Chapter 33 Shards and Salvation
SHARDS AND SALVATION
My eyes are bleary as I make my way down to the gym.
It’s been two weeks since I created my first echo.
Two weeks of increasingly complex mental exercises and growing frustrations.
While echoes have become easier for me to grasp, everything else in my life remains a complicated mess.
The Vestra still regards me with suspicion, my cindrel has remained drained since Scarlet’s accident, and the Council meeting looms closer.
Griffin greets me with a wide, toothy smile that makes my heart skip, momentarily forgetting the doubts his recent absence forged.
“Where were you?” I ask, despite wanting to pretend I don’t care.
Griffin’s jaw flexes, the easygoing look dimming. “There was a situation.”
“What kind of a situation?” I ask, knowing he won’t tell me, because they don’t even tell me things that involve me.
He stares at me for a long moment, not saying anything.
I turn to the treadmill, needing to get lost in exhaustion, because it’s becoming the only time my mind is silent.
Griffin gets on the treadmill next to me. We skip stretching and break into a sprint, like we’re trying to outrun what just happened—or maybe everything.
Ninety minutes later, my legs are jelly as I make my way to the red mat, knowing it’s whatever changes have occurred to my body since coming here that keep me from collapsing into a sweaty heap.
It’s the same reason I can jump higher, run faster, and was able to do an additional set after Griffin insisted I should—the same reason my eyes are now lavender and my skin clear from every scar.
Daire sits across from me, his imprint surprisingly on display as he stretches. “We need to go over more of your past.”
Holden joins us, a light sheen of sweat gathered on his darkened brow—the only sign he’s been down here with us for the past hour.
He pulls out his crystal link and flicks his finger across the screen in three quick strikes, each projecting a holograph of a slightly different version of what is clearly supposed to be my life.
All contain a criminal history; one lists charges of larceny and murder, another arson, and the last reflects a string of shoplifting charges.
All of them tie me to locations and events I don’t know or recognize.
Irritation and something that feels too much like betrayal have me swallowing protests as I climb to my feet, icy emptiness consuming me. “Get me a copy of whichever one you want me to memorize.”
Restraints stop me before I make it more than a foot, nearly tripping me. I twist, glaring at Lochlan.
“We aren’t finished,” he drawls, as if bored by the conversation we haven’t even started.
“What else do you want?”
“Holden found these from a family doctor and elementary school in Kalispel, Montana,” Daire says, pointing at the first list of details.
I glance at Holden, wondering if this is the project they’ve been working on that I overheard weeks ago or if this was one of the trips I knew about.
“And this one from a school near Billings,” Daire continues, gesturing to the second.
“And this is the copy we pulled from the prison.” He points at the last one.
“Help us,” Daire says softly. “Tell us where we can find information to corroborate what you’ve told us, because we couldn’t find a single record of you in Vermont. ”
“I’ve told you everything.”
Lochlan scoffs.
“When’s your birthday?” Griffin’s voice is a whip.
I pin my gaze on him, unwilling to answer, unwilling to bend further when it feels like I’m about to break.
“When’s your birthday?” he repeats, patience waning.
I point toward the holographs. “You have it.”
Griffin takes a step. “Brielle, tell me your godsdamned birthday.”
I grind my molars hard enough to turn my teeth to dust as I glance at the first holograph, reciting the fictional January date each one reflects.
“Where did you grow up?” Griffin demands.
“Kalispel, Montana,” I say without hesitation.
He scowls. “What was your first job?”
I comb through the three lists.
“What was your first job?” he booms so loud, the room trembles.
I skim over the words faster.
“Answer!”
“Babysitting,” I spit the word, rattled as I continue searching the lists, trying to memorize all the data, surprised to find kernels of my truth.
“Fucking hell,” Kai whispers. “How?”
Griffin takes a step toward me. “How old were you the first time you were arrested?”
Hurt breaks an entire layer of my ice, causing my heart to miss a beat.
“Brielle—” Griffin takes another step. If I could, I’d match it and take two steps back, but I can’t, so instead, I raise my hand with a silent call to stop.
Surprisingly, he obliges.
I turn to Lochlan. “Let me go.”
“No,” Griffin says, shocking me. “We’re going to talk about this and figure out why every time you answer one of these goddamn questions, I can feel your panic growing.”
“It doesn’t matter. None of it matters.”
