49. Twisted Flames

Chapter 49

Twisted Flames

A s anticipated, Tarrin and I had no choice but to huddle together for warmth as the night grew colder and the fire died down. Even though it was the peak of summer, this place, with its towering, white-tipped mountains and glacier-fed lake, was possibly the coldest place we could’ve been dumped this time of year—at least in the human realm. We should’ve counted ourselves lucky that we hadn’t ended up in the Winter Court.

I let out a soft, dark chuckle, the sound tinged with weary irony.

“Are you okay?” Tarrin’s sleep-filled voice asked.

“Yes, just quietly laughing to myself,” I said through a sigh. “Sorry if I woke you.”

“What could you possibly have to laugh about?” he asked, amused.

“I was just thinking how it could always be worse—we could’ve ended up in the Winter Court.”

The twin version of my own chuckle escaped him, albeit much louder. “Stars, Ny, I don’t think anyone gives your humor enough credit.”

“They would have to get it first, and that would entail them being as royally fucked as I am. Ha! Royally fucked!” A pained fit of laughter shook me until tears built. I had to sit up to catch my breath, only to laugh, and wince, some more. “Royally fucked,” I repeated as a fresh bout of laughter ripped out of me. “Oh gods.” I wiped the tears from my eyes as I continued to laugh. “That’s funny. It has so many meanings.” The last words were more laughter than anything. Tarrin sat up beside me, powerless against the contagion as he gave in to fits of his own.

My breaths slowed, laughter leaving me. “Royally fucked,” I whispered as the humor dissipated, and the truth felt heavy once more.

I threw a look over my shoulder toward Tarrin, silently asking the question I’d voiced last night: What are we going to do?

His lips pursed, letting me know he knew exactly what I was feeling, then he put an arm around me and pulled me in, resting his chin on my head.

“In other news, you sat up on your own, so there’s that,” Tarrin said, clearly mocking the sentiments I’d shared at dinner.

“Now, that’s what I’m talking about,” I said. “Breaking through one dangerously low bar at a time.” The soft laughter coursing through his body reverberated against mine, soothing the fears that wanted license to roam free.

I gathered the skirt-turned-blanket and got dressed. Although I still couldn’t manage it on my own, the pain was no longer crippling, and I didn’t have to rely as heavily on Tarrin.

“You should rest for at least another day before we go anywhere,” Tarrin said as he held me steady while I dressed. I couldn’t help but notice him glancing toward my chest.

I looked down, understanding why. My shirt wasn’t stained with blood; it was covered in it, so much so that as I scraped some of it off with a fingernail, reddish-brown flakes floated down, carried away a gentle breeze.

“You’re probably right,” I said. “I hadn’t realized I’d lost this much blood, and I still feel weak. ”

Tarrin crinkled his features but said nothing. What else could he possibly offer? I’m sure I looked like I’d been trampled by a herd of wild horses, which was fitting because I felt like it too.

“Tarrin? What are we going to do?”

He stilled as if holding his breath, and I searched his features to understand what it meant. I found a mixture of pained resolve in his golden-brown eyes.

“Here, come sit with me, Ny,” he finally said. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

I chilled, not sure how much more I could handle, but I accepted his help as we silently made our way to the stone chairs.

“Do you remember when Thaddeus told you about how he’d turned him, Nevander, and me immortal?”

I nodded, remembering every last detail of that story.

“The men we’d lost that day weren’t the only sacrifice, Ny.” I swallowed, not knowing where he was going with this, or if I even wanted to know. “It’s not entirely true that Nevander and I got out unscathed. You see, the spell started cleaving our souls from our bodies too. When Thaddeus realized what was happening, he attempted to stop it by casting a spell that tethered Nevander and me to him, forcing the spell to mistake our life force for his. It worked, and as a result, our souls returned to our bodies. But, as you know, magic has a cost.” He drew in a bracing breath before continuing, “It took us time to fully comprehend the toll that was exacted, but what we realized is that we’re tethered to Thaddeus in a way that’s not sanctioned by the Mother, and in the most basic of terms, the cost was our individuality.”

