Chapter 17
‘Astin. Astin. Astin.’
Running has never been a speciality of mine, but it’s wholly unfair Astin is managing to keep several paces ahead of me by walking – well, marching – while I jog after him.
We escaped the clearing before the wardens arrived – nobody else dared try to stop me leaving – but now I’m left weaving between groups of people who’ve clustered together on the streets of Rerta to discuss the rumours of an attack, with no idea the very person they’re talking about is right next to them.
One of them murmurs the word Souleater like it’s the worst kind of profanity.
They don’t make it sound as awful as Astin did.
‘Astin, please.’ I’m rapidly running out of breath, and the insurmountable distance between us becomes further still, his every step creating a new crater I can’t cross.
A deluge of rain lashes from above, as though the clouds were restraining themselves for the festival’s sake, but now they’ve sensed the celebrations are over.
There must be a hole in my boots because my socks are drenched, soaking through to my skin until my feet are numb.
My hair is plastered to my skull, and I can’t tell the difference between the water and tears running down my cheeks, only that everything is wet and Astin won’t. Stop. Walking.
‘Astin.’ His name tears from my throat once more, except this time it’s more like a scream, like I’ve injected every ounce of desperation I have into that one word.
He halts.
Finally. I splash through puddles to reach him, but the moment my hand finds his arm – stupid, stupid, of course he won’t want me to touch him – he swerves out of the way, taking my arm instead and pulling me into a nearby alley.
My back hits the wall. Astin towers over me, arms braced either side of my head, panting heavily.
Our chests rise and fall in unison. The buildings are close together, awnings covering the windows on the upper floors, protecting us from the downpour, but his hair is so damp that rain runs in rivulets over his lashes, his lips, the hollow of his throat.
There’s a graze on his cheek from where the wraiths threw him to the ground, and the sight of it makes me tremble.
‘Please, Astin. You have to listen to me. I don’t use my powers, I swear. I didn’t even fight back the night we were hexed. The only reason I gave in tonight was to save you, because I couldn’t watch you die!’
‘Maybe you should have.’
‘You don’t mean that.’
‘Don’t I? One of your kind killed my sister.
’ He runs his hands through his hair. ‘I stopped hunting them because you begged me to. I gave up searching for the one who hexed us, who killed Olivia, all to save your inn, to keep you safe, and you – and you’re .
. .’ He sniffs, wiping his face. ‘You know, after Liv died, I had two constants in my life. Hating them, and being with you. You were this bright spark in a dark existence and I –’ His fists clench.
‘Now it turns out my constants were one and the same.’
‘I’m not the same as them.’ The urge to reach for him is maddening. ‘I swear I’m not. You can trust me.’
Yesterday, when we were dancing, he made it sound like trusting me was as easy as breathing.
He splutters. ‘Trust you? All you’ve ever done is lie to me.’
‘Because I had to! Because I knew you wouldn’t understand.
But, Astin –’ Now I do touch him. His jacket still lies discarded somewhere in the maze, and his shirtsleeves are rolled up, leaving his arms bare.
He flinches as I slide my hand along them, but doesn’t pull away, even though every inch of him is tense, like he wants to both run and freeze at the same time.
‘What happened in the maze . . . We do have partial immunity to lust powder. It’s why we weren’t lusting after anyone.
Its effects were only able to heighten something that’s already there.
And the things we said to each other . .
. that wasn’t the powder at all. Those feelings were real, Astin. You know they were.’
‘Well, those feelings are gone now.’
I shake my head. ‘Feelings don’t switch off like that. Believe me, I’ve tried. Do you think it’s easy for me, seeing you every day, wanting you, knowing one kiss would kill you? Knowing that even if I avoided that, everything would be destroyed anyway, the instant you learned the truth about me?’
He averts his gaze, and the silence stings more than his rebuttal. At least when he was glaring at me, there was some acknowledgment I existed. That the moment between us happened. But I won’t give up. I won’t let him succumb to hatred and revenge, not when I know he’s capable of so much more.
‘You know me, Astin.’ I grip him tighter, like if I can latch on hard enough, he won’t be able to prise me off. ‘You lived with me for two years, and I didn’t hurt you once. I’ve never hurt anyone. I can control it. I’m barely a Souleater at all.’
The thunder of rain on the rooftops fills the silence as he takes in my argument.
