56. Bodin
Chapter 56
Bodin
I t has been two hours since Styx flickered Willow away, and I remain consumed with thoughts of her. I pace the tent, my muscles tense with the need to act. Every moment she is gone feels like a failure on my part. I should be there, protecting her . . . seeing to her needs. My eyes flutter when I recall her scent, heady and intoxicating. I want to consume it, to soak in it. But I’m here, useless, waiting for word. The urge to take control, to do something, anything, is almost overwhelming.
“Stop pacing,” Legion mutters, eyes roving over papers on his desk. “Sit down.”
His tent is larger than mine, and he has a small table with chairs beside his bedroll. Grumbling, I sit quietly, although I’m still annoyed he refused to allow me to attend the trip to Heliodor with our Shadow. Still, I understand this rabble of exhibitors needed to be corralled.
“Ignarius is appeased?” Legion queries, looking over his brass spectacles at me.
“It didn’t take much to convince him to cover for me,” I reply. “After all, he breaks the Old Code himself with his Shadow.”
We spend the next hour brainstorming ways to avoid continuously slipping into this horrible state of false identity Titania gave us.
“There are no viable options,” Legion says, “apart from begging our mother, The Morrigan, for assistance.”
I bristle at the idea. “No. We can do this ourselves, as we always have.” The words sound hollow even to my own ears. “Have we asked her for help before?”
He shakes his head. “We disowned her after the first deal she made with Oberon to contain our power.”
I remember none of that. “My answer stands. We avoid the gods at all costs.”
My fingers drum an impatient rhythm on the table. “Where is Styx? It has been hours.”
Legion sighs, his dark eyes troubled. “Hopefully, seeing to Willow’s comfort. But with him, anything is possible these days. I don’t know what’s going on inside his head. He reminds me a little of . . .” He pauses, then continues, his voice low and intense. “Bodin, I must tell you something. Perhaps you won’t resist the memory flashes so much if you understand what you’re trying to push away.”
Our eyes lock. If I recall the bloody feathers when Willow is not here, I fall deeper into the false identity. The ugly pain attached to the memory feels unbearable without her by my side. Everything feels intolerable without her. How did I come to be in this position? She has destroyed me thoroughly and addictively.
My fingers resume tapping on the table. “You think this pet—this canary—is why I slip more frequently?”
He winces. “It can’t hurt to test the theory.”
A part of me recoils against finding out the truth. But if it avoids another situation where Willow is hurt, then I’ll do it. “Tell me.”
“There were once seven of us,” he explains quietly, his steady eyes watching me for signs of . . . I don’t know. Collapse? Breaking? “And that seventh had golden feathers.”
A cold stone sinks in my stomach. “Canary.”
“Our nickname for him.”
“Why do I always see blood on my hands?” I ask, the coppery scent suddenly vivid.
His lips flatten, almost like he doesn’t want to relive the memory. It’s as painful for him as for me.
“Did I kill him?” I ask, eyes wide.
“We all played a part,” Legion admits, “But the act was by your hands.”
“How?” I gape. “I thought we were immortal.”
He cocks his head, studying me. “You are aware of our hive’s chain of command.”
I nod, but I don’t like where this is heading.
“Death is possible,” he continues, “if it is by the hand of a rank above. Canary was the Seventh.”
You’ll never escape your true nature.
“I killed someone I was meant to protect—worse, the weakest among us?” Self-loathing twists my features into something ugly. I can hardly get my words out. “Yet you allow me to be the . . .” I can’t even say the word. It is a mockery.
“As I said, we all played a part.” The haunted look in his eyes deepens, and I see the crushing weight of leadership. If I, the Second, killed the Seventh, then the only one who could have physically stopped me was the First.
And he didn’t.
“This is the source of your vow,” I state.
“In part.” He runs a hand through his long hair but doesn’t meet my eyes. “I am telling you this now so you know it is not a burden solely on your shoulders, but all six of us. When your memories return, you will understand. Until then, I ask that you trust me.”
“Always,” I reply on instinct.
But the words feel foreign. And I don’t feel any better. The intensifying, squeezing, and dizzying sense of mortification only grows. “I should be dependable, lethal, loyal, and adaptable. I should blend into society’s vital surface and never?—”
“Reveal your true nature?” Legion finishes, eyebrow arched. “How many times have you told yourself that? Those aren’t your words.”
“Whose are they?”
He tells me his theory about the enchantment being an amalgamation of fears designed to separate us. I realize how much I’ve come to rely on his strategic mind—even when he also suffered under this affliction. Memories or not, we each bring something unique to our hive. I can't do everything alone. He trusts me to protect, even knowing our past. The thought both comforts and unnerves me.
But if he doesn’t blame me for our Seventh’s death . . . then perhaps I must trust him too.
“Titania wants us divided,” Legion continues, “because then we can not host the Wild Hunt. It cannot grow in power and size. She cannot control it. Not like Willow.”
“So then we glue ourselves back together,” I suggest.
“Agreed.”
Something uneasy, along with the sickening feeling of failure, turns in my mind. “Titania and Willow are both tied to us, but only one can control the Wild Hunt. The other has all the power. What happens if they face each other in the flesh?”
Concerned eyes flick to mine. “They will feel the uncontrollable urge to obliterate each other until one is left standing.”
“Then we must kill Titania.”
Legion folds a letter, swiping his fingers along the crease. “I expect Puck will soon take that responsibility from our hands.” His lips purse. “At least he’ll try.”
“And if she survives?”
His eyes meet mine. “Then I hope by that stage, we have our hive back in one piece.”
“Tell me one more thing about Canary, and then I will put it to rest.”