I wasn’t sure what he meant. How could someone lose their individuality, and why did he feel the need to tell me this? And why now?

“It’s not my place to tell you how it is for Nevander,” he continued, “but I’ll try my best to explain what it has meant for me, and how it works in general.” Tarrin looked at me, considering. “Have you ever heard of the terms twin flames or mirrored souls ?”

“No, I haven’t.”

He looked down, searching for something at his feet. Righting himself, he held three long pieces of kindling. Leaning forward, he held his palm over the black remnants of the fire, then took one of the spindly pieces of wood and stuck it in the coals. Blowing softly, he coaxed the small piece of wood to catch fire.

“Twin flames work like this,” he said and brought the second piece of kindling close to the one that was crackling as it slowly burned. “Legend proclaims that some souls choose to be born as two.” He tilted the untouched piece to the small flame, and it caught. “When Thaddeus did what he did”—Tarrin took the third piece of wood and lit it from the original source—“he created a sort of twin flame with Nevander and me.” He emphasized his words by lifting the two flames that had been lit from the first one. “Now, the classic theory of twin flames is that the cleaved soul lives two lives in tandem. Most live and die never having met, but for the rare few that do, they come together in the most beautiful way. They often become lovers, deemed the perfect match or, as they say, soul mates, for their soul has found its other half and is now complete.” A sadness hung in the air as he paused, as if he’d longed for this form of the legend instead of what had been thrust upon him.

“Because Nevander and I were born with our own souls, it didn’t work like that. Thaddeus’ spell cleaved a tiny fraction of himself, kind of like the wisp Amos left behind, and merged with us so that we could live. It took us some time to understand that the part he bound to me was connected to the fragment of him that loves, while Nevander was chained to the side of Thaddeus that will exact vengeance at all costs—it was the reason I was ultimately named second.” The admission seemed to sadden Tarrin, as if he’d wished things were different.

Trying to understand, I watched the tiny orange flames burning separately. My mind pulled at threads of theories, but with the exception, knowing why Tarrin and Nevander were vastly different, I couldn’t get any of the ends to meet.

“The connection,” Tarrin continued, “was deep, pervasive, even. The truth, Ny, is that since that damned spell, it has been near impossible for Nevander and me to go against Thaddeus’ wishes. You see, for us to disagree with him would be to disagree with ourselves. For the past five hundred years, I have been beholden to Thaddeus’ every whim, losing control over myself and who I am. I’m me, until my wants and beliefs are trumped by Thaddeus’, as if I’m a marionette that I can animate as I see fit—until the strings are pulled taut.”

My heart ached for him, at the immense sorrow I could see him grappling with. The helplessness, powerlessness, endlessness of it all. I knew what it was to have your faculties stolen, and to endure something similar for so long was unfathomable to me. Had I been able to, I would have held his hand, let him know I was there for him. Instead, I rested it upon my chest, trying to hold the ache at bay.

Tarrin shifted his gaze toward the stilled waters, which were so at odds with the turmoil that churned within him.

“Yesterday,” he said, not turning back, “you severed the bond the instant you locked us in that dome.”

I jolted, unable to believe his words. How was that even possible?

He faced me again. “I wasn’t sure last night if it was just some residual magic at play or not. But even now, sitting here, I can’t feel him or hear his thoughts. Where someone else had lived within me for centuries is now… empty. It’s just me.”

When the dome slid over us, he’d gasped in what I’d thought was pain. That must have been when it happened. A piece of me felt guilty—sad, even—that I’d done that to him.

“Tarrin, I am so very sorry for doing that to you.”

His brows knit together, and he leaned closer to me. “No, Ny, you misunderstand my meaning. Last night you…” He swallowed, and a tear slid down his cheek. I had to resist reaching out and wiping it away. “You freed me.”

My own eyes welled.

Tarrin allowed the flames to burn as he brought one up and blew it out. He threw the other two onto the hot coals, and they cracked as they were fully engulfed. He sat there for a long while, staring at the kindling that now had a tiny wisp of smoke dancing upward from where the flames had once burned.

Tarrin and I foraged for food—if one could call taking a few steps, leaning against a tree, then sitting on the ground foraging.