“Of course it fucking matters,” he argues, breaching the invisible barrier I’d tried to establish. His blue eyes bore into mine, his anger demanding I meet him head-on.
I try to focus on the icy feeling in my chest. On complete indifference. On blocking him from knowing my truths, which aren’t much prettier than the lies.
Daire steps forward, bracing a hand against Griffin’s chest while facing me. “We need to discuss your background, not only to ensure we’re sharing a cohesive story but also because you’re our Mate. We want to know you and learn more about you.”
Vulnerability twists something in my chest, but I ignore it, focusing on the anger that I hold on to with both hands. “You haven’t seemed so sure about that for weeks.”
Daire’s head falls back like my words are an assault.
Good.
Lochlan scoffs again as the invisible shackles around me grow taut. “Your pride needs to take a back seat to common sense, Witchling. If someone altered your background, we need to find out who and how in the hell they found you. But more importantly, what they did to make you imprint.”
Griffin rounds on him. “We’re not doing this again.”
“Let’s take a break and reconvene in ten,” Daire says.
“No,” Griffin cuts in. “She’s trying to distance herself, and she needs to realize we’re her Mates and that this is when she needs to trust us and push through the discomfort.”
“Make me stay, and it only proves the opposite.”
Griffin’s eyes dance with a fight.
“Let her go,” Daire instructs.
The binds release so slowly I swear I feel a whisper of them as I turn and make for the stairs. I don’t look back, even when Lief calls out that coffee is ready.
I can’t talk. Can’t think. All I can do is continue up to my room, where I pace the length of the too-large space—back and forth, recalling every demanding word, Griffin’s furrowed brow, the harshness of his tone, the disbelief on Holden and Lochlan’s expressions, Kai’s confusion, and the defeat in Daire’s eyes.
Every lie on those lists fuels my anger as I try to remain detached.
Uncaring. But the harder I grasp for that familiar numbness, the further it slips away, replaced by something raw and burning that climbs up my throat.
Before I can stop it, I’m sobbing into my pillows.
It isn’t a therapeutic cry, but something dark and ugly, something far too revealing that I try to smother, terrified I’ll awaken Scarlet and she’ll come in here to witness my breaking, but the tears don’t stop. They’re as relentless as the hollowness in my chest.
I begin pacing again, the hollowness turning into a crushing sensation as I wait for the familiar iciness to consume me and numb my thoughts. I’m so damn tired of feeling.
But it doesn’t come.
I’m too raw. Filled with too many doubts.
With every step, my dread grows until I find myself near the ornate desk where the charms book taunts me.
Lethal.
Lethal.
Lethal.
The word bounces around in my head as I question all the times I’ve failed over the past month, the loathing in Lochlan’s expression I feel down to my marrow, where Holden’s constant distrust and Kai’s indifference reside.
If they hold this many doubts, and they’re supposed to be my Mates, how will I survive Lyra and the Council?
My body goes into autopilot, numb as I remove the flowers from the vase beside the window and take the porcelain pottery into the shower where I hit it against the tiles, breaking the pale beige pattern into half a dozen pieces.
I carry the sharpest shard back to the room where I hover beside the opened Charms textbook, my fingers sticky from blood as I review the first incantation for healing a wound.
The pain doesn’t scare me. I’m not even sure death does.
I read the directions of the charm a second time, then draw the shard down the top of my thigh.
I focus on the tear in my newly perfect skin—the blood rushing to the surface—and try to picture it healed, as the book insists, while suppressing the sting of pain.
Then I clear my throat. “Mendus Curatio.”
Nothing happens.
The wound doesn’t heal, but my heart doesn’t stop.
I repeat the charm again and again, concentrating on the wound, on every syllable. “Mendus Curatio.”
A warmth spreads across my thigh, weaker than what Griffin and Scarlet created when healing me, but slowly, messily, the edges of the cut begin to heal.
A tear skates down my cheek, chased by a second, third, more.
I reopen the wound, pressing deeper this time, and say the charm again.
And again.
And again.
Someone swearing has me looking up in time to see Kai and Holden barreling toward me, anger and fear staining their features.
“Fucking hell.” Holden’s the first to reach me, but he stops short, leaving a healthy gap between us as a terror rages in his eyes. “What did you do? What did you conjure?”
Laughter seeps out of me, an unfamiliar lightness filling my thoughts.
I’m not human.
I’m not Seelie or Unseelie like Kandi suggested.
I’m an Elemental.
Not an abomination.