Chapter eighteen
Days pass into a week, where I spend every moment waiting for Aris to jolt back to reality and tear me to shreds. As he watches me curiously, I watch him cautiously.
We watch films. We play games.
And we talk.
Oh, we talk.
The questions are endless. Like a hydra, each one answered spawns three more. Some are harmless and easy to answer; others are more complicated. He wants to know about himself. And me. How do we know one another? Why were we in that castle?
Why did he have servants? Why was I not safe?
I’m not imaginative enough to create an intricate new reality, nor am I smart enough to remember each lie. Aris, on the other hand, has perfect recall, and it would be incredibly easy for him to catch something and unravel my story.
So, when he asks these questions, I give him the truth, but as crumbs—to his frustration. Admittedly, a nasty part of me enjoys his frowns and the way his brows scrunch together every time I deny him. It’s sadistic, and I’m taking it out on the wrong version of Aris, but it’s the only revenge I have.
I was under the shadow of his thumb for years. Now, it’s his turn to suffer half answers. It’s time for him to feel dizzy assembling the pieces in his head.
Luckily, he abides by the rule of not using his abilities—if he even knows how to summon them. When he gets annoyed, his first inclination is not to strike out, but to pout. If I didn’t know for a fact that this was Aris I was dealing with, I would never believe it—the taming of the Devourer.
And I do think he’s been tamed. Indeed, he is content only when I am happy and our interactions are good. He reminds me of ducklings imprinting on humans. Maybe that’s what happened—I was the first thing he saw when he lost his memory, and now he thinks of me as his mother.
But… that’s not right .
Whatever his attachment is to me, his affection is not like a son with his mother.
This morning, I awoke in his arms. Not entirely surprising, considering he’s been sneaking into my bed more and more often. In the most innocent sense of the word, he likes sleeping with me. He can’t sleep himself, but he likes to lay there and listen to me breathe, so he says. I hadn’t scolded him before because it wasn’t hurting anyone, and it seemed to entertain him.
Until today.
This morning, once I realized what was happening, I went tense. In response, a strong arm wound across my chest and pulled me snugly against a familiar body.
I let out a long, frustrated breath, and he copied me, taking a long, contented sigh instead.
“Aris,” I said stiffly.
For a moment, he pretended not to hear me, but he knew he wasn’t fooling anyone. “Yes?” he said innocently.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m holding you.”
I shut my eyes. I wasn’t angry that it was happening, I wasn’t upset because it felt bad or because I didn’t want it; I was enraged because I did . His cool breath on the back of my neck, the way his legs curled over my own, his hair tickling my cheek, these were welcome sensations. He held me lovingly, in the way I’d always craved to be touched: desired, wanted.
But this was wrong. He didn’t even know what he was doing.
“Let go,” I said tightly.
He let out a sigh, this one decidedly less content, but he obeyed. I immediately swirled to lay into him, but the sadness in his eyes took me aback and I lost my nerve.
“I like feeling close to you,” he said quietly, and with feeling.
My first instinct was to think that he was messing with me, but did he even know how to be conniving? Could such hurt and longing be faked by the former apocalypse-bringer, now turned moron?
“Okay,” I murmured, settling back into his side .
At the memory, my hands fist at my sides. Though Aris is focused on the crime thriller we’re rewatching, he notices the tension; he notices everything I do.
“What is it, Mary?”
“What happened this morning, it can’t happen again,” I say.
He is silent for a few moments, the only sound in the room being the gunfire from the screen—the detective is confronting the serial killer who’s been terrorizing the women of the tri-state area, and he went into the killer’s lair without backup.
Wordlessly, Aris raises the remote to switch the TV off, then turns to me with fire in his eyes.
“This morning,” he says carefully. “And what happened this morning?”
My eyes narrow. “You know what I’m talking about.”
“You mean when I touched you. When I was touching you. That isn’t allowed? Is that a new rule?”
The sudden vehemence in his voice surprises me. This new Aris has been largely complacent. He questions me, but not unreasonably and never with anger. But this…
“Yes,” I manage. “It isn’t allowed.”
