20. The Raid
The Raid
Atapestry burned, twisting in the whipping wind of a broken window. Iron bars that had once framed the glass all bent inward, scorch marks darkening the remaining shards, and the wall on either side of the magical hole left in the spell’s wake.
A few of the Magicals with him looked at him sideways, and maybe with a touch more respect. He saw more than one take a few steps back to give him room as he walked past. He couldn’t pretend to be gratified by the reevaluation he saw in some of those faces.
Given why their opinions of him had changed, it disgusted him.
Pain burned at his throat, even though the damned thing had supposedly been switched off for the night. The burnished ring almost hurt more where it lay on the raw flesh, instead of hovering from the spell that normally kept it buzzing against his skin.
He didn’t look at the faces of the fallen left in the wake of his last few spells.
He’d needed to go hard to end the fight, but also to blow a hole into the side of the main structure. His father asked for that specifically. He’d wanted a direct route into the underground chamber to bypass the security on the doors.
Malefic also wanted drama, so he was following orders in that respect, too.
Under different circumstances, he might’ve been fascinated by the view.
The underground gardens, illuminated by a magical sun.
The strange plants that glowed eerily when he extended his aura into that space.
Even now, they weren’t in the most secret parts of the forbidden hold. They’d barely touched the surface, since this wasn’t considered one of the sacred chambers. It was where most of them lived, instead… particularly the young ones.
Pain throbbed in his chest as he tried not to think about what came next.
He could feel her there, but he didn’t want that, either.
He didn’t want to remember how she’d looked at him.
Her green eyes had stared up, filled with anger, fire, frustration with him (always frustration with him), grief, incomprehension. He definitely didn’t want to think about how it had felt, having her in his arms again, or what his father said to him smugly after he’d sent her away.
But his father’s silver eyes burned in the back of his anyway.
He wanted to forget the words, but he couldn’t.
“Why would I deny you, my son?” Malefic had asked, lifting one dark eyebrow as his eyes danced with malice. “I was young once, too.”
He tried to force it from his mind.
Not the triumph of his father’s words, but the meaning behind them.
He could not stop toying with it though, like a cut in his mouth he couldn’t stop touching with his tongue.
It was moot now, anyway.
She would not want to see him.
She would hate him, just like he told her she would.
She would hate him for this, for everything he would do.
I dragged myself painfully back to consciousness. Surfacing felt agonizing. I fought my way back to the light shining on my closed lids, then I had to fight again to open them.
It was morning. Even before I could see it, I could feel it.
The thought somehow filled me with dread.
My mind swam with vivid, back-to-back, exhausting dreams, so visceral and real-feeling, I couldn’t move for a few moments after I was awake. I stared up at the ripped canopy I still hadn’t repaired from my fall the day before.
As disturbing as aspects of those dreams were, some part of me didn’t want to leave them. I told myself I needed to understand what I was seeing, to determine what was real and what wasn’t, but even that wasn’t the truth.
The truth was a lot simpler.
I fought to hold onto him even as he slipped away. I struggled not to lose that feeling of his presence immersed in mine. I couldn’t hold onto him, though. I couldn’t. He left me with tangible reluctance, which somehow made it worse.
Just like in that alcove in his castle, I couldn’t make him stay with me.
I fought to hold onto every fragment I could, everything I’d seen, the things I overheard, his thoughts, his worries, the things grinding through the back of his mind, but the details wanted to fade with him.
I remembered him talking to me. My inability to make sense of how the pieces fit together made me want to scream.
Every thread felt like a fragile, easily-broken connection to him. Yet the tapestry of those threads woven together felt like an instruction manual written in invisible ink.
Right before it ended, I’d felt his fingers around mine.
Had he dreamed me, too?
Why had it felt like he’d been awake for most of it?
At the end, I’d seen that black stone wall behind him again.
He’d been back in the dungeon, the gold ring glowing around his neck, his eyes exhausted.
The golden glow of his eyes and the tattoos on his chest lit the space enough that I could see him almost clearly, even if the lighting made him look like an Aether being more than a person.
His outline glowed, along with his chest.
I’d seen the new scar on his face. Blood trickled from his hairline, staining his blond hair. He’d been sweaty, like he’d been running, or fighting maybe. He’d looked tired, defeated, and strangely vulnerable as he looked at me.
