11. Willow
Chapter 11
Willow
L egion delicately takes the spectacles, his eyes narrowed. His finger tentatively pokes through a circular space for the eyes. Unlike the spectacles old-worlders wear for correcting blurred vision, these have no glass lenses. A perplexed look crosses his features.
“Fox said to pretend they’re a fashion adornment.” I shrug. “That no one will suspect they’re enchanted because of the brass, and you’re?—”
“A Guardian,” he finishes.
“Yes. No one knows what that blue mark means.”
“She’s obviously lying.” Styx tries to snatch them, but Legion glares and holds them away. Disgruntled, Styx folds his arms and explains, “I can’t see into her head, so how can we trust her?”
“I’m sorry, Styx,” I sigh. “The only reason I didn’t choose you in the temple was because I don’t know you yet.” I cast a nervous glance around the room. Varen has fallen silent and watches me curiously. “I don’t really know any of you yet.”
“You think I’m jealous?” Styx bares his fangs, flashing that devilish side of him again. “I couldn’t care less what you think of me.”
“Hush,” Legion murmurs.
Styx’s expression drops. “You can’t be considering this.”
“She freed you from your prison,” Legion reminds him, then points to Fox’s crumpled letter in Bodin’s hands. “In his own words, he absolves her from wrongdoing.”
Love for Fox swells in my heart. Of course he wouldn’t leave me without ensuring they wouldn’t blame me. He probably repeated the same offer in the letter that he did in Titania’s temple—he gave me the choice to take the wisps and use them to return to Elphyne. I dash a tear from my eye.
“Legion,” Bodin warns. “Think about this with a clear head.”
“It is imbued with powerful magic.” Legion turns the spectacles over, angling the brass to catch the firelight. “It feels like us, like Fox. Perhaps we can make more.”
Emrys snaps, “I agree with our brother. This female is naught but an interloper. Perhaps your lack of memories is a blessing when our history is full of suffering.”
“Hiding from the truth is not the answer,” Legion returns, eyes turning to the map behind his desk. His finger taps on the brass frames as he considers the pins, marking enemy activity. “Our war is with Nocturna, not Willow O’Leary Nightstalk from Elphyne.”
Before anyone can stop him, Legion looks at me, slides the spectacles on, and doubles over in pain. Black silken strands fall to shield his face, and his trembling hands clench and press against his forehead. He emits little shallow grunts as if breathing hurts.
I lurch forward, horrified.
“It shouldn’t hurt!” I cry. “I’m so sorry. I?—”
An unseen force—Styx’s wraith—wrenches me away.
“What did you do?” His guttural snarl holds an edge of panic.
“Remove the spectacles,” Bodin barks, barging into the space. Emrys is already there, gloved hand groping for the brass frames.
My arms are pinned, squished to my body. It’s as though Styx stands behind me, clamping me with his hands. Varen shouts something about the buzz and covers his ears. Baby Hunt howls. It is pandemonium.
Emrys latches onto Legion’s long hair and yanks his head back, exposing his neck and face. His dark eyes are wide. Sweat dapples his skin. Every tendon and muscle is pulled agonizingly taut. He seems paralyzed with pain. Bodin tries again to pluck the spectacles, but Legion’s hand jerks up, blocking him.
“Wait,” he grunts. “I remember.”
I wish I could feel relief. But what if this process kills him? What if it does to his mind the same thing that happened to Varen? With Puck’s scheming, we can’t afford that.
Eons of history return to him through the enchantment. Hundreds and hundreds of years. Thousands. Tens of thousands. The past five years probably occupied only a thimble-sized space in his mind.
My heart pounds hard as Bodin hesitates. What if it doesn’t work? What if they kill me right here, right now? I am a fragile mortal compared to them—even with their powers dimmed from the seals. Styx’s wraith only needs to sneeze, and he would break my bones. The Sluagh himself paces wildly alongside the desk.
A sense of foreboding fills me when he stops and stares, chin dipped, looking at me through dark, wavy locks like I’m dinner. I hate knowing nothing about him. I hate that I’m still no one to him.
“Please don’t,” I whimper and struggle against his wraith. “Let me go.”
Suddenly, the pressure against my arms falls away. Styx’s eyes widen. His complexion turns ashen as his skull briefly illuminates, and his wraith returns to his body. I don’t think he called his wraith back.
For a moment, I’d forgotten the lesson Fox painstakingly learned when I almost drowned. They can’t use their magic on me unless I give my permission. It’s part of the queen-hive bond.
I rub my sore arms and say, “I am already partly bonded with the six of you. Titania isn’t your true queen. I am. You can’t harm me with your magic. You can’t force your way into my mind. You can’t flicker or heal me without permission.”
Fear flashes in his eyes, and it breaks my heart. He hesitates, but I can tell he believes me. He’s probably piecing together the evidence. I reach for him, but he steps back.