“Why?” he asks, leaning toward me. He catches himself on the couch, one hand holding the rest of his powerful body back, keeping us from touching.
“Because it’s wrong.”
“Wrong how? Wrong why ?” he demands. My mouth opens, and Aris lets out a noise similar to a growl. “Give me an actual answer.”
No words come as my mind works overtime. What could I say, other than the truth: the history between us is too dark and disturbed, that he is dark and disturbed. Twisted and evil . That I cannot forgive him. That I want him to touch me, but I know that he wants it, too, and I refuse to give him any sort of pleasure. That I am punishing him for hurting me—for hurting everyone.
I can’t tell him any of that. What if it triggers something in him?
So, what else is there? I could mention his missing memories. And it’s true, that’s a consideration—being with him now, diminished as he is, would be taking advantage of him. He doesn’t understand consent or wanting—by God, every other day I’m comparing him to a newborn duck!
What’s more, I’m the one who took his memories away. He doesn’t even know that he’s clinging to his abuser.
Aris stares at me, patient and furious about being patient, chest rising and falling heavily. He doesn’t need to breathe, but he’s picked up this expression from me.
“You’re sick,” I decide, which is apparently the wrong answer—though I doubt he would’ve been satisfied with anything.
His blazing eyes turn to an inferno, and he leans closer—dangerously close, until my skin prickles and I yearn to pull him taut against me. “I don’t feel sick,” he says in a gravelly voice.
He doesn't sound sick, and he certainly does not look it; the effort it takes to keep him from springing on me reveals thick muscle and a powerful form. His eyes almost glow with vigor.
I subtly shift back, though there isn’t much room left, and he watches with a hawk-like intensity—half-calculating, half-rabid—still intelligent, still aware, but I’ve no clue what he’ll do next.
This is the Aris I know. He is still Aris.
“Well, you are sick,” I say, hating the uncertainty in my tone. I can’t show weakness—not around him, but I can’t stop my heart from racing at how abruptly he’s become unhinged. “You don’t… remember yourself.”
Aris inches toward me, until I’m pressed against the back of the couch and there’s nowhere to move. He moves to box me in, his flexed biceps demonstrating his restraint—notably, how little of it remains—and he leans closer, until his breath can be felt against my cheek.
“Why does it matter?” His black eyes dip to my throat as it bobs from a nervous swallow, then return to stare into my soul. “Tell me why .”
My temples pound, eyes wide, head empty. Some moments capture even the best of us, where we are found out and no idea of how to proceed. I don’t know how to get out of this; I don’t know what angle to work.
“Do you care about me? ”
His eyes narrow. He is teetering, struggling to control the wild side of him, the chaos. “I told you to give me an actual answer,” barks Aris.
“I’m trying to make my point.”
“Make it. Quickly .” He leans even closer, lips an inch from my neck. His breath is cold on my skin. So cold. It takes true effort to rein in a shiver; if I move in the slightest, I’ll touch him.
Goosebumps prickle my arms. “Do you care about me?” I repeat in a whisper.
He huffs, annoyed. “You know the answer to that.”
But I just wait.
Aris pauses, then pulls back slightly to let out an annoyed breath that’s almost like a sigh. “You…” In this position, I’m almost buried in his shirt and can’t see his face, but his tone has gentled enough that I’d expect it to be echoed in his expression. “You are are everything.”
Everything ? I blink at the word and again try my best not to move.
“So, if you care, you wouldn’t want to hurt me?” I ask slowly. Treading carefully. “The way that you did before.”
“I don’t even remember that,” he growls, irritated again.
“Which means you don’t remember your strength, or your proclivities.”
Finally, Aris pulls back. He’s still caging me, but I can see his face now, giving me a challenging look. “Tell me about these proclivities.”
