Chapter 5 #2
My memories of the Souleater attack on Shiverholde are blurry. I knew Astin’s sister Olivia from school – Astin was a few years older than us – and we exchanged hellos when we crossed paths in the crowded park, me heading towards a stall selling caramel apples, her towards the bonfire.
The next time I saw her, she was dead. Astin cradling her body, her skin grey and withered, the remnants of a hexmark on her arm – one that had spread and spread until it wasn’t a small x like ours but an exploded star, because the Souleater hadn’t stopped when the hex appeared, had channelled more and more dark magic through Olivia until her body gave out.
‘Astin,’ I say, when his sadness has settled enough that I no longer feel like I’m about to drown. ‘I know. I know, okay? But you don’t need to kill every Souleater for the crimes of one. Leave them for the wardens.’
‘If the wardens were better at their job, maybe I could,’ he huffs. ‘You don’t get it, do you? I’m doing everyone a favour.’
I chew my lower lip. Clearly leave it to the authorities isn’t going to be a winning argument. ‘But what if you accidentally kill a good one?’
‘There’s no such thing as a good one.’
I stiffen. I’d love to scream I’m proof he’s wrong, but aside from the fear he won’t believe me, that he’d try to kill me the moment the confession left my mouth, there’s also the fact that I’m not sure I believe me.
No matter how much good I do, how many people I help fall in love, how many times I prove the theme of the festival wrong – love doesn’t drive a Souleater away, not if we cling to it hard enough – I don’t know if it’ll make up for the fact I’m sat here trying to resist how good Astin smells when he’s sad.
Night is upon us now, the sky above turning navy as the moon shines streaks of silver through his hair. In this light, he’s the one who looks like he should have powers, like magic dusts his skin to make it shimmer.
It’s a reminder beauty can be found in darkness.
It makes me wish Howard’s rambling diary entry was true. That he somehow had fed on Gregory’s joy rather than his pain. That Gregory had just been confused, and the mark on his arm was dirt not a hex.
‘What if there was such a thing?’ I ask, a little desperately. ‘What if a Souleater managed to channel a positive emotion instead, and didn’t hurt anyone?’
‘Sure,’ he scoffs. ‘Because some people feel deliriously happy when a Souleater is attacking them.’
My shoulders sink. He’s right. I hate that he’s right. But no matter how right he is, it doesn’t change the fact I have to stop him hunting, for my sake if nothing else. There has to be an argument that’ll convince him.
I shimmy closer, and he eyes me warily. ‘What are you doing?’
‘I want you to listen to me.’ For good measure, I take his hand and squeeze.
His emotions are unsettled now, too tumultuous for me to catch what they are, which makes controlling myself much easier.
‘If all Souleaters are awful and will only channel a person’s darkest feelings, then don’t you see that’s what you’re doing too?
Seeking revenge because hate is easier to hold on to than hope –’
He opens his mouth to object, and I silence him with a fresh squeeze. ‘I don’t want you to become like them. And I doubt you do either. But you can only get so much blood on your hands before the stain won’t wash off.’
A muscle in his cheek twitches. In Astin-speak, this means he’s contemplating the best way to get me to stop talking.
‘Please. This inn is supposed to be a happy place, and I can’t have you wandering around at night, dragging bodies into my backyard.’ For good measure I add, ‘And I don’t want you leaving them somewhere else either. I don’t want you killing people at all.’
An emotion flickers, something sweet, but it’s gone before I can truly taste it on the air.
‘They’re not people,’ he mutters, but there’s less fight behind the words, possibly because he’s busy trying to pull his hand from mine.
I hold on tight, like I can convince him to listen to me through sheer force of will.
This results in us engaging in a staring contest where I project don’t commit murder with my eyes.
My power might actually come in useful if I had the ability to order people around.
He wins the tug of war with our hands, but loses the contest by breaking eye contact first. Sighing, he rakes his fingers through his hair. ‘Fine. I won’t seek them out.’
I narrow my eyes. ‘Really? Just like that? I can trust when we go to bed tonight, you’ll stay there?’
His brow quirks, but I can’t bring myself to be embarrassed about how easily my words could be misconstrued.
‘Promise me,’ I say. ‘I mean it, Astin. No more killing.’
‘I said I won’t seek them out, didn’t I?
Anything to stop you looking like I’ve killed your favourite puppy.
’ He grinds his teeth, and I’m not sure if his annoyance comes from my request itself, or the fact my please don’t murder people eyes worked.
I wonder what else they could convince him to do, given the opportunity.
His gaze meets mine again, and any joy I felt diminishes at the new surge of heat I see there, at the way his voice is rough as gravel when he adds, ‘But make no mistake, if one happens to cross my path, they’re dead. ’
I gulp. Does sitting near him count as crossing his path?
I should be throwing him out. That would be the safest solution. He can commit all the murder he likes, and I’ll never have to know how many bodies he buries. I won’t be risking becoming one of those bodies.
But not having him around would be like cutting off a limb.
I don’t work without Astin. Not because he fixes my fences and tends to my plants, but because even when he’s doing nothing but frown at me, something about his presence soothes me.
You’d think the way his emotions often tumble around would make me unstable, but instead I become solid and grounded when he’s nearby.
With nothing concrete to tempt me, I can relax and just be. I can’t send him away.
‘There is another thing we need to discuss.’ He nods in the direction of the inn. ‘When Benedict doesn’t return, they’ll send someone else. Maybe another Souleater, maybe an actual human this time. I’ve got some savings –’
‘I’m not taking your money.’
‘– but they’ll barely make a dent in what we owe,’ he goes on, as though I haven’t spoken. ‘If we don’t want to lose this place, we’ll need to find the rest somewhere else.’
My eyes brim with tears. We, we, we. This is a problem of my own making, and he’s already adopted it as his own. He hasn’t even quizzed me on how I let it get to this state. My insides writhe. This place is his home as much as mine, and I can’t be the reason he loses it.
I can’t be the reason I lose it.
The one who succeeds will be rewarded with endless riches.
That advert in the paper is imprinted across my vision.
If the quest is real – and if I manage to reach the cure first – maybe the reward would be enough to save the inn.
Plus, if I can take a sip of the cure before I hand it over to this self-proclaimed Emerald King, I can fix myself before Astin finds out what I am.
I’ve never needed it to exist more than after the events of the last hour.
‘No discussion necessary,’ I say. ‘I know what I need to do.’
Astin stares at me expectantly. When I don’t say anything else, he prompts, ‘Which is . . .?’
I bite my lip. He’ll tell me putting my faith in a strange advert is fanciful. That I’ll be wasting time when we could be finding sensible measures to save the inn.
But I’m not going to locate twenty thousand gold coins by being sensible.
And if this gets me to the cure as well . . .
‘Trust me, okay?’ I say. ‘I have a plan.’
‘Again. Which is?’
Honestly. He acts like I’ve never had a good idea in my life. Now would be an excellent time for my eyes to work more of their magic. I aim for a look that’s some combination of stop asking questions and I’m an extremely rational person who knows exactly what they’re doing.
‘I promise I’ll tell you everything. Give me a day. There’s something I need to check first.’
I wait with bated breath. Lying isn’t a speciality of mine. His brow remains furrowed, but finally he dips his head in agreement, and I try to hide my relief.
Because there’s nothing I need to check. There is no day to wait.
By the time he wakes tomorrow, I’ll be gone.