Chapter 24
I close my eyes and wait for death.
It doesn’t come. A cool breeze sweeps over me, and when I force myself to look, it’s to find the wraith flying away, its wings rippling with the effort, veins of silver glowing on their underside.
I let out a laugh I don’t mean. Of course Astin was hurt by a thing that flies, because every terrible thing that has ever happened to me has involved a pair of wings.
The wraith hovers near the doorway, blocking the exit. Maybe it’s not attacking because it knows it’s got all the time in the world. I’ll have to get past eventually, assuming I don’t plan to stay here and cry myself to death. The option’s not unappealing.
Then it disappears.
I wait, frozen, refusing to think about what I’ve witnessed, and when I’m sure – or as sure as I can be – it’s not about to pop out and yell, Surprise!
I launch myself at Astin, dropping to the floor beside him, barely feeling the jolt when my knees slam against stone.
The bottle lies undamaged at his side; the cure safely sealed within.
I ignore it. It’s not important. Nothing is important. Nothing but him.
Blood seeps from his wound and his forehead is clammy.
But that’s good, right? Sweat is a sign of a bodily function.
Except the sweat might be old – he’s been moist all morning, given the pain in his leg.
I let out a sob. I made him walk every agonising step, ignoring the truth, pretending everything was fine when in reality nothing is fine.
Nothing has been fine for a long time. Nothing is fine right now because Astin isn’t moving.
‘Astin?’ I press my trembling hands to his chest, the gesture utterly futile. They’re drenched within seconds, his blood warm and sticky and everywhere. I can’t stop it. Can’t control it. ‘Astin?’
He doesn’t respond. His mouth is ajar. And his chest – his chest, containing the heart he wouldn’t give me, couldn’t give me – is shredded beyond repair. Nothing beats beneath my palm, no matter how hard I press, and he smells . . . he smells like nothing.
Because there’s nothing left to feel.
My vision clouds with tears. The only colour beyond that veil is the bright red staining my hands.
There’s a strong chance I’m hyperventilating, but what else is there to do?
If he’s not breathing, I’ll breathe for us both.
If he’s not feeling, I’ll feel for us both.
And if his heart’s not beating, I’ll share mine.
Maybe even give him the whole thing. At least then I wouldn’t have to feel the tightness building in my chest as though my ribcage is contracting, squeezing me until my whole focus is narrowed to the fact that Astin is gone, and it’s my fault.
We’d never have had to come here if I hadn’t got the inn in trouble.
‘Please,’ I whisper. I can’t remember the last thing I said to him. I hope it was something nice.
I hope he knew I would have waited forever for him to detangle his emotions. That I’d wait here forever to smell his confusion again.
If I close my eyes, I can imagine him stirring beneath me. The way his hand would find mine and squeeze. The firmness in his voice when he tells me to run. To survive. I imagine it so well that I think I feel his chest rising and falling beneath my hands.
This isn’t fair. I brush his hair from his forehead, taking in the paleness of his face, the way his brow isn’t creased for once. He looks peaceful. My chest heaves as more tears stream down my face. I’m as useless as ever, and if this is what it’s like to be ordinary, I don’t want it.
I want to be a witch. I want to be the kind of person who can make healing potions, who can stop this from happening.
The cure lies inches away. My supposed salvation. I thought losing my abilities would solve everything, but not using them has made everything worse. I should have all this power at my fingertips, and I squandered it, hiding myself away, afraid of my power.
No more.
I can make good things happen. I just need the magic to do it. To save him. To save Eira’s captives. I can do this. I know good magic is possible now.
I’m panting when I sit back on my heels, thinking.
Maybe I should rummage through that chest some more, in case there’s an informative tome tucked away at the bottom.
Souleating for Beginners: How to Stop the Guy Who Rejected You From Dying.
Or maybe I’ll get lucky and find a Souleater hiding somewhere, having lived here alone for decades, full of the knowledge I need to –
Wait. There is a Souleater I can ask.
Not ideal, because Eira’s magic is as dark as magic can be, but she knows something.
That strange rhyme of hers, when she met Astin.
The one that might have been about his hex, if it’s anything like the one she said to me.
My pulse speeds. Something about emptiness.
Being hard to kill. I bite my lip, frustrated I can’t remember the whole thing, frustrated I don’t understand.
What if it’s too late? Hard to kill doesn’t mean impossible, and if he’s already . . .
