Chapter 5
What’s going on?” Theo demands. His voice is pitched with warning, but I know him well enough to catch the edge of worry he’s trying to hide. Despite the strength in his lean form, he’s no fighter. Theo prefers to keep the peace.
Blue Eyes and Ginger Hair turn toward the oncoming group.
Theo has three fae and one fiend with him.
As soon as these two bastards realize they’re outnumbered, they lose some of their cockiness.
Ginger Hair levels his attention on the fiend man—Kaetir—and sneers at the brown horns poking out of his black hair.
“You fiends are out in fucking droves today, aren’t ya,” he mutters.
“What did you say?” Kaetir demands, anger flashing over his face.
They square off against one another, and it reminds me of that sign. At the enmity that writhes within our city.
FRIEND OR FOE
FIEND OR FAE
“I asked what was going on here,” Theo cuts in, and his friends behind him cross their arms and spread their feet, bodies tense like the men are readying for a fight.
Blue Eyes and Theo stare each other down.
Ginger Hair takes them all in, and his expression slowly morphs. “Nah. No problem,” he answers, breaking the stilted silence before he glances at his companion. “Come on, let’s go,” he mumbles before cutting me with a look. “Don’t want what she’s touched, anyway.”
Blue Eyes tears his gaze away from Theo to look at me like he’s still considering it. Like he wants to snatch my water and leave me bloody, regardless if he’s outnumbered.
When he moves, I flinch back, but he only spits on the ground, barely missing my shoe. “Ain’t worth it,” he says. “You’re just fucking filth.”
His words pierce me, and I watch him and Ginger Hair turn and leave, muttering under their breath as they go. Theo eyes them with a frown while his friends relax behind him.
“Thank you,” I tell Theo, my voice shaken.
The others—Rance and Yordon, his fae friends—shift awkwardly now that the threat is gone.
They only ever tolerated me before. Now, the two men prefer to pretend I don’t exist. Kaetir, Theo’s fiend friend, sends me an apologetic look but says nothing.
No shock there. But I’d rather look at him than look at her. Gisela.
“You okay?” Theo questions.
No.
“Yes,” I say aloud, trying and failing to keep my gaze from his face.
I take in his burgundy eyes, his smooth jaw, his combed hair and starched clothing. He’s always put together. Arranged and shaved and neat. The only visible flaw on his pale skin is the scar on his chin that he got when he fell as a boy.
I didn’t think it would still hurt to look at him.
But it does.
His hair is the color of red wine. I wonder how many times I ran my hands through it. I was always in awe that I wasn’t so alone, that I’d found a place with not just him but his group of friends too, who also became my friends.
Or so I thought, until it all got ripped away from me.
“Good thing I came along,” Theo says, glancing at the others. His gratified expression makes a bitterness coat the back of my tongue. “Wasn’t it?” he asks me.
Everyone is quiet, waiting to see if I’ll give him the response he wants.
“Yes,” I reply quietly.
Gisela looks up at him with a proud smile. “You’re a hero, Theo.”
His chest puffs up, and he looks perfectly pleased with himself. Beside me, Aunt Lenna scoffs. His eyes dart toward her for a second before looking quickly away. His ego never could stack up against my aunt’s blunt regard.
Gisela takes in this awkward exchange with a raised brow, but then her attention lands on me. I’ve never been face-to-face with her before this. Never wanted to look her in the eye. I hate that she gives me a nice smile. Hate that there’s a trace of pity in it.
Unwanted, six sparkles light up at the center of her pointed chin, making me read her stars. Bright-eyed. Warm. Softhearted.
Bile scuffs the back of my throat. Her stars reiterate how lovely she is. That was Theo’s exact word he used to describe her too— lovely.
Lovely . . . and a fae.
Pretty face, warm complexion, small stature, strawberry hair, and she isn’t marred with the fiendish horns that I have. I’m sure Theo is thrilled.
Gisela’s eyes go wide when she finally focuses on what I’m holding. “Is that . . . water, Esti?”