Not too far from camp, we came across a particularly fruitful raspberry bush, which I now knelt beside as I picked berry by berry from the thistly stems.

Tarrin snorted, and I craned my neck to meet his gaze.

“What?” I asked innocently, knowing very well what he was about to say.

“What is this? The two for me, one for you policy?” he asked, amused.

I grabbed another plump raspberry and popped it into my mouth. As I was chewing, I said, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He shook his head and smiled. I harvested more berries and popped them into my mouth, ignoring the makeshift bowl beside me. “It’s more like the five for me, one for you rule. See?” I asked, dramatically placing the tiniest raspberry I could find in the bowl.

Tarrin knelt beside me, and with the same theatrical flair, he picked up the lone raspberry and inspected it. “Your generosity is truly unmatched, lady.” Dead serious, he placed the deformed berry on his tongue and made an exaggerated gulping sound as he swallowed it. I nudged him, shoulder to shoulder, drawing out a chuckle. But, as soon as the levity had come, the shadows chased it away.

I’d seen that distant, haunted look from him too often today. Something about how far away he’d traveled this time made me finally voice what I thought tugged at him.

“You’re not sure what’s you and what’s him anymore, are you?” I asked.

He came back to me, but the darkness still lingered. I didn’t think he was going to answer, but as I went to search the bush, he said, “No. I’m not.”

I sat down properly and scooched myself back to rest against a tree. I patted the ground beside me in a silent invitation. He hesitated for a heartbeat, then joined me.

Our shoulders touched, and I felt his chest rise and fall with each breath. He’d grabbed a stick from the ground and was twisting it again and again, his gaze going vacant again.

“When you brought me to the river,” I said, “you told me what you thought Thaddeus felt; that wasn’t conjecture, was it?”

“No.”

“Are you able to—or were you able to, I guess—discern between your feelings and his?”

“Sometimes, but not always. It depended.” His words were clipped, like the information was new to him too.

I gave him space to think through what he’d just offered and for silence to fall over us.

“It’s you that confuses him the most, you know,” he finally said.

“Me? Why?”

“Thaddeus has never felt for anyone like he does for you, Ny. His feelings are deep and complicated. You’re also the first woman he hasn’t…” He halted, then bristled.

“He hasn’t…?” I prompted.

He focused on the twisted stick. “It’s not appropriate.”

“Tarrin, there is no judgment from me, I promise.”

He searched my eyes.

Looking nervous, he said, “You’re the first woman he didn’t share with us. The only one he’s shielded from the truth by keeping you in the dark.” His words sounded confused, as if he still hadn’t quite figured out why Thaddeus had done such a thing.

I frowned at him, wondering exactly what he meant. I forced myself to let him explain instead of jumping to conclusions. I had just promised him that curtesy. Making sure my voice was soft, I said, “Tarrin, what do you mean when you say share ? ”

He swallowed, then hesitated for a long moment before saying, “I mean…any lover up until you was…well… all of our lover. Well, mainly Thaddeus and I. Nevander rarely gives into those things.”

Words were lost to me, and the more I grasped for them, the more elusive they became.

“I can feel it, you know, the pleasure you pull from him…from me.” I stopped breathing, going completely numb. “Sometimes, I experience his ministrations as if I were the one doing those things to you. It can be in the moment it’s happening, in a dream, or when he thinks about you—even something as small as your scent can shoot the memory my way. That’s why we’ve always shared—physically I mean—because, in a way, we share everything regardless. It has always been with the woman’s consent, but he didn’t want to risk it with you, couldn’t…”

“Why?” I heard myself asking.

“That’s not for me to say.”

Unwilling to think of the implications this new information meant to me, I grasped for the bigger picture, wondering what it would be like to be a bystander in such intimate moments and yet connected in a way that wasn’t my choice. To feel things that weren’t my own emotions but experience them as if they were.

“So, when Thaddeus and I…” I didn’t know how to finish the sentence. Wasn’t sure I wanted to know more.

Mercifully, Tarrin found the words for me. “When he claimed you, delighted in drawing pleasure from you, yes. I was part of it too. My particular favorite was when you knelt before him after throwing. Gods, I’d never experienced anything like it.”