A nod. “You will never put it to rest, but I pray you will learn to forgive yourself—as we have.”
“Was it before we received—” I gesture to the glowing blue mark beneath my eye. The teardrop shape is fitting, considering it is the source of our sense of shame.
“Yes,” Legion replies, swallowing hard. Something about the memory brings a sheen to his eyes that I rarely see.
Styx flickers into the room. We stand, our chairs scraping against the ground.
“Where have you been?” I growl. The scent of guilt rolls off him in waves.
“Is she back at the keep?” Legion demands.
Styx doesn’t seem to hear us. He paces the small space within the tent, hands running through his dark, unruly hair, and his eyes are wild.
“I don’t know what to do,” he mumbles.
A cold feeling of dread wraps around me. He hasn’t answered the question.
“Where is Willow?” I repeat.
He stops, his eyes locking with mine. The chaos I see there makes my soul cringe. Flashes of bloody golden feathers hit behind my eyes, ratcheting up my panic. If I could kill my own brother . . . it’s entirely possible Styx could kill his mate, right?
It’s an incredible leap, but my current state of mind can take me nowhere else.
I don’t voice my fears. There’s no time. Styx starts muttering about Emrys, memories, and feeling bad that he left Willow in the snow. With every word, Legion’s expression grows darker. Styx says he returned but found Emrys trapped in a tunnel after escaping with Willow from a stable full of Nightmares Puck ordered collected.
The tent walls close in on me.
Styx and Emrys have betrayed us? They’re working behind our backs, colluding with the enemy? Styx put Willow in danger—abandoned her?
A war rages inside me. Part of me wants to lash out, to punish him for leaving her alone. But another part recognizes that I can’t control everything. And what if this rage cost our Canary his life?
It’s a bitter pill to swallow.
“What tunnel?” Legion demands, voice tight.
“Beneath the keep,” Styx confesses, his eyes downcast. “Outside the Clock Tower. Or rather, she was there?—”
I grab him by the collar, ready to choke him. “What are you talking about? The Clock Tower?”
“It’s filled with our memories,” he explains. “It’s where Titania’s . . .”
“Spit it out before I break your neck.”
His blue eyes flit with sadness. He shakes me off and replies, “The Clock Tower holds our memories.”
Shadows flicker in the tent—Legion’s fragile grip on his control slips, but it’s me who feels like my world is collapsing. Am I the only one, apart from Varen, who doesn’t have his memories?
“How long have you known?” I growl.
“Since before the Baleful Gaze hit me.”
“And your full Sluagh powers?”
“They came when I started turning to stone.” He rubs his forehead. “Emrys already knew about the Tower. He didn’t want anyone else to find out because . . . because he was trying to make a deal. But I found out, got my memories, and he . . . it took me a while to remember who betrayed me, and when I did, Emrys—he threatened me. Everything is mixed up.”
“Deal with who?” I shake him. “Puck?”
“Where is Willow?” Legion interrupts, eyes wide.
“Emrys dared her to enter the tower or to stay with him, knowing they wouldn’t be able to resist her heat.” Styx’s eyes widen with disbelief. “She went inside, knowing that if she stayed . . .”
“Emrys would never trust her again,” Legion finishes.
“Take us, Styx,” I demand. “Take us to Emrys.”
Everything around us flickers. We travel through darkness and arrive inside a torch-lit tunnel. Emrys sits on the ground, head against the wall, staring at the Clock Tower door. The air is thick with the scent of fear, guilt, and something else . . . desire.
As I take in the scene, my fists clench at my sides. The burden of our tragic past—the betrayals, the pain—comes crashing down on me, and I have no defenses without my memory. But one thought rises above all others: Willow is in there, facing our darkest moments alone.
If only a glimpse of a memory can undo me, what will they all do to her?
I don’t pound my fist into Emrys’s face like I want to. Maybe once, I would have. I don’t know. But right now, I cling to what I know to be real. I am still the protector, and Willow is ours. My role, my duty, pulses through my veins like a second heartbeat. I point to the door, my voice low and controlled despite the storm raging inside me. “That’s the entrance?”
Emrys nods, his eyes haunted and hollow.
“If I go in there, will I regain my memories?” I press, the urgency in my tone barely concealed.
He gives another nod. “There’s a possibility of getting lost in there—of never coming out. And you can only go through it once. Otherwise, you could end up like Varen . . . at least until all of us have our memories returned to their rightful owner.”
“How long have you known, Emrys?” Legion demands, his voice as sharp as a blade.
I don’t wait for his response. I grab the doorknob and yank, the hinges groaning in protest. I hesitate but only to brace myself because once I enter this whirlwind, I will relive the moment I killed my brother.
Everything in my past has led me closer to Willow. If I erase it, then she disappears, too.
Air rushes out of the Clock Tower, carrying a faint trace of her feminine scent, ozone, and something deeper, more primeval—the essence of our shared past. I hear whispers, echoes of voices both familiar and strange, calling out from within. Magic pulses inside, a living thing eager to invite me in.
I cast one last look at my brothers—Legion’s face set in grim determination, Styx’s eyes wide with regret, and Emrys . . . he looks broken. Varen is lost. Fox is stone. I am on the brink of losing control. Willow recklessly entered the tower.
Because she cares. Because she is our skin, our glue.
Maybe the slaver queen was right. Maybe darkness cannot understand sunshine. But one cannot exist without the other and together, they create something beautiful.
“I’ll find her,” I promise.
With that, I step into the swirling vortex of memories and magic. As the door closes behind me, cutting my brothers from sight, I have only one thought: Find Willow. Protect her. Bring her home.