I clear my throat. “Yes. Get to the patrol station. They’re selling it. You need to go before they run out.”
They share some hurried looks, some rushed words.
“Theo, let’s go,” Gisela says, nudging him.
“Yeah . . . you all start heading there. I’ll catch up,” he tells her. “I’ll just make sure they get home okay.”
My head snaps over. “No, you don’t need to do that.”
Aunt Lenna looks from me to him, her lips pressed tight, and I know she’s dying to intervene.
Gisela hesitates, but Theo urges her on. “Hurry. I’ll be right there.”
She finally nods and then casts me a small smile. “Bye, Esti,” she says softly, and I tense. She makes it harder to hate her when she’s so nice.
“Come on,” Theo says, before leaning down and picking up my veillet from the ground, handing it over.
Numbly, I take it before I turn and start walking beside him. Old memories throb and let loose at my feet. How many times did he walk me home before? Hundreds?
“Miss Lenna, it’s good to see you,” he greets, tipping his head at my aunt.
“Theo.”
There’s not a single inflection in her tone to be had. She lobs the word hard, sharp, and flat.
He grimaces.
She glares.
“Want me to carry that?” he asks, gesturing to my jar.
“No.”
Not because I don’t trust him with the water, but because I don’t want him to carry anything for me.
Because for two years, he did.
He carried my heart in his hand. And then one day, six months ago, he dropped it. Just like that. He let go, let the fragile thing that it was shatter on the ground. Then he went right over and clutched Gisela’s hand instead. Told me how lovely she was.
Still, after all these months, my chest aches from the break.
Besides, if I let him carry this, he’d only be doing it so he could later tell everyone how kind and helpful he was. For the sake of my own pride, I grip it tighter.
As we walk, Theo must mistake my silence for anxiousness over what happened in the street with those men instead of what happened with us, because he starts in about my safety.
Like he’s the good guy.
Problem is, he is the good guy. He always was.
He was just the good guy for the wrong reasons.
For the clout. For the pat on the back. But he wasn’t unfaithful, so I can’t claim that he wronged me in that way.
He did the right thing. Ended things with me so he could begin things with Gisela. But I still feel betrayed all the same.
“Did they do anything to you before we showed up?” he asks.
“No.”
He lets out a tense sigh. “Things will get more desperate and violent now, Esti,” he warns.
“I know.”
“You need to be careful.”
“I know.”
“And definitely, under no circumstance, should you not have your veillet on to hide your horns,” he says with reproach.
My fingers curl around the fabric jammed against the jar. “I know.”
“Sorry,” he mumbles, catching himself in our age-old argument about my horns. He grabs my arm, making me turn to look at him. “It’s just . . . they see you, and they hate you.”
I know that too. Does he think I don’t? I’m the fiend. I’m the one who lives with the responses every single day of my life. I don’t need him to rub it in.
My face points at the ground, eyes burning with the tears that want to spill. It takes everything in me to hold them back. I won’t show Theo any more of my vulnerability.
“I want you to go,” I say quietly.
He pauses. “What? But I—”
“You heard her,” Aunt Lenna says, cutting in like she was ready and waiting to make the slice. “Thank you for coming to our aid, but we’re nearly home now and you need to get your own water. Go back to Gisela.”
I suck in a breath at my aunt’s scathing tone.
Theo’s hand yanks away from me, and only then do I have the strength to lift my head again. “Thank you for helping us,” I say with sincerity, because that could have ended very badly if he hadn’t come.
“You’re welcome. Just remember what I said. Be careful. They’ll always blame fiends first, Esti. Even if it’s not your fault.”
Fault.
He sat me at his kitchen table and clutched my hand and told me it wasn’t my fault. That it wasn’t his fault. That it wasn’t Gisela’s fault either.
That he just knew she was the one he needed to be with.
Maybe he was right. Maybe it wasn’t anyone’s fault that they took each other’s hearts while he dropped mine.
But fault can be a finicky thing.
And apparently, so can love.