Chapter 26
I become little more than clay beneath his hands. Kaelis doesn’t hesitate. Doesn’t falter.
Even with cards to numb and heal, the pain is just as he promised: excruciating. Until it all fades away. Until I disconnect from my body as I have so many times before when I have been forced to endure such torture.
Was it all practice for this moment? Was this always my fate?
My nose is broken first. A sharp, brutal snap with a blunt tool. My body jerks instinctively, but Kaelis places a firm hand on my shoulder. “Hold still, or I will be forced to restrain you.”
I try to do as he asks.
Kaelis realigns my nose with a sickening series of crunches.
The Queen of Cups mends it, fastening it into its new shape.
The cheekbones are next, and he’s forced to use the Eight of Swords to pin me to the table.
Shavings of bone are vanished from underneath my skin with some clever use of the Five of Coins; it feels as though a pumice stone is grating under my flesh.
At the same time, he uses a tiny blade on the outside.
Stitches as thin as spider’s silk tug my skin tight, holding it together.
Anchoring new contours of my body in place.
The prince is relentless but not cruel.
His touch is firm, his movements decisive, and he speaks only in short, simple instructions.
As if he knows my pain-addled brain couldn’t take anything more.
This slow, methodical unmaking of everything I’ve ever known myself to be is agony, and by the end I’m nothing but trembling exhaustion and fleeting consciousness.
I wasn’t sure if I would be able to be put back together as I was, but after this, I doubt anything short of the World could give me back my old face.
This is something I wouldn’t endure again.
The cards he uses are lost to me. The tools become blurry. My senses leave my body.
Finally, after what seems like forever, he pulls away. I close my eyes, willingly submitting to sleep, but am jolted back as his hands return. This time, not to tear me apart, but to lift me into his arms.
My head lolls against his shoulder. The scent of him wraps around me, as cozy as his warmth.
“How can you break me and yet still feel…so safe?” I rasp.
“I’m the last person you should feel safe with.” The words are nothing more than a low rumble in his chest, full of what almost sounds like disdain for himself.
He brings me to his bedroom, laying me gently on his bed. The mattress has never felt softer. Yet, somehow, it’s still too firm for every aching joint and healing wound. I hiss and groan as I try to relax my locked muscles.
I almost miss the ghost of his hand over my forehead, smoothing sweat-slicked strands of hair from my face. A soft sound escapes me, something between a sigh and a wince. He stills, his hand flinching away.
“Don’t stop,” I murmur. There’s the sag of his weight on the edge of the bed. His hand remains, gently caressing. My eyes crack open. “I thought you didn’t want me bleeding on your furniture.”
“Foremost, I am offended you think I have allowed you to still have any open wounds. And secondly, you have no idea how many old blankets I have piled up. I’ll burn it all when we’re done.” There’s the ghost of a weary smile underneath his tired and sunken eyes.
How long was he working on me? My eyes fall closed. It doesn’t matter. I take the rest while I have it.
When my eyes flutter open next, it’s because Kaelis is pressing a sliver of ice between my lips, fingers lingering as he coaxes me to accept it. I didn’t realize how raw my throat was until the ice melts. Something about the chill from within numbs everything else just a little bit.
Another piece follows. And another.
His fingers are so gentle. So careful. My heart squeezes as I stare up at him. He meets my gaze, staring at me not as some kind of experiment…but as something to be admired.
Everything hurts worse after sleeping.
I try to choke out a sound as his fingers linger just a moment longer, his cold skin brushing the corner of my mouth before he pulls away.
“You screamed quite a bit; I thought your throat would be sore.”
“It is.” I try to force a smile. My muscles don’t move in the way I expect them to. “You did break my face apart.”
“I did all I could to make it hurt less.” He glances away.
“I know.” I try to shift my hand and reach for him, but I lack the strength.
“I loathe hurting you.” He says it so quietly I strain to hear.
“We do what must be done,” I remind him. This is for Arina, to keep her safe. For us, so I can do what must be done and give us all a better chance at a better world.
He sighs heavily, staring into the bowl of ice that rests in his lap. Strands of messy dark hair shade his eyes. Dark circles cling under them, as though this process is somehow also remaking him.
No more words are exchanged. But when he presses the next piece of ice to my lips, his touch lingers a second longer. Fingertips resting on my mouth, my jaw. I can still feel his touch just as well, even with my new face.
Eventually, I stop taking the ice, and sleep consumes me.
When I wake next, I find someone else in the bed with me, but it’s not Kaelis. Priss has curled up between my legs. I nearly break myself trying to sit to pet her. But it’s worth it to give her a long overdue scratch between her ears. Her purr alone might be enough to heal me.
Sitting, I see where Kaelis has gone.
He didn’t sleep in the bed with me, despite its size.
He did not take the space because he was not invited; that is the only reason I can assume.
He’s not even on one of the couches on the other end of the room.
The second prince of Oricalis, headmaster, void-born, clan killer, butcher…
spent the night on the floor next to me, just so he wouldn’t have to leave my side.
I am taken exclusively between the two rooms. One of pain. One of recovery.
The days blur together in a haze of agony and mending, half sleep and forced sleep when Kaelis casts the Four of Cups to put me out of the misery I am enduring. I don’t fight the reprieve.
But he is always there.
He brings me ice and water. Broth and bread when I can accept something sturdier. He presses cool cloths to my forehead.
Not once does he, or his cat, leave my side.