“Styx,” I whisper. “I’m not like the others, I promise. Like it or not, we’re all in this together. None of us had a choice. Give me a chance.”
His doubt vanishes, and he is again the picture of violence. “Perhaps I can’t use magic directly on you, but you are mortal. I can still crack open your ribs and feast on your heart.”
“This might be true.” I shrug. “But pointless. You just said it—I am mortal. Titania stole my magic. I can’t hurt you even if our bond allowed it.”
“What do you mean, allowed?” Bodin asks, eyes narrowing.
“It means that I am your mate. We are equals. Even if I had magic, I can’t use it to entrap or hurt you any more than you can with me. The worst we can do is steal each other’s magic without permission.” I roll my eyes. “I know this because my mom complains that my dad does it sometimes and surprises her.”
“Clarke.” Legion rests his head against closed fists, his shoulders sinking.
“Yes!” I gasp, heart soaring. “And Rush. You remember?”
He nods, trembles, and breathes with stilted gasps but keeps his head in his hands.
A frown pinches my brows. I can do nothing for him now except wait it out.
Fox said he had to constantly remind them of the truth—but it worked. Maybe that’s all I need to do now. Turning to the others, I show them my wounded palm. “When Fox activated the spell in the temple to swap with Styx, I broke the glass containing Tinger’s wisp?—”
“Who is Tinger?” Bodin barks.
“—my friend from Elphyne. That one drop of his mana filled me with enough power to trigger our bond. You all must have felt it as I did. Your magic poured into me from six different places. My mating mark turned blue—like your Guardian blessings. The same mark appeared on Fox’s neck and Styx’s. But when Tinger’s magic waned, I was left empty again. The bond faded.”
At their confusion, I deflate and scrub my face. Maybe this won’t work coming from me.
Legion makes a pained sound that draws our attention. He is hunched over, seized. His fists are clenched so tight that his fingernails cut his palms. A trickle of blood winds down each wrist, following the path of a distended vein until it hits a folded black cuff.
I fall onto my knees before him and gently place my hands over his fists. He vibrates with tension and continues to give low, shallow grunts of pain with each hissed intake of breath. What is it that hurts him so much? What memories are causing the pain? Or is it simply the load of so many, so fast?
“Legion,” I whisper. “I don’t know if you can hear me, but we’re all here if you need anything.”
All here except Fox.
I tighten my grip on his hands—but they’re much larger than mine. It feels as ineffectual as a mouse gripping a lion.
“Try to breathe,” I add. “Inhale deeply and exhale slowly. It might take time to adjust to your memories.”
His hands flip to capture mine and squeeze. Hard. I try not to gasp from the pain. Instead, I repeat my instructions. Slowly, breath by breath, he stops trembling. Through the curtain of his hair, his long, thick lashes lift. Our eyes lock. The power of his recognition is visceral, robbing me of breath. Every doubt I’ve ever had about our connection, about me, about the world is washed away under the weight of his emotion.
“You came.” His hoarse whisper sounds almost awed, baffled, as if I am too good for him—for them. As if he’s the one who is awkward and unsure of himself.
A tentative smile touches my lips. “To be fair, I came because I wanted to kill you all.”
Styx snarls at the threat.
“But you didn’t.” He gives his Sixth an amused, affectionate glance. It reminds me of a look Rory once gave me when she found me hiding from Alfie and his friends playing Kiss-Chasey. I told her boys gross me out, so I hid. Just wait, her look said. One day, you’ll think differently. Legion’s gaze suddenly darkens on me, and he lowers his voice. “So, you and Fox . . .”
A blush rises to my cheeks. I bite my lower lip and nod. Some kind of peace settles in his eyes. There are no words to describe how he makes me feel at this moment. After suffering from eons of memories, it is the knowledge Fox and I found comfort in each other’s arms that gives him relief. It tightens my chest, connects us, and sings all at once.
His gaze hardens as he turns my palms face up.
“No one has healed you,” he mutters darkly, staring at the puffy wounds left by Tinger’s pendant. “May I?”
On my nod, he traces a finger in circles around my wounds. Magic itches my skin as it heals, sending shivers throughout my body. When it’s done, he helps me to my feet.
“This is ridiculous,” Styx snaps. “She has ensorcelled you. It’s obvious.”
The others look at me with a mix of caution and curiosity. The warmth I glimpsed in Legion leeches away until he is the same indomitable leader as before. If not for the blood streaking his forearms, a few stray hairs out of place, and the spectacles, which I might add, only serve to make him even more attractive.
He lets go of my hands and scolds, “Don’t wait so long next time to ask.”
“Yes, sir.” I give him a salute, and his lips flatten. But I’m sure I glimpse a dash of that affectionate amusement before he locks it down and faces his hive.
“Willow,” he says quietly. “Go get cleaned up and find something to eat. I’d like a moment alone with my brothers.”