Chapter 53
We leave corpses behind like breadcrumbs.
I don’t know how long these people were stuck beneath the heaps, how much Ash they’d breathed in, or how deep they were caught, but twelve people die on our journey back.
Before we’d even made it ten minutes, three of them crashed down in gasping breaths, their lungs gluing shut.
None of them got back up again.
Five people retched and then went still, with gray foam frothing at their lips.
Four simply fell. Like a body giving in to exhaustion, their veins too clogged to pump, their hearts stopping mid-beat.
The pipe song turns mournful, and we have no choice but to abandon the bodies to be buried in Ash.
When we finally spot the caravan of horse-drawn carts and Varrik’s guards meeting us on the path, it’s a Fates-blessed sight.
I’m not sure everyone else would have made it if we’d had to walk much farther, even with the preternatural magic forcing them onward, and with Frid using his strength power to carry so many.
The music ends as the guards start to help people onto the carts, and I pass over the little girl, who crawls into the lap of the woman whose hand I’d held.
They’re all given more water and blankets and simple cloths to tie around their mouths.
The Ash isn’t falling as thickly here, but their lungs are already compromised.
As soon as I see that the girl is settled, I grab a waterskin and gulp down a drink before I walk past the other carts. I see Frid and Garren helping situate people, but I can’t find Varrik. I catch Frid’s eye and give him a questioning look, and he hikes his thumb over his shoulder.
I move in that direction, spotting the tracks heading past the horses, into the first line of trees. I follow the lone footprints, my weary body passing beneath the branches.
“Varrik?” I call quietly, though it sends me into a coughing fit.
I bend at the waist, hacking up a glob of Ash from my throat, wincing at the putridness of it. When I catch my breath, I lean a hand against a tree and push myself up. Luckily, the cover of the forest is helping to block out some of the Ash, but the air is still a smoky haze.
“Varrik?”
“Here.”
His voice is so quiet I barely hear it.
I still can’t see him, but something leads my steps until I spot his silhouette. He’s just past a tree to my left, down on his knees. His head is hanging, his pipe fallen to the ground.
I rush over and kneel beside him, my heart dropping when I see his face. Sweat has cemented the Ash to his skin and hair, and flakes fall from his lashes with every blink. He’s taking in laborious breaths that rattle my ears and fill me with fear.
“You need water.”
My shaking hands fumble with the waterskin, but I manage to lift it to his lips. “Drink,” I say, and he obeys, his throat working as I tip it until he lurches away with a cough.
I pat my hand against his back, but dust plumes from his cloak, so I stop. “Breathe,” I urge, worry gripping me in two fists. Everyone is struggling to breathe, but he had to play that entire time. Had to use every inhale to expel more magic so that he could get all those people out.
I can’t imagine the toll it’s taken, not just on his magic, but on his body.
He finally stops coughing, and I nearly sob at the way his breath rattles as he sucks in air.
“Are . . . they okay?” he rasps out.
My chest cracks at how deeply he seems to care. At the way I can hear his heart bleeding through his words.
“Yes, they’re getting settled in the carts. You did it,” I tell him, reaching up to wipe away some gray streaks from his face. “You saved them.”
When his eyes lift to mine, they don’t burn with their usual fire. They’re banked beneath layers of fatigue. “Not all of them.”
He sounds devastated. Stripped down and raw in a way I’ve never seen before. Even when he was bitten and knew he was going to pass out in the desert, he wasn’t defeated like this. My chin wobbles as I struggle to hold in my emotion.
His head hangs, chin to tunic, loose hair weighed down. I gently curl against him, tucking my cheek into the crevice of his shoulder and neck so our heads touch. “You’re saving people, Varrik,” I murmur. “That’s what you need to focus on. That’s what you carry with you.”
His gaze seems locked on the ends of his cloak, and I watch him pick up a couple of the strips, so covered that I can’t tell what colors they are. “I wish that were true,” he says, and his voice sounds strange. Faraway.
“It is true,” I say firmly. “Without you, everyone would have died.”
He lets out a heavy breath, but I’m thankful that it’s no longer crackling.
I turn at the sound of the carts and horses moving, and I glance back at him. “Are you ready? We need to get you out of this air.”
