Chapter 61
SIXTY-ONE
ARYELLA
When someone from the Caves died, their body was placed in a casket and entombed in the south wing after a funeral in the main hall.
In that hall was the throne they’d just finished building for me.
The morning before Ezra’s funeral, Elias took me to see it for the first time.
It sat at the front of the room, centered on top of a multi-tiered platform, undeniably breathtaking.
Wooden, meticulously carved with flowers and symbols for all twelve of the gods, and coated with gold.
“Can you make it silver?” I asked Elias. When he asked me why, I didn’t have a sensible answer, only that silver reminded me of Gavin Smyth. He told me he would see what he could do.
Today, I insisted that the throne would remain empty. I didn’t want to mourn Ezra as his queen, but as his friend.
The others killed in Molochai’s attack were being buried and mourned today, too, but Ezra’s mother, Nyla, wept the most. If it could take her pain away, I would endure Molochai’s shadows slicing beneath my skin for months on end.
I would return to the floor of that shower.
I would take their fists to my face and their boots to my ribs and their blade to my thighs.
I wished there was something I could do rather than break into her mind with Effusia’s power and force peace upon her.
Though if she requested it, I would do that for her, too.
As I stood among friends and remembered his blood on my hands and his final plea to put our people first, as I thought of everything that had happened over the previous eight months, one thing was clear to me: I would still give my life to end this.
If it came to that, I would stand before the gods and beg them to send me to wherever his soul rested.
Through the funeral, I stood with Gemma on one side holding my hand, and Marin on the other. When Marin began to sing, her voice was like the chime of a bell carried on a gentle gust of wind, her song curled around my heart and soothed the ever-present ache.
When Marin threaded her fingers through mine, her voice sharpened with an edge of anger. Maybe she could feel everything I felt because she was everything I once had been. A wife. A mother. Or maybe my emotions leaked out of me through Effusia’s power. Either way, her fury mirrored my own.
I had spent the last eight months doubting whether I could do any of this.
You can. And you will .
I closed my eyes and reached for him. When I found the strongest, safest place, the one where I held his memory and felt his fire, I found that it wasn’t just his voice that spoke to me, it was Marin’s voice, too. And Gemma. The twins, Finn and Caz.
I felt alone without him, but I wasn’t.
I managed to remain composed until the end of the ceremony, when people filtered silently from the hall.
Elias led me back to his room, a lavish suite filled with crimson and gold furniture, a fireplace twice the size of my own, a dark oak, four-poster bed, and elaborate artwork lining the rocky walls.
At least it was warm.
I sat against the headboard with my knees tucked into my chest and listened to him talk about Ezra. While he talked, he leaned lazily against the bedpost, lightly sipping wine. He offered me a glass, but I couldn’t make myself more vulnerable, or I would crumble more than I already had.
“He used to follow me around like a little brother,” chuckled Elias. “My little sister, Willa, had a crush on him for the longest time. Lou always made fun of her for it.” Elias’s sad face was brightened with a wide smile. “He was a good kid.”
“Ezra loved you,” I muttered. There hadn’t been enough time for me to get to know Ezra as much as I would have liked. My lies and his resentment had gotten in the way of that over the last few months. Now, it was too late. But I did know he adored his commander.
When I looked up, I found his eyes locked on my fingers as they mindlessly, unknowingly, fidgeted with the ring still chained around my neck.
“Are you ever going to tell me the real reason you wear that ring?” Elias pushed off from the bedpost and sat down beside me. “Or where the other one went?”
It wasn’t a threat, but my body stiffened like it was. I was desperate to protect and keep that part of myself sacred. One day, I’d tell Elias everything. It was only right. He was about to become my husband in this life, even though my heart recoiled at the word.
“You’ll get a ring tomorrow.” He took my hand, and the ring fell from my fingers and back to my chest. I wetted my lips, and his eyes dropped there. It was easier to tolerate him staring at my mouth than my eyes. When he investigated the latter, I didn’t know what truths he might find.
I knew what would distract him enough to keep him from asking. And I felt empty inside. Inescapably desperate to feel something safe, warm, and freeing. To feel alive .
So I did something I wasn’t proud of.
“Elias.” I swallowed thickly. “I don’t want to talk anymore.”
His brow rose upon realizing I was giving him permission. I hated myself for it, but I hated the thought of him knowing the truth of my heart even more.