My eyes are the source of much debate. Their crimson color, while not unheard of, is uncommon enough that it must be changed. It’s synonymous with the infamous criminal Clara Graysword. There’s much back-and-forth as to what can be done with them that won’t impact my vision.
Our discussions last long enough that it gives me some time to properly heal—outside of merely card mending. My thoughts gain a bit of clarity, so I can help him work through theory.
“What about the Wheel?” I ask, despite thinking of Elorin’s warning.
“Too unpredictable. Knowing our luck, you’d get rid of your eyes entirely,” he mumbles, tapping his finger on the dining room table.
It’s nice to sit as though everything is normal, even when I know it’s not.
The cloths that have been draped over every reflective surface so I don’t see the horrific state I’m in—the polished wood of the table included—remind me of that.
“Need I remind you that I have exceptional luck? At some point I’ll have to use it; shouldn’t I try in a controlled setting?”
“If you’re confident enough…”
That’s the sentiment that has me backing down. I’m too weak to feel confident casting a Major. Instead, we return to the card we so readily dismissed as an option to keep me safe ages ago.
The Seven of Cups alters appearances for a short length of time as an illusion.
However, when the magic is enhanced by the Ten of Cups and combined with a minor wish of the Nine of Cups, the alterations seem to stick, at least in a half measure.
The change is subtle and too small to use for anything else, especially because of how much magic it consumes.
We lose a lot of time to the effort. But it is enough to alter the color of my eyes ever so slightly toward a more rusty brown, according to Kaelis, and that’s all we really need.
The process drags on.
Pieces of myself are scattered across the floor.
Kaelis begins to use the Eight of Coins—a card that speeds up one’s performance in a project—to expedite his efforts and push my body to heal faster as we work on other areas.
I hear him murmuring to himself in moments of lucidity, but I don’t need him to say his concerns aloud.
The Fire Festival is swiftly approaching, and with it a new academic year for Arcana Academy.
I must be finished before then.
Finally, I wake, and he’s not there.
In his place is a small pile of clothes, neatly folded at the foot of the bed.
I study them, tracing each detail with my eyes and then my fingertips.
The first layer is a fitted tunic, a deep navy.
It has a high collar and long sleeves, both with silver embroidery along their hems. The sleeves taper close to my wrists, looser around my shoulders, clearly designed for mobility without getting in my way.
Under that are plain trousers that tuck into patent leather boots.
Over it all is a long vest of silver, its lower hem skimming around my calves.
It reminds me of the dress I wore to the castle in Fate Hearth during last year’s winter break. And given everything else…that makes me all the more certain that this was not merely what was on hand. It was crafted. Tailored just for me.
On top of the clothes is a note that reads:
Get dressed and meet me for dinner.
“So dramatic,” I murmur lovingly as I begin to pull on the clothing, dusk streaming through his windows.
As I dress, I feel out of my body. It’s been two days since he last worked on me.
The swelling in my cheeks and jaw has finally vanished.
My sight is no longer blurry from various dyes and potions dripped into them as Kaelis and I were testing options for handling their color.
And my hair…It twists in effortless waves, now nearly to my waist. That is the single element of my new appearance I’m familiar with.
I’ve yet to see anything else of my new body.
The prince is waiting for me in the dining room, leaning against the table.
He straightens the moment he lays eyes on me.
For a second, there’s a flicker of doubt in them.
They narrow slightly, as if scrutinizing his work.
Or…perhaps as if growing accustomed to seeing me as I am now, rather than how he’s always known me.
“Well?” I hold out my hands. “Do I look like Clara Redwin-Graysword? Infamous criminal?”
“Not in the slightest,” he says with a note of awe. “See for yourself.” Kaelis gestures toward a corner of the room where a tall iron-framed mirror is propped against the wall at a perfect angle to bounce light from the chandelier and candles at night. Still covered by a tarp.
“Are you sure?” I glance between him and it.
“You must sooner or later. I think now’s the time.”
My heart is pounding as I cross the room. My gait has changed. Every step a bit different from how I remember taking it before.
Kaelis continues to watch me closely. That worrying look as he gazes at me is how I know he’s doing more than merely assessing the work ahead. This is something deeper in his eyes. Something as knotted as what’s in me.
As I pass him, his fingers twitch. Why he hesitates to reach for me now when he used to so freely is strange. He knows every inch of this new body of mine. He made it.
I pause a step away, waiting. Kaelis accepts the unspoken invitation, closing the gap between us.
Wordlessly, he adjusts the vest over my upper chest and collar, smoothing out unseen wrinkles with deliberate motions.
It’s such a simple yet intimate thing. His restraint is nearly unbearable. My breaths shallow under his hands.
Will you still touch me as you once did? I want to ask. Yet I cannot. I don’t dare.
“You were perfect as you were,” he murmurs.
“Am I no longer perfect?” I meant it as a witty retort, but it’s so weak. Almost fearful.
He laughs, low and deep, eyes flicking to mine.
Hands hovering near my body without touching me.
The corner of his mouth quirks into a grin that’s knowing.
Familiar. “You are the same woman, no matter what eyes you have or clothes you wear. You will always be. Change your hair, your height, every physical element of you…it matters not to me. I am devoted not to your vessel, but to your soul. A soul I would follow across all the worlds.”
His hands fall away, and he gestures to the mirror. I swallow the lump in my throat and finish what feels like a great trek alone. I grip the tarp and pause. I’m not ready.
So I don’t know what propels me to pull the cloth from its place.
As it falls, I can’t look away.