His throat mangles a swallow, and he releases the strips of fabric before grabbing his pipe and stuffing it at his belt.
I help heave him to his feet, and he staggers slightly but then rights himself before rolling his shoulders.
He gives me a soft look and places a kiss on my head, uncaring about the grit, and my body warms at the tender gesture.
Then I watch his demeanor and energy fall back into place, like he’s donning his armor.
Piece by piece, it goes on, until his shoulders are no longer slumped, but straight.
His arms no longer hanging slack, but poised.
His expression no longer showing any devastation, but hewn with the strength of a leader and with the power of a Core fae.
But I saw a different kind of core just now. Not the one he got from magic, but one much more important.
The core of his heart.
* * *
I sit under the flowing spigot of my bath until I get most of the Ash off my body.
Then I fill the basin and scrub myself nearly raw, scraping under my nails, soaping my long hair until I finally feel clean.
I oil my skin and my horns, and brush my hair until the sparkle has returned to my strands.
The servants are all busy with the survivors, but I’m glad to be alone with my thoughts.
When I’m done bathing, I pull on a black frock that I’ve been given, deciding to forgo a bodice.
Night has fallen, but it’s too early for bed, and while I’m tired from the draining day, my mind is far too restless.
I pace back and forth in front of the low-burning flames in the fireplace, but the ash that falls past the grates makes my skin itch and my throat tighten.
I need fresh air. I need to take in a full breath. I need to see the night sky.
Turning, I go to my door and pull it open.
No guards.
I wander down to the bottom floor, but this stairwell takes me to a part of the castle I’m not familiar with. I spot a servant dusting the paintings hanging on the walls and go over to her. “Is there a private garden?” I ask.
She bobs her head and turns to point. “Just through that corridor, miss.”
“Thank you.”
Following her directions, I find a lush, albeit neglected, garden through an unlocked door to the outside.
The bright moonlight reveals vines spraying against the high stone walls that close in the space, and hedges and bushes tangling together.
There are trees leafed out with low branches that should’ve been culled, and flowers that have sprouted up, wild and abundant.
There doesn’t seem to be any designed layout, no rhyme or reason.
They’ve bloomed free and untamed, flourishing in their frenzy.
I wander across the dense grass, my steps unhurried, completely at odds with the pace of my thoughts. I rove past an aged yet sturdy birdbath that has white flowers clinging to its stand, the stone stained and mossy.
Three feet away is an open spot in front of a wall where the flowers haven’t yet spread.
I go over and lie down on the grass and look up at the sky.
I take in a full, measured breath, letting my lungs fill.
My loose hair spreads down over my chest and upon the ground, sparkling in the dark.
Soon, this uninhabited garden and the untethered stars help to untangle my ribs.
But the sound of footsteps has my breath hitching.
I know it’s him without even looking. Maybe I’ve become attuned to the sound of his stride, or maybe it’s something else, but a shy happiness fills me either way.
He stops in front of me and watches me silently, until I finally tip my head to look at him.
“Why are you out here?” he asks.
“I like stargazing. I miss it.”
A beat of silence thrums like a heart. “Because of curfew.”
I nod. “And Flies Plague. I couldn’t sneak out for months.”
He walks over and then completely surprises me when he spreads out his massive body beside mine, lying flat on his back just as I am. We’re inches apart.
Close, but not touching.
Tendrils of silver twist from his pipe and flutter against my side, stronger now than it was at Beddig Burg. He watches the sky too, and I wonder what he sees up there. What he’s thinking of.
He’s scrubbed clean just like me, not a speck of Ash anywhere to be seen. Except, perhaps, in the depths of his troubled eyes.
“Are you okay?” I ask quietly.
“I am. Because of you.” My chest tightens as he turns his head to look at me.
“You were right to insist on coming with me. I used a lot of magic today, and it was a strain. If you hadn’t been close by, I would have run out of energy.
I don’t think I would’ve been able to get those people away from the burg. ”
“I’m glad I was there. I see now why it’s so important for Core to find their Latches. You were remarkable.”
He shakes his head, expression frustrated, tanned skin still slightly paled. “I arrived too late.”
“You left as soon as you heard, Varrik. There was nothing else you could have done.”
