Chapter 47
MAE
My back is pressed against something soft, not the unyielding or gritty surface of the floor, but the cushiony give of a bed or a cot. Nobody is screaming or crying, so that’s another good sign. The air is stale, but it’s not smoke, and the smell of medicinal herbs and salve is strong.
“Hello, princess.”
My eyes fly open.
Asmo stands before me, a half-smile on his face. His face is smeared with dirt, his hair covered in dried sweat and blood, and he looks exhausted. He looks perfect.
I burst into tears.
He pulls me into his arms, his fingers gripping me too hard, not hard enough. “Shh, it’s okay. We’re all okay,” he mutters into my hair. And I am. I know I’m okay. I’m breathing. My mate is in front of me. We’re okay.
“How long have I been out?” I mumble into his solid, unyielding chest. The one he was just stabbed in. “Wait, you were stabbed. Are you okay?”
He lets me go, and I fight the protest that forms on my lips. I prop myself up on the cot and look around. We’re in a private space, a thin sheet separating us from the rest of the healing center. It’s bare in here—just a cot, some sterile instruments, and a glass jar of something clear.
“I’m fine.” He leans back in the chair and pulls his shirt up.
I ignore the way it sends butterflies straight to my core.
A dark blemish mars his chest, just above the snake’s head.
“Luca. He was trying to get to you. He threw the dagger toward you, with your back turned. Couldn’t even face you.
He didn’t expect me to step in its path.
He must have used a dagger imbued with dark magic. Explains why it did so much damage.”
I quirk an eyebrow. If I was stabbed by a dagger, imbued or not, I’m assuming I’d be dead. “Are you not usually impacted by knives to the chest that way?”
“Not usually, no.” He drops his shirt and looks at the floor.
Alright, then. A question for another time. “How long have I been out?” I ask again.
He looks back to me. “Couple hours. The healer thinks you hit your physical and magical limits.”
I guess fighting the First Witch will do that to you. “Is everyone else okay? Cally? Ivan? Holly?”
“Everyone we know is alive. Etta is injured, but she’ll be fine…” He grimaces. “A few people died. But you saved two of the hybrids that we thought the witches had killed.”
I blink. They were dead. I felt their hearts stop. “What? How?”
He shakes his head. “The current theory is…your tears.”
I stare at him, waiting for him to say Just kidding! He doesn’t. “What?”
He shakes his head and huffs a laugh. “I know. That’s the only thing we can work out. The two that were revived were the ones that you and Elle both cried on. That’s the only commonality. And if you’re direct descendants of Wrena’s line…Her tears broke the curse on your grandfather.”
I shake my head in disbelief. “That sounds…” Impossible? Insane? Like something that’s not supposed to happen? “I take it Marik didn’t come back?”
He shakes his head, the movement slow and heavy. I wish I could shoulder some of its weight. “How are you feeling about…him?” In all of this, I never once thought to ask him about his feelings toward his brother. His twin brother. The person he knows better than anyone.
He closes his eyes. “I’m okay. It was the least he could do. He’s responsible for all of this,” he grumbles.
“He’s your brother,” I whisper.
He shifts in his chair, avoids my gaze. “It’s…I don’t want to talk about this right now.”
My instinct is to push, to demand, to pull the feelings out of him. But what good would that do? We’ll have a lifetime to talk about all of the tiny cuts and the huge gashes that have left us hurting and scarred. We’ll have a lifetime to heal each other.
“Okay. What about Elle? Is she okay?”
His expression turns grave, and my heart threatens to burst from my chest. “She’s fine. She’s just not exactly…speaking right now.”
“What do you mean?”
He shrugs. “She refuses to talk to anyone. I think you need to talk to her.”
“Take me to her.” Once, the demand would have resulted in a raised eyebrow or a scoff, but now, Asmo scoops me into his arms. Hybrids dart out of the way when they see us coming. Some bow their heads.
The walls of Squall’s End are black, charred from the flames that sought to ravage the underground city.
Several hallways are blocked off, rocks and dirt blocking the way from the ceilings caving in.
We pass the mess hall, but the doors are warped and stained with black. The smell of smoke still lingers.
“You saved them today,” Asmo mutters as we pass another couple with bowed heads. “Everyone was trapped in the healing center. We think Cora meant for everyone to be locked inside while it burned. Without you…Squall’s End and everyone inside would be dead.”