I freeze as he raises a hand, slowly running it through my hair. The edges of him are angry, but he is nothing but gentle when touching me. “Did I do this?” he asks with narrowed eyes, rubbing the scratches on my cheek from the estate fire. He goes to my neck, where the pads of his fingers move in circles over the fading bruises from Jaegen strangling me. “Or that?”
“Aris.” I shut my eyes to avoid the look on his face: desperate, frustrated, hurt. He wants me badly—so much that I should feel delighted refusing him, but I’m starting to lose my resolve. Because I kind of want him, too.
The muscles of my mind clutch tightly to morals and old scars. This is wrong. He is not himself, and, when he was himself, he was terrible .
“I would never hurt you.” He pauses, a weight in the air. “But you don’t believe me.”
My eyes fly open, and I purposefully avoid his expression as I shove at him to get off of me. Aris’ arms retract, and I walk to the kitchen. At first, I do it just to get away, and then I have the idea to make food. I’m not even hungry, but I need an excuse not to look at him.
“Are you scared of me?” Aris asks from the couch. For once, he hasn’t followed me.
“I’m scared ,” I allow, rifling through the cabinet for a pan. “Isn’t that enough?”
Aris doesn’t immediately answer, the sound of shifting pots the only noise in the cabin. I pull out something random and start filling it with water to boil, then place it on the stove once it’s full. And then, a door slams shut.
The front door.
No.
I abandon my task to run to the window, mouth falling open at the sight of Aris striding toward the woods. He’s walking at a human pace, at least, but his rage has helped him clear half of the distance already.
Where is he going? What is he doing?
“Aris!” I yell, rushing out the door and into a run. My ribs scream at the movements, and I mercilessly push through the pain as I hurry toward him.
I can’t believe this. His normal pouting consists of him sitting with his arms crossed. Some glaring, maybe . This is a clear escalation. And he’s broken one of my rules: we tell each other before leaving!
“ Aris !”
He doesn’t even turn to address me, still stomping across the yard, and my run turns into a full sprint.
As I close the distance between us, a queasy feeling creeps up on me. It’s stronger the closer I get to the woods, and I realize that, whatever this place is, it’s not normal. Only an inch or two of sunlight penetrates the entrance of the forest, the rest of the light swallowed by heavy tree cover and green foliage. What lurks in the blackness is unknown, but the shadowed trees with long, spindly branches remind me of gnarled hands. I picture one of them getting hold of me and forcing me against a trunk, where I would be absorbed into its bark and trapped forever.
I don’t want Aris going in there; I don’t want to go in there.
Luckily, he stops by the edge of the forest, and I grab his shoulder and shake him in three forceful bursts, panicked.
He turns, eyes going to my grip. “So now it isn’t wrong to touch me?”
“ Are you serious ? What the hell do you think you’re doing? We have to stay in the house!”
Aris’ mouth sets into a nasty scowl, eyes narrowing the same way they did when he discovered I betrayed him. “Why?” he demands. “What’s the point of all of these rules?”
“ Because .” I struggle for more words—better words, and decide on hissing, “We agreed!”
“And why did you want them in the first place?” He takes a step back, my hand falling uselessly to my side. He doesn’t wait for me to answer before plowing on, “You’re scared that I’ll hurt you because I don’t remember how to control myself, but I can’t use my powers to learn control. You’re not safe, but you won’t tell me why . You tell me I’m sick—how? What happened to make me lose my memories? Who was I before?”
With each word, his tone gets harder, angrier, and I’m not afraid of him but not not afraid either. I don’t know what to do, and that’s stressing me out well enough; I don’t need him yelling in addition.
“How does running into the woods fix any of that?” I say, glancing at the dark forest. I keep my voice light, incredulous, trying to stall; the right words to tame the situation aren’t coming.
“It doesn’t!” he snaps and walks toward me again. This close, he towers over me, his lean body poised to strike.
I imagine him shoving me down, my head smacking against the hard ground, neck snapping from the force. Yesterday, the thought never would’ve formed, but with the way he’s looking at me… I thought that I knew him the way he is now, but I’m suddenly not so sure.