“Once we can stop the Plagues from happening and killing my people needlessly, then I will know there was nothing else I could have done.”
My lips press together with sadness. He’s hard on himself. Impossibly so. But I suppose that’s the kind of responsibility he’s taken on, not just as a Core fae, but as a Govern.
“Seeing you today . . . it made me proud to be your Latch,” I confess.
His jaw clamps together, eyes glazing. “Do you mean that?”
I nod, swallowing a thick lump of emotion. “I do.”
Finally, a real exhale seems to split out of him. One that tears past his inner blame. “Thank you—for saying that.”
I reach over and grip his hand, and something passes between us as his thumb grazes gently over my skin. Something soft. A tender longing that buds from my chest.
It’s incredible that it can feel like this—just to hold a hand.
“Is everyone else okay?” I ask.
“So far, yes. Ciona had the forethought to pull all of Penbroge’s healers together, and Lacera emptied out the inns. Everyone from Beddig is there in the city, being tended to. The servants went to help them get settled.”
“That’s far more than Lord Havlon would’ve done for his people. He would never have unsealed the gate. He would have left them all for dead.” I squeeze his hand. “You’re a good man, Varrik.”
He sucks in a breath, throat working, and I realize just how much those words mean to him. It makes me wonder about the impact his reputation has had on him. It must be difficult to be seen as a villain and a thief, when really, he’s trying to help.
For a while, we lie in comfortable silence together, enjoying the fresh air, trying to let the night soothe away the day’s horrors.
Breathing in our thoughts.
The stars sparkle around the moon while my freckles sparkle back, and I can’t help but think of my mother. Maybe she’s sitting up in bed, looking out at the night sky too. Maybe Aunt Lenna is shining her boots by the lantern. Maybe they’re together, sharing tea.
I hope they are.
“Do you think Henry will get back soon with my message?” I ask, chewing on my bottom lip.
“Yes. He may be waiting at the gate for entry, but if I had to guess, I would say within the next day or so.”
Anticipatory hope and fretful worry keep warring inside of me, battling for precedence. There’s so much I want to tell my mother and aunt, so much that’s happened, but I have to know first that they’re okay.
I can’t face the alternative. I don’t dare put it out in the ether for the Fates to find. Don’t dare breathe it into the realm of reality.
I shift up to a sitting position, letting my back rest against the garden wall before looking over at him. “Thank you again. For letting me send the letter.”
He sits up with me, his shoulders propping against the mossy stone, our arms barely grazing. It makes my skin tingle.
“You’re welcome.” He studies me before his attention drops to my fingernails, which have sprouted with shoots of deep amethyst. “Speaking of . . . are there any other of my rules you’d like me to break for you, blight?” he asks with a glint in his eye.
I clear my throat, knowing he’s purposely distracting me from my worry, and grateful for it. “That depends. What other rules would you break for me, my lord?”
“I’ve already broken the most important one,” he answers, and his sober tone has my smile faltering. “I was supposed to stay the course, to not cross any lines, to focus on my goal and do whatever needs to be done to save Brekon. I was supposed to keep my heart out of it.”
My ribs tighten and my mouth goes dry. “And now?” I ask breathlessly.
His gaze skims over my face like the gentlest of strokes. “Like I said, I broke my own rule,” he murmurs.
I gape, my breath stuck.
He’s so achingly handsome. So vulnerably sincere.
I wish he’d close the distance and kiss me. That I could revel in the taste of him again, without any barriers between us.
But instead of kissing me, he gets to his feet while I still stare up at him, unable to form words.
He looks down, watching me the way I think a moon watches the tide. A gentle gaze that pulls me in. “Good night, Estinya.”
I shiver beneath his tone, eyes following his retreating form until it disappears from view.
Then I practically collapse back onto the grass, his confession rippling in my ears while a glittering haze seems to mist the air.
I can’t even be disappointed that he didn’t press his lips to mine.
Not when he gave me something else instead. Something far more precious.
I stare up at the paper moon and the scrawled stars, feeling like something new has just written itself between us. I hold his confession close, folding it up safe beneath my chest, collecting every word.
I was supposed to keep my heart out of it.
And now?
Like I said, I broke my own rule.