My heart drops to my stomach. Etta, August, Barrett, Cally…My friends would have burned alive. Innocent hybrids would have died in a war they didn’t ask for. “Without us,” I manage to say. “You saved them, too.”
Asmo carries me outside, the moon high in the sky. I inhale, fresh air and the scent of snow and pine filling my lungs. I didn’t realize how suffocating it felt in Squall’s End until now. “Where is she?” I ask.
He doesn’t respond, just funnels us away. The dark night is made darker as we materialize into a forest, the trees blocking the light from the moon above. I cling tighter to Asmo, but he carries me to the abandoned house. It’s hard to believe it was only hours ago that we were here.
The house reeks of stale air and mouse droppings and mildew. Asmo sets me down and points to the stairs. “I’ll be down here if you need me,” he whispers, then squeezes my hand before walking toward the worn couch.
The hallway upstairs is dark, but a soft light comes from the second bedroom on the right.
Elle sits in a makeshift bed of rumpled quilts and worn sheets.
A candle flickers in a brass holder on the floor.
A large window is centered on the wall, a crack nearly splitting it in two.
She hugs her knees to her chest, the train of her bloody and rumpled dress lying on the floor beside her.
Her stare is vacant and fixed to the empty wall.
I lower myself to the floor and sit beside her. The silence between us is thick. I have no idea what to say to her. My sister.
My throat feels like it grows thicker as my thoughts get jumbled, as my brain struggles to form a singular sentence. How do you tell someone they’re your sister? Their twin? How do you tell someone they’re a High Princess?
How do you tell someone that the person who just killed himself was their mate?
“Elle,” I manage to say. But she doesn’t answer. She stares at the wall, rigid and silent. “Talk to me. Please,” I add softly.
Her mouth opens, but no words come. Not at first, at least. A tear cuts through her dirt-lined cheeks.
She swipes it away angrily, then splays her hand against her chest, above her heart.
“Something is wrong. I feel…My chest feels strained.” She squeezes her eyes shut and shakes her head.
“No, that’s not the right word. I don’t…
I can’t think of the right word for it, but it feels… Something’s not right.”
I can’t even imagine. When I saw the dagger sticking out of Asmo’s chest, it felt like the world imploded for a moment. But he was fine. And Marik isn’t. Marik is gone.
“Elle, there’s something you need to know,” I whisper.
I steel myself, then clear my throat. “Marik…” I close my eyes and take a deep breath.
“Marik is your mate. That’s why something feels wrong.
You just…” I can’t finish the sentence. You just lost your mate.
Even thinking it makes my heart buck inside my chest.
Elle turns to me, her thick brows scrunched together. “No, he’s not. That can’t be it.” She shakes her head once and says, “Besides, mates aren’t a thing anymore.” But her gaze grows unfocused as she stares at something over my shoulder. I turn, but there’s nothing there.
“There’s more,” I begin again, “The Mother visited me one night, before the wedding. She left me a book that told me of Wrena’s tale. About a week ago, She visited me again.” Elle stares at me, a blank expression on her face. “She shared a memory of my mother…of our mother.”
Her expression sharpens, zeroing in on me in a heartbeat. “What?”
I nod slowly. “We’re twins.” I force a smile to my lips—one that I know doesn’t reach my eyes—and say, “Surprise.”
“Silas was my…He was my dad? No, that can’t be. My mother…my father…” she mutters with a shake of her head. “That doesn’t make any sense.”
I tell her the details of the dream. From her expression, I can tell her thoughts are churning, trying to fit every puzzle piece together as I lay them down for her. She doesn’t interrupt me again. When I finish, she says, “Levana. Why is that name so familiar?”
“She was the witch that Cora had as the representative at the ball. She’s on our side. She helped rescue me.”
Elle quirks an eyebrow. “Rescue you?”
I wave a hand at her. “Yeah, I got captured, but not a big deal. At least, it’s not worth discussing right now.”
She shakes her head quickly and asks, “What does this have to do with Marik?”
I tell her the details of the other dream from the Mother—the one telling how to defeat Cora.
“I can only assume she showed me that because we’re the other set of twins.
Marik is not my mate. If he was, he never would have done what he did.
So that means…he has to be yours,” I say with a grimace.
She squeezes her eyes shut. Another tear breaks free.
“I know, Elle. I’m so sorry. This is so much to take in. ”