The sadness in Taera’s eyes stings more than fear. Far more than her hatred.
“I told her I’d tracked down her assailant, the one with the scar, and that he would never hurt her again. I told her I would keep her safe, and the nightmares went away.”
Her expression turns to pity—unbearable—and I look away. I can’t hate myself any more than I already do.
“I’m her hero. Her protector,” I say brokenly. “I’ll do anything for her.”
Even bury the reckless idiot I once was.
“You haven’t revealed your face since,” Taera whispers.
I nod.
“How is that even possible?”
My jaw hardens. “I had to outperform everyone else, to lie and steal the magic that she needed—that I needed, to keep up my own illusions. My reputation grew, which helped. I learned to siphon power off sources without them knowing. I found ways to visit home, to keep my glamours in place even when I was asleep. But I always had to abandon her all over again, to return to the Halls because she needed more power.” I choke out, “This is the only place with enough.”
Her mouth parts, eyes wide with horror.
I swallow. “And I lied to everyone—to you—while I searched for a way out.”
“You did this… even knowing it might drive you insane?” she says.
“I conditioned my mind to stave off the madness, but it was always a risk.”
“And now?” she whispers. “What happens now that you have the amulet?”
“I…” I have no words. My eyes drop to the amulet in her hand. I’m at a complete loss, suddenly embarrassed to tell her. “I gave it to you.”
Taera’s eyes fly wide. She looks down at the amulet for the first time. It glows once, twice, pulsing in her palm under the attention.
When her eyes flutter back to me, her face is stunned. “You… gave it to me?”
I nod. “It will only work for you now.”
“Why?” Her eyes are pooling with tears.
“You needed it,” I say.
The full weight of the choice lands on me. I gave up a legendary relic—my only hope of forever burying my past and providing endless magic for Hazel—because I couldn’t bear to see Taera lose hers.
And I’d do it again.
After I’ve lied to her beyond repair.
The truth is excruciating.