I swallowed hard—Thaddeus had shared the same sentiment. Stars, it was one thing being intimate with Thaddeus, but in a way, I’d been intimate with them both—or had it been the three of them? I halted that train of thought; it didn’t matter now, and thinking along these lines wasn’t productive. Then I realized something.

“But you walked in on Thaddeus and me the other day,” I said, grasping for a different reality than the one he’d just described .

He shook his head, knowing why I’d picked that example. “No, like I said, it doesn’t always connect in the moment. That’s why it took us both by surprise.”

“That’s why you were so awkward helping me undress yesterday.”

“Yes. When I saw you that way…a part of me was disgusted with myself for even thinking about it. Gods, your body was ravaged, and yet the part of me that has experienced you, but has never actually tasted you, felt your warmth and desires you fiercely. At times, it takes every ounce of my training and restraint to tamp down my urges.” Hunger, pain, and, most predominantly, shame warred in his eyes.

Stars, it must have been torture for him. Tarrin wasn’t in control of this any more than I’d been in control of Amos’s wisp, and I wasn’t about to shame him for it.

“Stars, Tarrin. How have you done it all this time?”

“Well, if honesty is the theme of the moment, I didn’t feel any dissonance until you arrived. I’ve wondered if being within proximity of you has slowly disentwined me from Thaddeus, as if the part of you that cares for him wanted all of him, all his love. I think, deep down, the spark knew you weren’t receiving all of him.”

There was so much I didn’t know about my powers, so it was entirely possible. Perhaps last night had left that bond between them vulnerable, and my powers had taken advantage of it—or maybe not.

“Tarrin, is it possible that my powers had nothing to do with it?”

“What do you mean?”

“Think about it—what if something in Thaddeus’ spell broke your bond. Isn’t it possible when he chose to…when he cast that spell…” I couldn’t bring myself to say the words, to admit that Thaddeus had tried to kill Tarin last night—and perhaps me.

“Maybe.” Tarrin pondered it for a moment. “Maybe,” he echoed, as if taking in this new perspective and running his memories against it. “It’s even possible it started the moment Thaddeus decided he didn’t want me to have access to you, to that part of him. I suppose either could be true.”

We sat in silence.

“Are you… Does this… I mean…” Tarrin groped for words. I’d never heard him stammer like this before. “Does this change things between you and me?”

“No,” I said without hesitation. “I’m not thrilled that I didn’t know. But that’s not on you, and I’ll have to decide what I’m okay with moving forward. I’m a lucky woman to have people care this deeply about me, in whatever way that is. I don’t begrudge you for this. You’ve never shown me anything but kindness, and you were brave enough to tell me the truth. Brave enough to save me. And, for that, I’m grateful. I am, however, seven kinds of pissed at Thaddeus.”

I squeezed his arm and gave him a small smile, hoping to convey the truth behind my words. He leaned back and let his head rest against the bark. I followed suit.

“Tarrin?” I let out a half-sigh. “I know I’ve asked you this already, but how the fuck are we going to get ourselves out of this?”

He gave me an amused smile. “Your use of profanity is always perfectly timed.” He chuckled before sobering again. “I think we have to make our way back. Face what happened. I might not be able to feel Thaddeus anymore, but I can only imagine the amount of guilt he’s holding on to right now.”

I shot him a look.

“I know. I know. It doesn’t forgive what happened, and I’m seven kinds of pissed at him too, but I still think going back is the right choice. Truthfully, it’s the only choice.”

He was right. There really was no other choice, even though returning to my family’s cabin and living in the woods far, far away from all of this was beginning to feel like a much better option.

“When did life get so complicated?” I asked, kicking at the dirt with my heel.

He squeezed my hand. “I don’t think there is any path that would grant you immunity from your destiny, Ny. You were born with a gift bestowed by the ancients, meaning your life was complicated before you even existed. You and me, our lives aren’t our own.”

They were wise words, born from centuries of hardship and learning the hard way. I wondered if I’d ever be able to see my life that way, accept it for what it was—or if I’d continue to chafe against it.