Chapter 26
My jaw drops, but no sound comes out. I stare at him in complete and utter disbelief.
‘Hey,’ he says.
Hey. Hey. What does he mean, hey? I’ve been crying over him, and all I get is a hey. If I wasn’t so confused, I’d be furious.
‘I don’t understand.’ Time moves in slow-motion as I take one tiny, cautious step towards him. I keep expecting him to disappear. ‘Did your hex bring you back?’
He hesitates. ‘Why would you ask me that?’
‘Because –’ This might not be best moment to bring up Eira’s rhyme. Mentioning Souleater riddles I’ve kept secret might send him running in the opposite direction. I settle for a new, more horrifying theory. ‘Are you a ghost?’
He snorts. ‘No, Daisy, I’m not a ghost.’
He’s pale enough. His golden tan has been replaced by a sickly sheen. Red stains his shirt like a crest. He’s partially slumped in the doorway like the timber frame is the only thing keeping him upright. I creep forward further, feeling delirious.
‘A reanimated corpse then. A Souleater resurrected you and you’ve come to do their bidding.’ I frown. ‘Why have they bid you come to me?’
The laughter that escapes his mouth is the greatest symphony I’ve ever heard. So of course my natural reaction to hearing it is to burst into tears.
‘Hey,’ he says again, softer than before, and then he’s moving–well, limping – towards me, wrapping his arms around my waist, and this – this – the smell of pine and the warmth of his body against mine, is better than any love confession.
I don’t care if he never admits what he truly feels for me, so long as he’s alive. ‘You’re freezing.’
His hands tangle in my hair. The waves are especially wild, knotted together by wind and snow and possibly blood, in what I suspect resembles a bird’s nest. His lips press against the side of my head.
‘Let’s get you warm.’ He releases me to tend the fire.
This is a shame, partly because as a general rule I would prefer he be the one to do any warming, but especially because right now, when he’s here and I can’t quite believe it, all I want to do is keep my hands on him, terrified he might disappear if I let go.
I resort to hovering nearby, relishing in the casual brush of his arm, his huffs of disapproval when I’m in the way, the slight tilt of his mouth that says he doesn’t mind.
It has to be too good to be true. ‘Am I hallucinating?’
‘How many more guesses are you going to make before you accept I’m real?’
I swat his arm. ‘You were dead,’ I say. ‘I watched it – that thing – slash holes across your chest.’
‘It was just a scratch.’ He winces, rubbing the back of his head. ‘I hit my head pretty hard when I fell though. Knocked me out.’
‘You weren’t breathing!’
‘Did you check properly?’
I hesitate. Granted, I was a tad distracted by my own hysterics, the pending death in the form of a wraith, and the blood leaking from the wound.
I was probably shaking too badly to notice whatever shallow movements his chest made.
But – ‘Your heart wasn’t beating. I’m sure of it.
I would have . . . My hands were right there! ’
A muscle ticks in his cheek as he studies the flames. Eventually, with a heavy sigh, he takes my hand in his and places it to his chest. I flinch when I come into contact with the sticky patch of blood, before going still. Very still.
As still as his heart. Because, just like in the temple, there’s nothing to be found. Nothing at all. I smooth my hand over his chest, feeling for any sign of life, moving along to his neck to search for a pulse, but there’s nothing, nothing, nothing.
Oh no. I’m in love with a corpse.
‘It’s my hex,’ he says in a low voice. ‘I lost my heart. The wraith clawed through skin, but that’s it.’
‘But –’ My fingers press harder against the side of his throat. ‘I don’t . . . How didn’t you die the moment you were hexed? How do you bleed? How do you do anything?’
Astin shrugs. ‘Magic, I guess.’
I let out a slightly incredulous laugh, running my fingers over his body as though I’ll find his heart tucked away somewhere it shouldn’t be – and, okay, partly because I enjoy touching Astin, and it’s not like he’s complaining. Perhaps an extremely thorough search is in order.
‘I have so many questions. About this, about today. How did you –’ I gasp. ‘I left you behind. I left you behind and you weren’t dead. Astin, I’m –’
‘You didn’t know,’ he interrupts me. ‘It’s fine. I came after you as soon as I woke; I figured I’d try Rerta first, and if I couldn’t find you, I’d return to the inn and wait for you there. Where’s the cure? Did you take it to Damian already? Or did you . . .’
My bubble of joy pops. ‘Damian has it. I didn’t . . . I didn’t drink it. I’m still . . .’