I take a step back, and Aris deflates, his face twisting with hurt. Then, he turns away to face the forest again, shoulders drooping .
“It fixes nothing, but it’s something ,” he says, more to himself than to me.
I stare at his tense back for a few moments, fear cycling through me. I thought he was going to attack me just then. He’s so much bigger and stronger—even if he was human he could overpower me.
And then, there is anger. I shouldn’t have to feel afraid—how dare he make me feel this way. I won, and he lost. I make the rules now, and how dare he run out! How dare he misbehave!
And then… guilt.
He can’t keep going like this; he won’t. I didn’t know before, but simply touching me, holding me, placates him. All I said was that he couldn’t lay with me, and it infuriated him into rebellion.
He’s right: I am everything to him, simply because he cannot remember anything else. He wants me, and I am denying him without explanation. What else is to be expected but this behavior?
It can’t continue.
What if he goes into the forest next time, or even further? What was it Jaegen warned about introducing new variables?
What if Aris breaks a different, and more serious, rule?
Coming to a decision, my shoulders fall as low as Aris’, weariness rushing through me. “Come inside, and I’ll tell you everything,” I say quietly.
Aris glances back at me but doesn’t move until I hold out my hand. He turns fully then, studying my palm like one might a snake. Is it poisonous? How sharp are its teeth?
“I thought you were scared of me,” challenges Aris, but there’s less heat in his voice now.
“No, I said that I was scared.”
His shifts at this distinction—one I’ve made to him before, though he can’t remember it—then reaches out to grasp my hand. His touch is cool, and his thumb immediately rubs my knuckles in a soothing gesture before he pauses, remembering that he’s upset with me.
With a sigh, I lead us back to the house, quietly bracing myself. The time for lies is over; Aris will not accept any more. But where do I start? Is there a way to tell our story truthfully, but to spin it so it’ll benefit me?
Something inside me twists, my conscience plucked like a tweezed brow. Aris is following me , holding onto my hand, waiting for me to give answers. I am the manipulator now; I am in control. I’ve gotten exactly what I thought I wanted.
But maybe there was never a prize to this game.
Aris is quiet beside me, calming, but we both tense the moment we step inside, registering the guest on our couch.
He takes up more than twice the space that I do—sprawled with spread legs, arms flung out like wings on the back of the couch. It isn’t until I see him, stretching and making himself at home, that I realize how this space has become sacred to me. My own. It bothers me that he’s where Aris and I sat minutes ago, in our own world. The crime film is still playing in the background.
“Why don’t you take a seat?” says Jaegen, tone is amicable. As it often is when dealing with him, I wonder if my consent is mandatory.
“Take a seat,” I murmur. The only open spot is next to Jaegen, and the very thought makes me feel like I’m covered in slime.
Aris dryly states, “You are taking up the entire couch.”
With an absent wave of his hand, two armchairs appear in front of the television. Aris and I cast looks at one another, our earlier disagreement put behind us at this development. Though Aris might not fully trust me, he trusts me more than Jaegen, and so forms an uneasy alliance.
Together, we take our seats next to one another, Jaegen watching us with a subdued smile.
The glimmer of his white teeth, which stand out starkly against dark skin, changes the environment. The air turns stifling, drier than I’m used to. It’s so hot that I feel it when I breathe, and it’s like the walls are compressing, compacting, pushing in on us. I’m not a claustrophobic person, but a string of nausea rushes through me, my mouth suddenly thick with saliva.
I do my best to mask my reaction, not wanting to alarm Aris, but my head spins. The room is dead silent, save the sounds of gunshots and battle cries; the climax of the film is playing out .
The main character has been shot, and his partner is beside him, yelling about how stupid he was to face the killer alone. Finally, Jaegen waves his hand, and the TV turns off.
Jaegen says, “You’re probably wondering why I’ve arrived unannounced.” His tone is light, but it does nothing to alleviate my tension. I know how moody he is. It matters little how much he is feeling now—give it a second, and the whole cabin will be debris.