“Okay.” His hand rose to cup my cheek. “We don’t have to talk.”
I closed my eyes and resigned myself to the touch of his lips against my own, even if just to protect my secrets for one more day.
When I didn’t object, he kissed me more fiercely.
It felt absent-mindedly good. Smooth, like everything he did, if I focused on the sensations and not who made me feel them.
His tongue sought mine. I had to force myself to part my lips and let him in. The pace of his breathing increased as he guided my legs open, shifting us so he rested on top as he dove into my neck to nip and suck my skin into his mouth.
My sadness quickly became guilt when the heat and sweetness of his breath sent goose bumps across my skin. When he trailed his lips along my chin and rested in the cradle of my hips, my back arched and my body begged for more touch. Every part of me begged for connection and safety.
It felt wrong, but I let him slide his hand beneath my shirt and brush over my stomach.
He moaned into my mouth, and I squeezed my eyes shut, bracing myself for the rush of arousal that I expected the sound to pull from me.
It barely came. When he applied perfect pressure with his hand to my ribs and stroked the underside of my breast with his thumb, I sucked in a ragged breath and without meaning to, bit down on his lip until I drew blood.
He groaned, liking it a little too much. It had been defensive. I hadn’t meant for it to entice him. “ Fuck , Ary,” he hissed, rolling his hips against me.
At the feel of his erection against my hip, my mind went somewhere else.
Like a brutal, vengeful strike of lightning, I disappeared from the present and my heart said no .
My stomach clenched, my throat burned with rejection.
The memory of that night in Brinnea with Gavin rushed through me, fleeting and involuntary.
One night had been enough to ruin me. Ruin this .
The memory of his scarred, callused hands caressing the naked parts of me I gave him.
The way he held me, gripped me, needed me, moaned against my mouth and tasted the skin of my neck with the desperation of a starving man.
I couldn’t escape Gavin Smyth. A very small, tired part of me wanted to, and the rest of me prayed that I never would.
“Eli?” I abruptly parted our mouths, expecting to feel empty from the loss of his kiss, but I didn’t. “Can we go slower?”
His sudden bewilderment told me a woman had never asked him that before. But I was at fault for initiating this.
“Yes, of course.” He cleared his throat, leaning back to give me space. Shame devoured me when I noticed his very hard erection pressing against the seam of his pants. “I’m sorry, I thought you wanted to?—”
“I know. If I wasn’t sure, I shouldn’t have… I’m sorry.”
Elias shifted on the bed a few feet away. “Did I do something wrong?”
“No,” I assured him, forcing a smile. “I just still need some time.”
We sat in awkward silence as I processed how I was supposed to make it through my wedding night when this was how I reacted to kissing him. He said he didn’t expect anything from me, and I believed him. Eventually, the rise and fall of his chest slowed, and he said, “Can I ask you something?”
No. Say no.
“Sure,” I answered.
He wetted his lips and took my hand. “What happened in Brinnea when you were alone with him? You never talk about it.” His face twisted in apprehension. Or disgust. I couldn’t tell. “You’ve never told me what happened.”
I hadn’t even told Gemma what happened or almost happened. Gods, I wished it had. Maybe having that experience with Gavin would have made this easier.
“You can talk to me,” he pressed on, but I stared at the rug on the floor of the room.
“If he’s why you don’t want to… shit,” he cursed under his breath when I turned away on impulse.
“If I could bring him back just to kill him myself, I would.” He gently spun me back to face him, worriedly cringing at my sorrow.
“Gods, Ary, what the hell did he do to you?”
I was so tired of that fucking question.
“Promise me you’ll never ask me that again,” I snapped.
“Ary—”
“Promise me, Elias.” I swallowed thickly and scraped up the courage to meet his gaze, tears or no tears, it didn’t matter. He already thought the worst. “Please.”
“Okay,” he agreed. “I promise.”
I stood from the bed, refusing to blur any more lines tonight. “I’m tired. We’ve both had a long day, and we have another one tomorrow.”
“You could stay here ,” he suggested. “And just sleep.”
I believed that he wouldn’t push me for more, but sharing a bed with him was far more intimate than I was ready for with him. Deep down, I knew I hadn’t forgiven him for that night. My resentment was buried there beneath everything else, ready to strike at any moment.