72. Chapter Seventy-Two

“Are you fucking kidding me right now, Kieran?”

Sienna Makar had some very choice words for me at the moment, and I deserved them all. If only she knew that there wasn’t a damned soul on this plane who hated me more than I hated myself.

I let the other Shadow Conduit tear into me, though, waiting for her to get it out of her system so that I could fucking leave and wash my hands of this place. It would probably take a hundred baths before I’d feel clean again.

And maybe even then, this damning act would linger on my skin.

You’re a fucking monster.

Yeah. A monster that did what needed to be done. I still needed to make sure it worked, though. The woman I loved, who I had just disrespected to a disturbing degree, was a very stubborn creature.

“Are you done?” I asked Sienna, standing up.

She looked like she was almost ready to hit me. I almost wished she would.

“You’re unbelievable,” she sputtered. “You don’t deserve her. You will never fucking deserve her.”

Yeah. I knew that, too.

Makar continued her tirade, but I had stopped listening when I saw Jeremiah approach us from the corner of my eye. His voice dropped deadly low, quiet fury brewing in his eyes.

“Can I speak with you?”

I turned to Sienna, who was clearly still seething as well, and offered her the simpering smirk she expected of me.

“If you’ll excuse me, Miss Makar,” I said with a false bow. “Duty calls.”

“Eat shit, Vistarii.”

Hopefully, Fairchilde would make this short and sweet. I followed my lieutenant out towards the back exit of the tavern, into a quieter alley. Hans slunk out behind us both, keeping his head down.

“What the fuck was that about?” Jeremiah demanded.

“You’re going to have to be more specific, Jer. But also, do you think you can be quick about it? I have somewhere to be.”

“Don’t play dumb, jackass. You set Arken up to find you like that, didn’t you?”

I raised a brow at the clearly protective tone of voice my direct report was taking. Did he really think he needed to step in and protect Arken’s feelings? He barely even knew the woman. Not like I did.

“You should know by now that I always have a reason for the things I do, Lieutenant,” I said quietly, staring him down.

“Yeah. I do know that,” Jeremiah spat. “And I also know you well enough to know that whatever reason you think you had to do that to her, it wasn’t good enough.”

He didn’t know anything. Not a godsdamned thing. I had to clamp down hard on the rising fury in my veins, remembering that this was exactly what I had set out to accomplish. I needed it to be believable… even if it meant a little bit of faith lost between myself and the two men I trusted most.

“Are you questioning your superior officer, Fairchilde?” I asked, allowing haughty disdain to color my tone.

The forced attitude wasn’t playing nice with the gin in my system. It was making me nauseous, truth be told, but I couldn’t let on that this was all smoke and mirrors. Not yet. Not until she was safe.

“No, Kieran,” Jeremiah said, shaking his head. “I’m questioning my friend, who is acting like a sick bastard right now.”

“I don’t owe you an explanation,” I bit out, and I heard Hans heave a sigh behind us.

Jeremiah just stared me down for a moment, his smoke-gray eyes still subdued but furious, and incredulous. Just a few days ago, he and Hans were so quick to assume I’d cast Arken aside soon enough. Why were they acting so surprised now?

“No, I suppose you don’t, Captain,” Jeremiah said slowly. “But you sure as shit owe her one. Find her. Apologize.”

A bark of laughter escaped my lips before I could really help myself.

“I don’t owe her shit, either. And you? You don’t give me orders,” I snapped.

I heard a sharp intake of breath and turned towards Hans for just a second—morbidly curious as to how he, of all people, would be looking at me right about now. He, who had been so convinced that this was who I was in the first place. I barely had any time to parse the wide-eyed expression as my second-in-command opened his mouth to warn the other man.

“Jer! Don’t—”

I got my wish. Jeremiah Fairchilde’s fist met the left side of my face with a sickening crack—and oh, how I deserved that blow. He’d taken advantage of my blind side. Clever.

Part of me wanted nothing more than to swing back, just to tempt my lieutenant into beating me into a bloody pulp. I savored that pain as it shot through my skull—relished in the excuse to focus on anything other than the raw turmoil in my chest. But he didn’t even give me a chance to act on those baser impulses, which was probably for the best.

Without a second glance, Jeremiah walked away, muttering to himself beneath his breath. Hans shot me a slight, apologetic wince before following suit, leaving me alone in the alley.

With an aching jaw, I stepped back into the Shadows.

I had spent days trying to find another solution. Trying to find a way to avoid this. Trying to track Caen down. In the end, this was the only way to keep her safe until that motherfucker was dead and buried.

All of my best intentions aside, there had to be a special sort of torment planned for my soul in the Abyss, considering I was about to go stalk the woman I had just emotionally maimed. On purpose.

It was surprisingly difficult to catch up to her without rifting, though. She was faster these days, having stayed consistent with her strength training in preparation for the Physical Arcana test.

Impressive as ever, Little Conduit.