“Yes,” I admit. I glance wearily at the walls, logicless in my worry that they will suddenly rush forward and crush me, then back at Jaegen. He is still smiling, at ease, but of course he is; he is in control.
Jaegen leans forward, forearms resting on thick thighs. There’s still some distance between us, but I’m hit with a flood of his scent: citrus and ginger. The smells used to be pleasant to me.
He glances over his shoulder, looking out the window. “I told you to stay inside, did I not?” he says idly.
I follow his gaze and try not to shiver at the sight of the dark woods. Where are we, really? The fireflies made me think of the U.S., but, like the ducks at the Institute, they might not be real—or at least not native. Are we in a place between portals? Did Jaegen construct these woods?
He doesn’t respond to my thoughts, and I shift in irritation. Every moment, his presence bothers me more. I’ve grown comfortable speaking freely and acting how I want in this cabin; now, I must tread carefully again. I resent him for that.
“You’ve been watching us closely,” remarks Aris. My focus goes to him, finding he’s leaning forward, too, angling himself in Jaegen’s direction. He’s in such a mood today that I worry he’ll charge at the god. “Is that out of concern for Mary’s safety, or have we entered into the territory of your own interests?”
Jaegen’s smile tightens, straining at the edges, and my skin begins to feel clammy. The back of my shirt sticks to me, wet against the chair; I hadn’t realized how profusely I’d begun to sweat.
“As most things, a little of both,” Jaegen says.
A presence enters my mind. There is no other way to explain the feeling other than to imagine wild flames bursting through a blackened and broken door. The fire thrusts itself inside, gobbling the oxygen, expanding, and soon it owns the room it invaded; the fire is the room.
I blink past the black spots in my vision and try my best to control my expressions. I don’t want Aris to know what’s happening.
He left because you refused to touch him, Jaegen notes casually, rifling through my memories. I can’t see what he’s seeing, but, when I go to recollect the past hour, I feel the sense of extreme heat. Your morals impact the integrity of your task.
Meaning?
If you cannot control him, he will escape. If he escapes, all of this will have been for naught. So. I feel a furnace, on my face and in my mind both. Control him.
You’re telling me to give up my body to placate him.
Exactly right.
Jaegen isn’t looking at me—engaged in a staring contest with his brother, and my jaw juts. He won’t even meet my eyes when telling me to whore myself.
What is the issue? demands Jaegen. Loudly. My head starts to ache from the force of his voice, and I’m so warm and the black spots are so frequent that I half believe I’ve already passed out. You want him. You have always wanted him.
The issue is that… It’s becoming harder to think. Words come from emotion alone; I’m too ill for logic, now. You know what the problem is!
“Explain yourself. Why can we not enter the forest? Why do you want us to stay inside?” Aris says.
I can hardly follow the meaning of his words; I have to strain to concentrate, as if he’s speaking a foreign language and I must conjugate each verb and reorder it into my native tongue.
My brow furrows from effort as Aris goes on, “How long have you been watching us, and what have you seen?”
“You regard me with such contempt,” remarks Jaegen.
“How else should I regard you?”
“Gratitude, perhaps. We are friends.”
“Are we?”
Jaegen’s smile strains further, manners beginning to fray at the edges, and my heart picks up. I remember not too long ago, when his presence alone made it stop. “Do tell,” says Jaegen, “what is it that you want, Aris?”
You’d rather risk the end of the world than giving him, and yourself, pleasure? Jaegen continues in my mind. Are you truly that self-deprecating? You have won. Take your spoils.
“Answers . Why do we have to stay here?” asks Aris. “Why is she unsafe? And why are you watching us?”
My eyes shut as I try to focus. It smells like something is burning, but it could be me on fire. I can keep him content while not offering my body.
Obviously not, given what happened today.
I would’ve handled it, had you not interfered.
Interfered! I am cleaning up your mess.
The pressure in my skull multiplies, until it feels like it’s being split in half, and it’s not until it lessens that I realize I’ve slumped forward in my seat, grabbing my head and gasping.
