Chapter 40 Wren
The flames dance before me, bright and merciless, licking at the edges of Cassiel’s chamber. Smoke billows, thick and choking, curling around my throat like a noose. I can’t see him through the inferno, but I know he’s there. I can hear him.
He’s screaming.
No—no, not again. I surge forward, desperate, but heat sears my skin before I can take another step. Pain rips through me. My hands—Saints, my hands—raw and blistering, peeling away like candle wax. I choke on a sob, stumbling back. The fire doesn’t care. It never does.
“Cassiel!” I scream. My voice is ragged, tearing from my throat like an open wound. “Cassiel, I’m coming!”
I try again. The flames surge higher, hungering, ravenous. The heat presses against my skin, my lungs, my bones, sinking deep, deep, deep until I’m drowning in it.
It hurts. Stars, it hurts.
But Cassiel is still screaming.
I force myself forward. The fire meets me with open arms.
The pain is unbearable.
I wake with a gasp.
The room is dark. Not the thick, choking black of smoke, but the soft grey of pre-dawn.
I’m tangled in sheets, slick with sweat, my breath coming fast and sharp.
The scent of burning still clings to me, phantom and cruel.
My hands tremble as I press them to my chest. They’re whole. Intact. Not blistered. Not burned away.
Cassiel.
I throw the blankets back, swinging my legs over the side of the bed. My body protests—sore, aching, exhausted—but I don’t care. I need to see him. I need to make sure he’s real, that he’s alive.
The door slams against the wall as I shove it open, breath coming too fast, heart hammering loud enough to drown out the world.
Cassiel lies asleep in the bed, pale against the pillows, bandages stark against his burned skin. The sight of him stops me in my tracks. My pulse still races, panic thrumming through my veins, but he’s breathing. His chest rises and falls in slow, steady motions.
Alive. Definitely alive, and not trapped in some burning inferno.
I barely notice Evander stirring in the chair beside the bed until he shifts, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He sees me and sighs, unsurprised. “Wren.”
I press a hand to my ribs, as if that will do anything to steady me. “I was just… I was just checking on him.”
Evander watches me for a long moment before nodding. He stands with a groan, rolling out his shoulders. “He’s all right, Wren. As you can see. He woke a couple of times. He asked after you.”
Of course he did. He crawled through fire for me while the flames froze me in place. Stupid, brave, beautiful boy.
“You saved his life,” Evander says softly. “Thank you, Wren.”
I flinch. The words don’t land right. Because Evander is wrong.
Cassiel is alive, yes—but not because of me.
He nearly died because of me. I invited destruction into that place, and I couldn’t even get a shield around him when the room exploded.
I tried. I did. But in the end, all I did was freeze.
Cassiel was the one who fought to reach me.
Cassiel was the one burned, coughing up smoke, calling my name.
Cassiel was the one protecting me.
And now he’s lying there, swathed in bandages, because I failed him. I failed him as a bodyguard. As a friend. As…
As whatever we are to each other.
Evander exhales. “Get some rest, Wren. He won’t wake for a while.”
I nod absently, eyes fixed on Cassiel’s too-pale face.
Evander brushes past me, murmuring something about fetching more potions. I barely hear him.
Because I don’t deserve his gratitude. I don’t deserve to be here at all.
I sit down in Evander’s abandoned seat, trying not to look at all the bandages.
He could be dead, a voice reminds me. At least he isn’t dead.
I’m not sure how long we lay in the wreckage of that house before help came.
I remember everything and nothing. It’s a smoking blur.
Benedict is dead. Another two members of his household, too.
I gathered that much before we were bundled into a carriage and raced back to the castle.
Someone was with us, trying to dress Cassiel’s wounds. He coughed a lot, but didn’t wake.
I watched on, useless. Someone else was fixing him, fixing the hurt I’d inflicted.
And no one could fix the death that had swept through the manor.
What did you think would happen? a voice hisses in my ear.
The truth was, I hadn’t thought at all. I hadn’t considered who would be caught in the middle.