‘Okay,’ he says, utterly casual, like whether or not I’ve changed the nature of my being is of no consequence to him. He looks around the room, frowning. ‘Then where’s the reward?’
‘Oh. Um. Well. I was a little upset. About you being dead.’ I rehash my fight with Damian, but as the story tumbles out of me, I realise I’m going to have to tell him everything.
He goes utterly rigid when I confess Eira’s the one who hexed us.
‘I didn’t know at first, I swear,’ I babble. ‘I found out after the maze. And I was afraid if I told you on the mountain, you’d abandon me to go after her.’ I wring my hands together.
‘I’m sorry. It was selfish.’
I wait for him to storm out. There’s even a fire poker in this room he could take with him, and I know how handy he is with one of those.
Instead, he’s quiet, brow furrowed, hands shoved in his pockets. When he does speak, his voice is low, and rough as sandpaper. ‘Damian wants to kill her?’
‘Yes.’ I chew my lip. ‘If he’s moved into the ruins and planning parties, I assume it’s done.’
Another long stretch of silence. I wish I knew what he was thinking.
Every crackle of flame makes me jump, like they’re the prelude to the harsh words I’m sure I’m about to receive.
If Eira’s dead, I’ve taken away Astin’s chance at revenge, the one thing he wants more than anything.
I may loathe the idea of him having more blood on his hands, but I loathe the idea of him being upset with me more.
Finally, he nods. ‘Tomorrow, we’ll check he’s followed through. Make sure Eira’s dead, get our reward, and ensure Damian pays for what he’s done.’
I can’t help but wince. I’d prefer for Damian to live with the consequences of his actions, not to . . . not live at all.
‘Don’t tell me you’re against it,’ he says, reading my expression. ‘You told me he’s the reason I nearly died. The reason other people are dead. You don’t think he needs to suffer for that?’ He stalks forward. ‘You told me he had you up against a wall.’
Something about the heat in his eyes has me wondering if now would be a good time to mention I’m not opposed to being pressed against walls in the right circumstances. By the right person. Maybe in the next five minutes.
‘If you hadn’t fought back, he would have killed you.’ His nostrils flare. ‘He’d have killed you, and I should kill him for having the thought. I won’t watch anyone else in my life die.’
‘You won’t. I’m right here.’ I reach for him, and he lets me intertwine our fingers.
We’re close now, standing inches apart, chests brushing.
His thumb absent-mindedly swipes over my hand.
‘I assumed you’d be angrier with me. I shouldn’t have kept Eira’s identity secret from you.
I just . . . I’m tired of people dying, when they could be happy instead. ’
‘We’ve already established I’m no good at being angry with you.
Plus, you might have a point, about the happiness thing.
’ His grip tightens, and he swallows. ‘Because when I woke on that cold floor, the first thing I thought about wasn’t revenge.
It was that I wished I was with you. And here you are. ’
‘Oh.’ My voice is faint. He’s looking at me with the same kind of intent as the night in the cabin, and warmth pools low in my belly.
I know where this leads. And I shouldn’t be entertaining it, because nothing’s changed.
I’m still hexed. I can’t risk it. I’ve experienced losing him now, and I’m not taking the chance of it happening again.
I need to keep my lips far away from him.
Only I can’t stop myself from asking, ‘Does this mean you’ve changed your mind about what you said the other night?
That you didn’t . . . That you’d never . . .’
At once, the fire in his eyes dies. He drops my hand, which might be a good thing, because it makes it a lot easier for me to stop thinking about kissing him.
He rakes a hand through his hair. ‘I told you that night, I can’t. I lost my heart, Daisy. I don’t . . . I don’t feel things the way you do.’
‘But –’
He ploughs on, rushing over the words as though this might be his one chance to say them.
‘I didn’t tell you about my hex when we met because it wasn’t relevant.
In a way, I was glad I had it. It meant I was safe from being hurt again.
I had no intention of getting close to anyone, let alone you, but you got under my skin anyway.
I’d look at you and find myself wanting things I had no business wanting.
I lost control in the cabin because you were right there, all soft and warm, and I couldn’t ignore it any more. ’
He balls his fists. ‘When you said you wanted someone to fall for you, I knew I’d made a mistake.
How could I tell the person who believes love is the most important thing in the world that it’s the one thing I can’t feel?
If I told you the truth, you’d have started looking for loopholes, for some way to prove love always triumphs, and I couldn’t – I can’t – let you do that to yourself. Not for me.’
‘Astin . . .’