Chapter 43
FORTY-THREE
ARYELLA
When I opened my eyes, I was lying in a soft, warm bed with cornflower-blue sheets. Seagulls called in the distance, and I could hear the soothing rush of water as waves broke against a beach.
Behind me, wrapped around me, was the strongest, safest warmth I’ve ever known.
I gasped and rolled over. At the sight of his warm, brown eyes, and scarred, bearded face, I gave a broken cry of gratitude to the gods.
“You came back,” I choked. “You’re here .”
He smiled at me. My fingers brushed the faint laughter lines at the edges of his eyes. “Hello, my Ella,” he said softly.
His voice—so deep, comforting, and sure —summoned tears, flowing over the apples of my cheeks. “Are you real?” I cupped his strong jaw. “Is this real?”
His smile slowly faded.
I panicked, tightening my hold on him as if that could keep him with me forever. “Please tell me this is real.”
He gazed into my eyes with relentless devotion and sorrow before crushing my heart with two words. “Forgive me.”
“No.” I blinked out the cursed tears that blurred my vision and made it difficult to memorize his face for the last—“ No . You are not gone.”
His eyes filled with pity and love. But he wasn’t real.
“When I told you to leave in Brinnea, I didn’t want you to go,” I hurried out, desperate to tell him what I hadn’t had the chance to.
“You know that, don’t you?” I smoothed my fingers across the crease of his brow, then down his cheeks and strong nose, over his beard.
Memorizing him. “I should never have told you to go.”
“I had to go.” He tucked a piece of hair behind my ear and rested his forehead against mine.
“I want to remember.” My finger traced the scar over his eye, then one on his temple.
“I need to remember what we were. I’ve been trying to remember us, and I can’t ,” I whispered, voice breaking.
“I need more time.” I gripped the collar of his shirt, refusing to let go. “We didn’t have enough time.”
His fingers traced over my skin reverently, stroked my cheek with his thumb like he was memorizing me, too. “I know,” he said, his eyes glistening silver. “We never do, you and I.”
I couldn’t get closer to him, but I needed to. My lost, reckless soul had attached itself to him when he came for me in Warrich. While every part of me was stronger, the need for him to wrap me up and take me away from all of this remained. “Can I stay here with you?”
“Oh, my love.” He shuddered in pain. “You have to get up.”
“How?” I held him tighter. He felt so real and smelled like leather and cedar, like fresh air. Like home . If he wasn’t real, I didn’t know what the hell I was going to do. “I don’t know if I can.”
“You can.” The hickory brown of his eyes shimmered, and I could see how badly he wanted me to believe him. “You are limitless, Aryella. You can do anything. You can have anything.”
“But what I want is you, ” I pleaded. “Take me with you.”
“Ella, listen to me.” His voice steeled like it did during training, as if what he was about to say meant the difference between life and death.
“You are the love of my existence. You will always be mine . My soul will find yours again, I swear it. But right now, you are going to get up, and you are going to fight back.”
“I can’t. I won’t .”
“You can. And you will ,” he urged. “You have been fighting since Molochai stabbed you in the heart at three days old. Before Simeon erased you, starved, suppressed, and locked you up. Before he tried to dim your light and make you his weapon, you have fought for everything good and beautiful in this world.”
My body shook with uncontrolled sobs. “Will I ever see you again?”
“ Gods , I hope so,” he croaked. “Until then, I’m here.” He placed his hand over my heart, caressing the scar there with his thumb. “I always will be.”
I touched his face and looked directly into his eyes. He had to know . “I love you.”
“I love you,” he echoed, resting his forehead against mine. A single tear rolled down his bearded cheek. Agonizing silence lingered between us before he whispered, “Close your eyes, my love.”
I obeyed, and cold water woke me. When I opened my eyes again, I was alone.
The throbbing ache in my chest was gone, but everything else hurt so terribly. My thighs, raw and cut up, burned and screamed in pain. A few of my ribs were surely broken. Those, I could heal. The carved words would still scar.
I wanted to remain on the floor of the showers, let the water wash me away so I could cease to exist in this life and follow him into the next. But he wanted me to get up. He wanted me to fight back.
I didn’t know if the dream had been real, but I knew it was true .
The abused flesh of my thighs howled in pain, but I rose up onto my knees. “You will fight,” I cried. “You will survive, and”—my voice cracked—“you will apologize for nothing.”