No. I won’t think it.
I’ll force Eira to tell me about Astin’s hex, and then I’ll read every last book in her library until I find the knowledge I need to save him. Hope is like water trickling through my fingers, tiny droplets I’m struggling to catch, because this plan is flawed at best, impossible at worst.
But these final beads are all I have to keep me from falling apart.
I am his light, and I will not lose him.
Whispering this mantra on repeat, I grab the cure. Instantly, the wraith shrieks in the distance, enraged, louder than before, the bottle vibrating in my hand and turning punishingly hot. Shadows spread over the room like a blackened bloodstain as the wraith swoops back inside.
Its form is less human now, more a shapeless silver mist, but it’s as though it’s staring straight into my soul. I’m trapped, every inch of me trembling, awaiting my fate – until, once again, it disappears.
My shoulders sink. Touching the bottle must be activating some kind of defence system, but I don’t know why it doesn’t attack me the way it did Astin and the others.
Not to look a gift horse in the mouth, I tuck the bottle into my pocket before leaning over Astin one more time, pressing my forehead to his – even now, I’m too afraid to kiss him – and whispering, ‘I’ll come back for you.’
My legs wobble as I force myself to my feet and out of the room.
I make a brief attempt at rooting through the rest of the papers in the chest, but my eyes gloss over half the words.
None seem relevant, and I’m tense the whole time, waiting for the wraith to reappear and kill me for touching them, and when the anxiety gets unbearable, I give up.
Eira. I’m going to make Eira help me. I’ll threaten to pour this cure down her throat if I have to.
I walk as though in a dream to the temple doors, unable to focus on anything, barely registering I’m moving.
Fog fills my head, clouds covering memories and images I don’t want to see.
Claws try to wrap around those clouds and tear them away, to remind me that something terrible happened, but I shake them off, allowing the mist to grow thicker until I’m numb.
I barely feel the bite of cold when I leave the temple. My stomach cramps, like it’s shrivelled and twisted, and although I’ve barely eaten since yesterday, I have to fight not to vomit up nothing into the snow. Everything is fine. Everything is fine.
The doors slam shut behind me.
Shit. I twist round, slamming my fists against them, drumming a beat into the metal. Astin. Astin. I have to get back inside. Hexes, I haven’t thought this through. I’ll need two more items to enter the building again.
‘Let me in.’ The doors thunder in response to my thumping, but the bolt stays firm. ‘Shit. Shit.’
Tears freeze against my cheeks, stinging my face, while wind howls through my hair. My teeth chatter. Swirls of white dance in front of me like lovers trapped in a waltz. Wrapping my arms around themselves, I strengthen my resolve.
Staying here won’t help me get inside.
Everything is fine. I begin my trek to Rerta, hating the idea I’m about to pass the cabin where me and Astin spent the night, only this time I’m alone. My dreams were so close to coming true, and now they’re as tiny and fleeting as the flakes of snow surrounding me.
I don’t stop to rest. Tiredness has no meaning.
The dark doesn’t bother me. I reach Rerta an indeterminate number of hours later, to find the streets are quiet.
They’ve begun packing up the festival for the year, the remains of Ozias’s effigy tossed into a cart, ready to be thrown away.
I clench my fists. If the Souleaters in Ozias’s time were channelling positive emotions, I don’t know why Clarabelle would have wanted to cure him, or why she ordered humans to stop trading with them.
If the attacks hadn’t started, if Ozias had lived, maybe I’d have grown up not hating what I was.
I wouldn’t have had to hide in the inn, wouldn’t have had to come on this quest. Maybe I’d have met Astin on the streets of Shiverholde, and we’d have locked eyes and – I clap my hand over my mouth to prevent me from sobbing.
Humans pretend the Laevothe festival celebrates love, but as I take in the pink banners fluttering in the sky, all I see is hate for something they’ve never tried to understand. People have suffered because of it. Died because of it.
I have more love inside me than they ever could.
I am Astin’s light, and I will save him.
I haven’t much of a plan, but I march to Eira’s front door with zero reservations.
Fear is a distant nightmare compared to the reality of Astin lying alone in that temple.
Nothing Eira can do will hurt more than that.
I bang the knocker, over and over again, until someone comes, someone hears me, someone helps me.
When the door finally opens, it’s Damian on the other side. His eyes go wide. ‘You’re back. Do you have it?’