Chapter 40
FORTY
Unsent correspondence, translated to English, and addressed only to My Truth:
I carried the weight of my silence until I forgot how to walk with my head held high.
MALACH
The ache leaves no part of me untouched. Concentrated in my heart, it throbs with each beat. At first, that’s all I know. Then I shift, and the fabric of Celine’s couch grazes my arm.
I made it back to her. Barely, from the feel of it, but after everything that happened, it’s a miracle that I managed it at all.
“Take it easy,” Celine says. She’s moving around. I hear her footsteps in the kitchen. Her scent grows stronger as she walks over to me. “Try to drink this, Malach.”
The sound of her voice is such a relief. It overpowers the ache and gives me the strength to open my eyes and sit up. Her hair is tangled, and there are dark circles beneath her eyes. But she’s alive. She’s alive and here with me, holding a glass of water in one hand and a sword in the other.
“Are you okay?” I ask. The question comes out cracked and garbled.
“You’re stealing my lines . . .” Celine looks me over, and I scramble to button my shirt, thankful that no one took it off while I was unconscious. “You’re the one who crawled to the door and passed out.”
I swallow painfully. My mouth is dry and tacky at the same time.
“Drink the water, please.” Celine raises the glass to my lips, and I sip greedily. It burns my throat before easing some of the agony. “You were attacked?”
I nod, glancing up and wincing from the bright light over Celine’s shoulder. Pressing the glass into my hand, she crosses to the kitchen to flip the switch.
“We were overwhelmed,” I mutter and frown. The details are unclear—even in my mind.
“Your team?”
My heart shudders. I try to remember specifics, but everything is blurry. Clanging steel, flying magic—the worry that we wouldn’t survive. Then nothing.
“Scattered or dead,” I say slowly.
The words are simple, yet uttering them is excruciating—and it has nothing to do with my sore throat. Besides, “Celine is gone,” no three words have ever hurt more. But my voice is cold, without inflection. She will think you a monster.
Celine drops to her knees by the couch, takes my glass, sets it to the side, then holds her hand out and waits. To salute. The lump in my throat threatens to choke me as I wrap my thumb around hers. The silent tribute to my lost guardians nearly snaps my control.
She understands. Of course she does. My eyes flutter closed as Celine presses her forehead to mine, our locked hands crushed between our pounding hearts.
“I’m sorry, Malach.”
“The nish suffer,” I whisper, weariness pulling at me.
Celine pulls away from me, her jaw tight. “Then they should fight back.”
“As you are?” I don’t mean to say it—wouldn’t have, if not for the pain.
Celine absorbs my cruelty and goes impossibly still. “We can search for survivors once you’re back on your feet,” she says, retreating from me and the conversation. Suddenly, I’m desperate to stop her from pulling away.
“If you cannot face him in your mind, My Truth, how will you face him in person?”
“Briefly,” she snaps, “when I remove his face with my blade, so no one ever has to see it again.”
She settles in the crooked chair and glues her eyes to the locked door.
I let the subject drop and watch the window.
Three days pass. Each one more confusing than the last. There’s no sign of survivors or bodies—no sign of a fight at all.
Try as I might, I can’t remember the specifics of what happened, only flashes of violence. My body heals, but the pounding in my skull won’t go away.
Luca and Alistair suspect I sustained a head injury early in the fight. My brain has healed, but it can’t return memories never captured. With my guardians gone, there’s no one to fill in the blanks. My guardians. I brought them here only to lose them.
Celine plants her hands on her hips, eyes narrowed, but thankfully not on me. “I’m going,” she says.
“It’s too dangerous.” Luca scrubs his hand over his face.
“It’s way more dangerous here,” she argues. “And he shouldn’t be alone right now.”
“He hasn’t answered a single one of your messages—mine either—and he’s certainly not alone. Even if your father doesn’t think to look for you in Colorado, waltzing into the fucking compound without an invitation to visit the enclave is insane.”
Celine studies Luca’s flushed face calmly, then stands on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek. “I didn’t ask your permission, Luca. I told you as a courtesy.”
“I’ll deny your time-off request,” he grunts.
Celine rolls her eyes. “Nice try. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“I’ll come too then,” Luca says, scrambling after her.
“No. One of us has to go to work, or people will talk. Besides, I’m not planning to knock. I’m just going to . . .”
“Hover like a fucking creep?”
“If that’s how you want to describe it.” Celine secures a backpack to the front of her chest, tugging the waist strap low—almost to her hips.
I frown. “You haven’t flown such a great distance in years.”
“That’s exactly why I should,” Celine says, smiling at me cheerfully. “I’ll be back tomorrow. Don’t wait up.”
“You waited for Alistair to leave on purpose,” Luca groans.
Celine’s eyes flash with anger before she hides them behind a pair of oversized sunglasses. “I don’t need Alistair’s permission to attend a funeral. He’s the one who told me about the arrangements.”
“That you weren’t invited to,” Luca reminds her.
“I’m going, Luca. Try to accept it.” Celine kisses him on the jaw, waves at me, and walks out the door, shutting it firmly behind her.
Luca curses, yanking on the strands of his hair until they stand on end. “Only she would decide to crash a fucking funeral.”
“It will strengthen her wings.” I shrug. “I’ve been worried about atrophy.”
“Gods, you two suck,” he growls, throwing his hands up. “Not everything is about being as strong as possible. Rest, happiness—those things are important too.”
I nod. He’s correct about that, but we both know she’s not preparing to fly several hundred miles to improve her fitness. “She’s worried about him,” I say.
Luca has no response to that.