His scent is a jumble of honey, roses, bitter lemon and rot, swirling around and around until I can’t tell which is which.
My teeth chatter as I wait for him to respond, and my body arches towards his, like it knows salvation and warmth can be found in his arms if he’s only gracious enough to give it.
Finally, he swallows. His voice is hoarse when he says, ‘So what? You think we can go back to how things were before?’
‘I don’t want to go back.’ I press closer, and he doesn’t pull away. ‘Going back means being alone in this. But you felt something in the maze. Don’t pretend you don’t feel it now. Don’t.’
My voice wavers, then cracks, as a fresh stream of tears slides down my face. I had him. For a brief sliver of time, I had him, but now he’s falling through my fingers like sand.
‘It was the powder,’ he says flatly. ‘Nothing else.’
My chest constricts until it’s a tight band around my heart, and I think tearing it out would hurt less than this.
‘Don’t cry,’ he huffs.
Well, it’s not like I can control it. I’m sorry if my delicate sensibilities are an inconvenience to him, Mr I-can’t-decide-what-I’m-feeling.
His emotions continue to spin round and round, unstoppable, while mine are constant in their misery, because he’s never going to admit what happened, never going to see me as anything but a Souleater, never going to give me anything like what we had in the maze.
I splutter, chest heaving, struggling to breathe and cry all at once, and the scent of something floral intensifies.
‘For fuck’s sake.’ He rolls his eyes to the sky, either wishing for patience or the welcome distraction of rain, but then he tugs me against him.
I freeze in surprise. His arm bands around my back, pulling me closer, and I immediately burrow my nose in his chest, wrapping both hands around his middle.
It’s akin to cuddling a boulder, the tension in his body unrelenting, his abdomen flexing against me, but I appreciate it all the same. One hand cups my neck, tangling with strands of wet hair, and I melt against him, my hands smoothing a path up his back.
It’s a step too far.
He releases me abruptly, pulling away and forcing me to let go.
‘Astin . . .’
‘Don’t.’ He leans against the far wall, rubbing a hand over his face. ‘I hate seeing you cry, that’s all. It doesn’t mean anything. You’re still . . .’
I can finish the sentence for him. You’re still everything I hate. You’re unlovable. You’re the worst kind of creature in existence.
I fold my arms, trying to stop myself from shaking. ‘What if I took the cure?’
‘What?’
‘The cure,’ I repeat. ‘I could take a sip before we give it to Damian. Or if the potion’s small, I’ll drink it and swap it for another.
We could lie to Damian, say we found it that way, that somebody else tampered with it.
Even if he refuses to give us the reward, wouldn’t losing the inn be worth it? ’
We’d also lose the chance to stop the Souleater who attacked us. Would that be worth it? Suddenly, it’s me who wants to avoid eye contact, because I know Astin’s answer.
Oblivious to what’s really at stake, Astin says, ‘The inn means everything to you.’
You mean more.
I thought the inn was my whole world, but I realise now that’s not true. It’s Astin I was orbiting, my life with him the thing worth saving. The inn is wood and bricks, but Astin made it home. If I’m his constant, then he’s mine too.
Before I can come up with a less revealing response, he stiffens, frowning. ‘Was this your plan all along?’
‘I – Yes. Maybe. I don’t want to be like this. I never have.’
He opens his mouth. Closes it again. Finally, he nods. ‘Well. Good luck with it.’
‘What?’
‘Good luck with it,’ he repeats. ‘Hope it works out. But I put what I wanted on hold for you, and I’m not doing it any more. The only thing that matters to me is finding the Souleater who killed Olivia. I might not be able to hurt you, but I can kill them.’
His eyes blaze, and I cringe, hating that he’s reverted to this. That I’m the one who drove him to it. I suppose it’s a silver lining I’m not on his hit list tonight, but it’s a thin one.
Especially when Damian told me the Souleater that Astin really wants is in Rerta, and I chose to keep it from him.
Am keeping it from him even now, despite suspecting they were the one who sent those wraiths.
It seems too much of a coincidence that the attack happened tonight, with everyone from the contest vying for the statue.
I’m surprised they didn’t walk in and hex everyone themselves – I guess the increased presence of wardens was enough of a deterrent to stay hidden.
If only I knew where said hiding spot was, so we can stay far, far away.
To Astin, the only thing I can think to say is, ‘You don’t know where to look.’
You don’t know where to look, so stay here with me.