CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Arche.
It wasn’t him, but it was. Not his face, not his voice, but my body didn’t care. My body only remembered rough hands and cold steel and fire.
My vision went white and I heard nothing but the pulse in my ears.
And I ran.
I shoved past a child, barely noticing the startled cry. A woman shouted after me, but her voice dissolved into the noise around me. My legs moved on instinct, pounding against the cobblestones. I had to get away. I had to get out.
The air felt wrong, like it was being pulled straight out of my lungs. My ribs tightened until it felt like they were caving in, stabbing into my heart.
“Kera!” Will’s voice tore through the chaos, but I couldn’t stop running. I couldn’t. I wasn’t even in my body anymore.
I was back.
Back on the floor. Back in the smoke. Back where he, they, had me.
I turned into an alley and I nearly collapsed, as the walls narrowed, trapping me. My knees hit the stone and I pressed my palms against it, as if it would stop the world from spinning.
I clutched my chest, nails digging into my skin, but I couldn’t feel it. I couldn’t feel my body, and yet I felt everything.
He was there. He was going to take me again. He was going to laugh while he did it, while the world burned.
While they all died.
I curled in on myself, pulling my knees tight to my chest and tucking my face against them, shutting the world out as I tried to breathe. Tried to find something solid to hold on to.
And then I heard Will again. His voice, calling my name, and something inside me snapped. Fury erupted in my chest, sudden and hot, like it had been waiting for the right moment to explode. I wasn’t running anymore.
I was burning.
"You shouldn’t have left!” I snapped at him. “You should never have left.”
“I know,” he retorted. “Don’t you think I know that? Can’t you see that I’m drowning in it too?”
“Don’t leave again,” I cried. I didn’t care how desperate I sounded. “Don’t you dare—”
“I won’t.” He reached for me. “I’m here. I swear it, I’m here, and I’m not leaving.”
I recoiled before I even knew why. My body moved like it had a mind of its own, like it didn’t trust him.
Didn’t trust Will.
And gods, that hurt.
Those vultures hadn’t just shattered me, they’d infected everything. Even this. Even Will. My mind, my instincts, they didn’t know the difference anymore. They saw him as a threat too.
Will.
The boy who wouldn’t hurt a fly. The boy who refused to hunt because the idea of killing made him sick.
And now my body thought he was one of them.
I hated it.
It was never going to be like it was before. Whatever normal had been, it was gone. Ripped out of me. What happened… it had rewired me. And it had changed how I saw the world.
How I saw him.
But the worst part? He saw it too. Will pulled his hand back like it stung, eyes soft and apologetic. I hated that look. That gentle, it’s okay, I understand look.
It wasn’t.
It wasn’t fucking okay.
How could men like him exist—gentle and good and safe—while other men hurt women for fun? How was that fair? That he flinched like he was the one who’d done something wrong. Like he should’ve known better. Like any of it was his fault.
Then something caught the light, at the end of the alley.
I turned away from Will without a word and started walking.
An old fence loomed ahead, bent and half-swallowed by ivy. A twist of iron, rusted, like a hand reaching out toward the sky. The earth shifted under my boots, cracked and uneven.
Inside, it was worse. Gravestones slumped into the earth, crooked and broken. Some were nothing but crumbling lumps now, swallowed whole by moss. The names, if they were still there, were buried under layers of grime and lichen, lost to the years.
An apple lay by the gate, caved in and torn open, crawling with worms. I watched them writhe and disappear into the soft flesh. They ate everything.
Bodies piled in the streets. Left to rot. Swarmed by worms and flies.
Will’s words never left me. I imagined my mother’s hands, her face, her smile, softening, collapsing, her skin peeling away as the days passed. My father’s body bloating in the heat.
Alone. Forgotten.
There was no one left to bury them. No one left to say their names.
How long until I forgot their voices?
How long until I couldn’t picture their faces anymore?
“Talk to me.”
Will’s voice was low, careful.
I didn’t look at him. “I need to do something,” I murmured, barely breathing. “For my family.”
He walked a little closer. “We can. We will. I promise.”
I nodded. But the ache didn’t ease.
It wasn’t enough. It could never be enough.
A flower, a stone, a prayer.
What were they, really, compared to everything we’d lost?
We walked back toward the market. I kept my eyes on the ground.
Around us, people laughed. Bought bread. Held hands. Lived.
Like the world hadn’t cracked open.
I tried not to look at the soldiers. I had to learn to live with them, because they were everywhere, and there was no other choice. And I couldn’t fall apart every time I saw one. Even though I knew what they were.
“Chocolate,” Will said, nodding toward a nearby market stall, trying too hard to sound casual. “Should we get some?”
I didn’t answer.
“What about candy?” he tried again, wandering over to a table stacked with sweets. “Or dried meat?”
He held up a long fish with mock enthusiasm, then flinched, recoiling in horror as he noticed it still had a pair of beady eyes staring back at him.
“Oh gods,” he gagged, shoving it back onto the pile.
A sound slipped out of me. I didn’t mean for it to. It was barely anything, half a breath, half a laugh, but it cracked the silence in my chest.
The world came back in slow pieces. Bread. Sunlight. The rustle of fabric and feet. Someone haggling over onions. The sharp sweetness of fruit in the air. And Will, standing there, horrified, hands raised like the fish might come after him.
So stupidly Will.
And somehow, that was enough to make everything stop spiraling.