Three people are dead, and I only know that one deserved it.
Cassiel stirs with a quiet, pained sigh. His fingers twitch against the sheets, reaching, searching.
I catch his hand before he can strain too much, pressing it between my own. His skin is warm.
So is mine. Too warm, really, like the fire is still under my skin.
“Wren?” His voice is hoarse, barely more than a whisper.
I bite my lip, my throat too tight to speak. I stroke the back of his hand instead, hoping he’ll recognise my touch.
He exhales shakily. “You’re all right,” he murmurs, his grip tightening ever so slightly. “Thank the Saints.”
A choked sound escapes me. He’s the one burned and broken, yet he’s relieved I’m safe. He almost died. He could have died. And for what—to put that poor fey woman out of her misery?
I’m not even sure if she survived or not. At least two members of Benedict’s household are dead, more injured. I might as well have killed them myself. Stupid, reckless Wren. Who else has to die because of my foolishness?
My hands tremble as I reach forward, brushing my fingers along the bandages covering his burns. He winces, and I flinch away like I’ve been struck.
Tears blur my vision. “I should have protected you,” I whisper, shaking my head. “Cassiel, I—” My voice shatters. I bow over his hand, gripping it tightly, pressing my forehead to his knuckles as sobs wrack through me.
“It’s my fault,” I choke out. “You got hurt because of me. I froze, I—” Another sob rips through my chest. “You were trying to protect me, and I—I didn’t—”
His fingers twitch weakly, like he’s trying to comfort me, but I can’t stop crying. I can’t stop seeing him in the fire, hearing his voice, raw with pain, calling my name. I failed him. I was useless. I was frozen.
“I should have saved you,” I whisper brokenly. “I should have—”
His hand squeezes mine. It’s faint, barely there, but enough to stop my words in my throat.
I lift my head, blinking through tears. Cassiel’s expression is hazy with exhaustion, but there’s something there—something raw, something aching.
“Wren—”
“I’m a terrible bodyguard. If anyone finds out about my fear of fire, they’ll dismiss me—”
“Wren—”
“You deserve someone better—” someone who can actually look after you. Someone who isn’t secretly looking out for themselves.
“I don’t want another bodyguard,” he tells me. “I want you.”
I cry even harder at that. I can’t bear how much he still trusts me, how much he still cares, when I don’t deserve it.
He squeezes my hand, pulling me closer, thumbing away my tears. “Lie down with me,” he says. “Please.”
I know I shouldn’t, but I lack the strength to resist. “All right.”
“Really? No grovelling? I should set myself on fire more often—” He trails off into awful, lung-crunching coughs. “Or maybe not.”
Never before in my life has someone else’s pain felt so keenly my own. I hate how much I care about him. It makes me want to run away.
It makes me want to stay forever.
“Can you lean forward?” I ask him.
“I’m not completely weak,” he grumbles, shifting forward with some difficulty.
I crawl in behind him and lower his back against my chest, holding him upright. “Better?” I ask.
Cassiel turns his face towards me, nestling against my neck. “Entirely,” he says. He coughs again. “Seriously,” he groans, “how are you fine? You were inside the fire too—”
“I’m flame-retardant,” I tell him, which he takes as a joke, but is, of course, the truth. I don’t burn. I never have.
Cassiel chuckles weakly against me. My arm rests next to his on the bed, unblemished, burn-free whilst his is wrapped in gauze. It’s not right. It isn’t fair.
“You’re trembling,” Cassiel remarks.
Another tear trickles down my cheek. “I was really scared,” I tell him.
Cassiel places his hand over mine. “You don’t need to be scared anymore,” he tells me. “You’re safe, Wren. There’s no more fire. We’re together. Everything’s fine when we’re together…”
I close my eyes and lean against him. A few minutes later, Evander returns with the potions, so quietly I don’t think Cass even registers him entering. He places them down on the desk, smiles, and leaves without another word.
Everything’s not all right just because we’re together. But for a moment, I let myself believe it could be.