The heat relents, the dark spots disappearing entirely, and I am myself again—just dizzy.
“Mary?” Aris demands. His voice is hardened from panic.“What’s happening to her?”
“How should I know?” Jaegen says. “Mortals are so fragile.”
My eyes open, taking in Aris’ worried expression, and Jaegen’s self-satisfied smirk. I realize then, with whatever smarts remain, that I’ve traded one cruel god for another.
Everything that Silva and Aris told me about Jaegen was true.
“You should leave,” I say coldly, basking in Jaegen’s outrage. I can watch for only a moment before the pain intensifies and something leaks down my nose and I think I’m about to pass out or die.
“You’re doing something to her,” Aris accuses, standing in anger. “She’s bleeding ! You made her bleed.”
Jaegen also stands, the shimmer of his skin blinding me with the motion. I look away to rub the stars out of my eyes, the action slow like I’m moving through syrup.
Jaegen says, “They are fragile. These things happen. ”
The golden god extends a hand down, placing it on my shoulder, and the air instantly turns frigid. Sharply, Jaegen looks at Aris.
If I thought Aris was upset with me earlier, if I thought I knew what rage looked like on this new form of him, I was completely wrong. His wrath is palpable, the air barbed and reeking of ozone, as if lightning just struck. The corners of the room have darkened, the shadows responsive, eager to reunite with their old master; they pulse and grow with every seething breath Aris takes.
“I agreed not to use my powers here,” says Aris. He manages, somehow, to speak calmly, even as his shoulders heave. “But whatever they are, I feel them now, and I will break my promise if you do not get away from her.”
Very, very slowly, Jaegen removes his hand.
The response is immediate: the pressure relents, the shadows retracting. Still, Aris’ eyes are tight and alert.
I’m in less pain, but I feel a new—this time natural—headache coming on. My body sags and feels close to shutting down from fear and stress. I didn’t wake up this morning prepared for any of this—Aris’ rebellion, Jaegen’s appearance, or this supernatural, alpha standoff.
Even if I had known, I couldn’t have prepared.
“No powers… He agreed to play human?” says Jaegen, surprised. Apparently, he didn’t look very far into my thoughts. His brows lift, and he smiles at me. “You are a persuasive thing.”
Aris’ fists clench at his sides. “ Mine . Not yours.”
Jaegen’s smile widens. “I was only admiring.”
Feeling like I’m under a microscope, I say nothing, only swiping at my nose before the blood leaks into my mouth. Red smears on my knuckle, the color vibrant, the gore looking strange, too clotted. The sight makes me dizzy again, but I still feel better than before.
Now, the smell of something burning is stronger, and it’s with a start that I remember I was boiling water. I stand on unsteady feet, both gods watching me keenly as I hurry into the kitchen to turn the burner off. I notice, with some relief, that the cabinets block me from their line of sight, and I take a moment to regain composure .
I fist my hands to stop them from shaking. I attempt to slow my breathing.
Jaegen is in the next room, whether I like it or not. I need to appease him, or he’ll explode my brains out my nose. High stakes, but I can do this. I’ve done it before, and I’ll do it again. As many times as I need to.
I’m alive. I want to live.
When I return, I feel better equipped to deal with the rapidly escalating situation, taking my seat expressionlessly. Aris is watching me closely, eyes darting to the blood on my knuckles, while Jaegen glances between the two of us with a smirk.
I am impressed, Mary. Maybe you are doing better than I thought.
His praise is not something I’m looking for, but his ire is something to avoid. I feel a sense of relief. Maybe this means he’ll relent on pushing me to be with Aris.
No, he says instantly. Your body will placate him.
If I give into his every whims, he’ll get out of control. I have to do this carefully.
His presence in my mind grows contemplative. You know him better than I thought.
“Mary has been sparse with the details of your situation,” Jaegen says aloud.
“Likely under your orders,” replies Aris. Though he is feigning indifference, the air is still preternaturally cold. The shadows pulse again suddenly, edges razor-sharp.