My knees weren’t shaking anymore. I wasn’t gasping for air.
“Well, my dear,” he continued in a ridiculous, deep voice, lifting a dusty bottle of wine like it was made of gold. “Might I tempt you with the finest bottle in all the land?”
He posed dramatically, chin up, one eyebrow raised.
I rolled my eyes as warmth flooded my cheeks. “You’re embarrassing me.”
But I was smiling.
“I’m good, Will.”
The second I said it, the playfulness faded. He stepped beside me again, quieter now.
“I’m just trying to—”
“I know,” I cut in gently. I knew. He didn’t need to say it.
He looked at me, eyes full of something unsaid. Maybe he wanted to say more. Maybe he wanted to fix it all. But instead, he just nodded, his voice soft.
“I just want you to be happy.”
“I know,” I said again.
A table tucked near the edge of the path, cluttered with wooden carvings. Little animals, hearts, delicate horses mid-gallop. But it was the boats that stopped me cold. Tiny ships, carved by hand, each one smooth and polished.
I remembered the stories my mother used to tell me when I couldn’t sleep. Stories of ancient burials.
How they’d carve great ships for their dead—load them with flowers, coins, their favorite things. And then set them alight. Push them into the lake. That was how they let go. How they made sure the soul didn’t get stuck in the body. How they helped it find its way home.
The moment I saw those boats, I knew. I knew exactly how I’d say goodbye.
One for each of them.
That’s what I needed. That’s what they deserved.
I stopped walking. Will noticed, his gaze following mine.
“Boats?” he asked, quiet.
I didn’t answer. My eyes were already fixed on the vendor.
The man looked up from his carving, his hands still moving with practiced ease. His brow was furrowed, sun-worn, his eyes kind beneath it.
“A boat for the lady?” he asked.
I nodded. “Four.”
His knife stilled mid-stroke.
“Four?” he repeated, like he wasn’t sure he had heard me right.
He looked to Will for clarity, but Will just gave a crooked smile and said, “Four.”
The man nodded slowly, set his carving knife aside, and wrapped the little boats in brown paper. His hands were steady, practiced, folding the edges clean before slipping them into a simple bag. I turned to another stall and picked up candles and matches.
“So… what are you gonna do with them?” Will asked, falling into step beside me.
“I need a lake,” I said, like it was obvious.
He angled his head, searching my face. “What for?”
“A ceremony. To say goodbye.”
His mouth parted like he might ask something else, but then he just nodded, quiet and steady.
“All right,” he said. “Let’s find a lake.”
We found one as the sun started to fall. The sky had turned purple-blue, like a bruise spreading slowly across the horizon. The lake was still and quiet, holding a kind of knowing, as if it understood what I needed.
A quiet moment.
Just me and the spirits of the dead.
Will didn’t talk. He just sat beside me and lit the candles one by one. His hands were steady, the way they always were when mine weren’t. I held the first boat close to my chest.
“Einar,” I breathed. “I’m sorry I always found you so annoying.”
My voice shook.
“I can’t believe I used to wish you’d leave me alone, and now I’d give anything to have you walking by my side again. To have you watching over me.”
I wiped at my face but the tears just kept coming.
“I’m sorry I didn’t appreciate all that you did for me. And if you want, you could keep watching out for me, because I still need you.”
I set the boat down in the water. It floated slowly, the candle flickering. I watched it until it looked ready to tip. But it didn’t. Then I grabbed the other boats.
“Mother. Father.”
My voice broke.
“I couldn’t save you. I couldn’t even save myself.”
I paused, let the pain tear through me.
“Maybe... maybe if I’d just married that monster, maybe you’d still be alive. I can’t change that now. I’m so sorry.”
I placed the last boats in the water.
“Until we meet again.”
The words tasted like ash.
I watched the last boat drift out into the water, its little flame wobbling in the wind. The others had already floated too far to see, swallowed by darkness. One by one, they had flickered out, distant points vanishing into night. I didn’t look away.
“They heard that,” he murmured.
The wind stirred again, brushing against my face, lifting strands of my hair. I wrapped my arms around myself.
He nodded toward the last boat. “Who’s that one for?”
I picked it up carefully, keeping the candle upright as I cradled it in both hands. Then I held it out to him, offering a faint smile that barely held.
His brow furrowed. Confused at first. Then something shifted in his eyes as it clicked. He took the boat.
“I miss you, Mum,” he whispered. “It was my fault. It was all my fault and I—”
I reached out, my fingers finding his wrist, wrapping around it gently. His skin was warm. His pulse steady. When I looked up, our eyes met. I shook my head once, slow.
He didn’t argue. Didn’t speak. He just breathed.
He saw it, what I meant. Not your fault.
I held on, not to pull him back from something, but to anchor him here. To me. To not let grief or guilt take him.
“I won’t rest until all of them are dead,” he said. “Every last one. I give you my word.”
He crouched at the water’s edge and set the boat down, fingers lingering a moment before he pushed it forward. I said nothing. There was nothing left. And then, without even meaning to, I leaned into him, my shoulder brushing his. Then the weight of my head found the space just above his heart.
I let my eyes fall shut.
I wasn’t okay. I was coming apart at the seams. But for a second, I could breathe again. I stayed like that. Right there in the warmth of him. My face pressed to the fabric of his shirt. His heartbeat slow and steady against my cheek.
And for the first time since Novil burned, I didn’t feel alone.
I wasn’t alone.