By the time I managed to catch up to Arken, I almost wished that I hadn’t.

She was sobbing.

It was then that I realized that even though I’d just seen her through a terrifying, near-fatal experience, I’d actually never seen Arken cry. Misty eyed, yeah. Full blown tears? Not until this very moment.

It was devastating. The way that the kohl from her eyelids left tear tracks running down those golden doe eyes, now rimmed in red, as she struggled to sniff through swollen sinuses, occasionally choking on a shaky inhale…

I wanted to flay myself alive for this.

I was desperate for a way out, regret coating my mouth and throat. I had to find another way. There had to be another way to keep her safe.

But how?

Never let the woman out of my sight? Pick off my most dangerous enemies one by one, praying to the fucking Fates that I never slipped up? There was no decent option for risk mitigation when I was the godsdamned risk.

And if there was another way, you would’ve found it by now—implemented it before you had to hurt her like this. Better to see her miserable than dead, you selfish prick.

The truth tasted bitter on my tongue. As she stepped into her apartment—slamming the door—I slunk in behind her, entirely unseen. It took a great deal of arcane energy to pull total invisibility off in close quarters like this, even for me. But in a way, this was my penance. A tiny, microscopic fraction of penance.

I had to be absolutely certain that I’d done enough damage to keep her away from me for the time being.

Yes, I had set the entire scene up at the tavern with intention from the start. Even as I was hunting through Pyrhhas, searching for Caen—I had eyes on Arken all week. Thanks to Jeremiah and Hans, I knew exactly when her friends had managed to get her out of the house, and I set my fucked up little plan in motion. It was all too familiar, playing this role again—straight down to the flirtatious manipulation that convinced Laurel’s friend to bait them to the tavern where I had been lying in wait.

I had let Arken think she stumbled into something I hadn’t intended for her to see—and then I dug the blade in deeper by pretending I didn’t even care. I was playing with her insecurities like some daemonic marionette, and gods, it had worked all too well.

I suffered in silence, watching from a darkened corner as Arken collapsed to the floor, pushing her knees up against her chest and burying her head in her arms, crying harder than before.

I am so, so sorry, sweetheart.

“Why?” I heard her whisper to herself quietly.

I wish I could tell you. I just need you safe.

And that’s when I smelled smoke. Arken hadn’t moved though, hadn’t lit any candles or…

Wait. What?

Tiny, flickering flames had formed around her fists, and my heart began to pound.

When Arken realized her tights were getting scorched, her misery gave way to anger. We were indoors, but I could’ve sworn I felt a strong gust of wind swirl around the room in emphasis of that. A few crumpled strips of parchment blew off her coffee table, confirming my suspicions. All I could do was simply stare in horror as those small flames around her hands gave way to smoke—no. Not smoke. Arken’s flames had given way to Shadow.

She noticed that, too, and it made her furious.

“For fucks sake!” Arken shouted down at her own hands, as if they were sentient. Like they had a mind of their own, but also… like this had happened before. Light arcana immediately flashed from her palms, an act of rebellion to dispel the darkness.

The scent of smoke stirred a recent memory in my mind: that moment of confusion in the Wyldwoods that had distracted me—the way the daemon had seemed to crackle and burn under Arken’s blow. I had just chalked it up to the potential that Light could burn too, if it was bright enough.

But that wasn’t Light aether. Those were flames.

I knew what Fire arcana looked like. I was intimately familiar.

There was no fucking way.

As Arken continued to pace with visible distress, her thigh bumped up against the kitchen table, knocking some small object to the floor. I watched with growing horror as instead of bending over to pick it up, the woman simply summonedthe stone back into her palm. Her lip curled with disdain as she glanced down at it, and then I realized that it was the astral quartz that I had found on the beach. The gift I had left behind.

I flinched as she hurled the stone at the wall with alarming force—force beyond what muscle alone should have reasonably been able to accomplish—and the crystal shattered on impact, dropping to the floor in tiny shards.

Fire. Air. Shadow. Earth. Light.

I knew if I watched from the Shadows long enough, I could probably see her control Water, too. I felt an eerie prickle against my neck and back.

In the realm where few can wield one, He must find the one who wields all.

She was…

No.

I begged the Source in silent desperation. Please. Let this be a figment of my imagination, another fucking nightmare.

Not her.

Anyone but her.

A brand-new form of terror shot through me, a voice that did not belong to me ringing in my ears.

You can only run from Fate for so long, little prince. Did you really think you could escape the prophecy so easily?

I could practically hear the cackles of the Crones, reminding me of what had been written on my skin, carved out in ink and blood—a foretelling that I had been trying to flee from my entire life.

That tether. That pull. That inexplicable way that I’d been drawn to her like a moth to the flame, unable to stay away from her this whole damn time.

The Catalyst and the Conduit. Bound by a fate of inevitable destruction.

Arken was the second Harbinger.