Jaegen straightens on the couch. Tell him what you need to keep him in line, he tells me.
“She will answer your questions now,” he says, not rising to Aris’ provocation. “Before, she was worried that it might not be safe.”
“Because nothing is safe, apparently,” replies Aris.
Jaegen’s lips quirk, then quickly flatten. “I apologize for hurting her—that wasn’t my intention. We are all friends here, and I merely wished to help.”
Neither Aris nor I reply. I don’t have the energy to entertain the lie and can only stare blankly at Jaegen.
He clears his throat and looks as though he’s about to say something, but he swallows the remark, walking to the door. Aris and I exchange a weary look behind his back, not knowing what to expect.
I don’t want to come back here, Mary.
Not like I want him to either. I have it under control, I say as cordially as I can muster.
There’s a pause.
I am deciding to trust you. The effort of monitoring the two of you has taken a considerable amount of time, hindering my efforts in other regards. I will leave you be, for now, but if an issue arises… Call.
I don’t respond, still staring at Aris. His worry is clear from his furrowed brows and the fiercely territorial glint in his eyes. His body is angled in my direction, tense and ready to rush to my side, as if he could prevent a psychic attack.
In a flash of light that steals my attention from Aris, Jaegen disappears, leaving the two of us alone again.
For a few moments, we are bathed in silence. His body remains taut, distrusting that the threat is gone, while I wilt, body worn and brain mushy. My head pounds as I think of the barrage of questions I’ll soon be faced with.
All he has wanted is answers. Now, he will finally get them.
I’m expecting Aris to start demanding information. What I don’t anticipate is the armchair disappearing from under me.
With a yelp, I start to fall, but strong, cold arms catch me before I connect with the ground. Aris quickly straightens, pulling me against his chest, and I don’t protest as he carries me from the living room, which I spare a single glance at.
Both armchairs are gone now, annoying me. Could Jaegen not have spared the magic, or did he take them just to slight us?
Now in my bedroom, Aris gently sets me on the bed before disappearing out the door. Seconds later, I hear the faucet running as I prop myself against a few pillows. By the time I’m better supported, he appears with a wet cloth and silently begins to clean my bloody knuckles. The warm water he soaked it in, as well as his long, calming strokes, soothe me.
I watch him, stunned and not quite believing what’s happening, while he is focused, consumed in his task of caring for me. Finally, he lightly dabs under my nose before setting the cloth on the side table and settles into bed next to me .
When I nestle into his arms, my face against his hard torso, it isn’t because it’s what Jaegen wants, and it isn’t because it’s what Aris wants; it’s because it’s what I want. What I need.
Indeed, as his arms close around me, I feel secure again, the encounter with Jaegen and our fight from earlier erased. His hold is firm, unbreakable, but not shackling. I could get away from him, if I wanted; he would let me.
Miraculously, my headache abates with a final, cruel pound, and I shut my eyes to bask in the peace. Aris always said that he couldn’t heal, but proximity to him has removed my pain entirely.
“Do you remember the rule?” Aris says quietly. “‘No lies, and no tricks.’”
“I do,” I whisper, eyes opening.
Though it’s midday, the curtains are drawn and the room is unlit. It feels like it used to, when we shared truths freely and without worry so long as we were in the dark. As it was when Jaegen appeared, there is peace between us.
“Can we make a new rule?” he asks.
I want to look at his face, interested to see his expression, but I’m too relaxed where I am now. “What is it?”
“It will be like the other, but firmer. We promise to always tell the truth.”
“The truth is a dangerous thing,” I say after a moment.
“I know.”
Does he? He couldn’t possibly understand.
The truth heals, and it kills. It ruins; it frees. People say they want it—until they actually have it, and they learn that what’s known cannot be unknown. It’s a dangerous thing, sometimes to be avoided. Little lies, white lies, exist for a reason.
My sigh is quiet. “Okay.” I feel something settling over me with the agreement, the lid of a sarcophagus sliding into place, dirt shoveled onto a grave. “I promise.”