I’m sorry, he’d said.
He said it a few more times, until I couldn’t stand it anymore and asked him to stop.
His lip had been cut. His jaw looked swollen. His shoulders and chest had been decorated with more bruises, cuts, and burns.
He’d definitely been in another fight.
No. Sirena had been sent down to play with him.
I shoved the thought away, feeling sick.
I tried to puzzle through the time sequence. His dreams hadn’t made it seem like anyone was angry with him, not in Dark Cathedral, at least. They’d seemed almost… impressed. So what the hell happened in the time since?
Whatever it was, it got him relegated to the dungeon again.
It got him punished.
His eyes had been glassy, but unlike during most of the night’s dreams, he hadn’t tried to force me away. Which told me he’d been a lot more exhausted than usual, or, even more likely, he’d been dead asleep.
He held my hand and talked to me.
He stared into my eyes and talked quietly long after he’d pleaded for me to forgive him.
Through a lot of it, he spoke too low and deep and gravelly for me to make out individual words.
Had he been delirious? During the dream, I had a sense some part of me understood him, like I knew what he was trying to say, and just listened.
It was maddening to wake up and have all of that be gone.
It made me want to scream, or cry.
Alaric shifted on the mattress, letting out a low snore, and the last of my dreams and Bones’s presence vanished for real. I could have hit Alaric for it, smacked his shoulder at least, but I knew how irrational my reaction was.
Alaric hadn’t done it. I simply hadn’t been able to hold on.
I stared up at Bones’s ceiling, my jaw clenched.
I tried to use my sun primal by itself––no rituals, no cock piercings that doubled as homing devices. I tried to just feel him.
Bones? I whispered.
Silence greeted me.
Bones? I tried again. Are you there? Are you awake?
No one answered.
Had he really been speaking to me like I remembered?
Could he have been conscious he was speaking to me?
I strongly suspected he hadn’t been, but how would I even know?
I didn’t even know which things my mind made up and which actually happened.
The entire night could be what my imagination concocted to convince me I could reach him, that everything would be all right when it most definitely wasn’t.
Go away, Leda, my mind whispered.
I blinked, swallowing a sudden tightness in my throat.
Come looking for me again, and I swear to the gods I’ll fucking kill you…
I fought to breathe, my arm wrapped around my chest.
I’ll kill you, Leda. I’ll kill you… worthless, conniving cunt… worst thing that ever happened to me… leave me the fuck along…
Those were words I knew I’d heard, that I couldn’t forget, or convince myself he hadn’t meant. I’d never repeated them, not to anyone, certainly not verbatim, although I strongly suspected Blackstone knew.
Don’t ever fucking come back or I’ll kill you––
“Are you awake?” a bleary-sounding voice asked. “Leda? I think something’s here for you. By the fireplace? Or was I dreaming?”
My mind clicked fully awake.
I sat up abruptly, and looked around the room, blinking rapidly to clear my eyes, rubbing my face with a hand and combing my hair back so I could better focus.
I didn’t see anything or anyone, despite scanning the area by the fireplace, the kitchen, the walk-in closet.
The door to the lavatory was closed, but I always kept it closed.
The window latch had been left slightly ajar.
The alarm I’d felt at Alaric’s words faded.
A drakai must have come in, and left me something. A note. Another book from Forsooth, or even one of my London newspapers. I had a box with my name on it down in the Malcroix postal area, but when it got full things got sent here, too.
I tried to remember the last time I’d been down there to empty the box.
I glanced over at my friend, who’d pulled the duvet and blanket back over his head.
I’d let Alaric spend the night again.
Bones would definitely hate that if he knew, especially how often it happened, especially with us sharing his bed after he’d explicitly asked me not to do that, specifically with Alaric. But I understood why Alaric hadn’t wanted to be alone, and I hadn’t wanted to be alone, either.
Also, I was pretty sure Luc told Alaric to stay.
None of them trusted me now, not after what I’d done yesterday.
I couldn’t exactly blame them.
“Leda?” Alaric prodded my back with his fingers. “Did you hear me?”
“I did,” I yawned. “Are you going to make the coffee while I shower?”
He shifted to his back, exhaled, and yanked down the top of the duvet.