Chapter 5

Istand before his door, clutching his key with the same hand that clenched around the shard of glass that tore through my flesh and bled me.

Drew him to me.

The same hand that gripped the hilt of that talon and slammed it through his chest.

More fractures, and I scramble to patch them up, planting my head on the door as I breathe through chattering teeth …

Don’t think.

I shove the key into the lock and clunk the bolt aside. Pushing the door inward, I step forward, struck by the flood of him that pours into my lungs like a stormy deluge.

He’s an icy wind that gushes down my throat and soothes the ravaged path. He’s heavy drops of rain that dump upon the sizzling ember of my self-hatred. He’s a lightning bolt of life—electrifying my heart and forcing it to beat faster.

Faster.

Faster.

Clawing at my throat, I fold my weight against the door, slamming it shut behind me as I gulp breath like I’m parched. Like this is the first time I’ve come up for air since he slipped from my grasp with unsaid words trapped within his split chest.

My gasping finally calms to slow, deliberate breaths, and I take in the room, heart pounding.

The stone walls appear flat in the dull light, a stark contrast to his city map, the attention to detail making it seem lifelike. The desk to my right is still littered with bits of rock and his half-finished sketch—

I rip my gaze away. Look at the bed.

His sword lays across the end, as though he made the conscious decision to leave it before he followed me into the woods. Other than that, the crumples in the sheets have not shifted since I fell backward onto them. Since he lowered his weight upon me and ground his body against my aching parts.

Since he told me to show him my damage.

No—not told.

Asked.

Instead of talking, I sharpened that damage into a curved weapon and punched it through his chest.

My knees give way, and I collapse into a pile of knotted limbs, fingers reaching for my neck, clawing.

Clawing.

He may have been a monster hewn from a dark and bloody era, he may have been a murderer once upon a time, but he was my monster.

Mine.

“I saved lives,” I chant, hunting for dwindling beads of light. I smear them across that protective shell, my lids so heavy it’s a battle to keep them open. A shiver wraps around my ribs and shakes, shakes, shakes—

Clutching my middle, I slump to the side, stare diving beneath the bed, landing on a black parcel half the length of my forearm.

My gaze rakes the shape of it, its placement. The exact position as my hiding place in Stony Stem.

My heart lurches.

This package—it’s intended for me.

Part of me wants to dive across the floor, snatch it up, unravel it. The rest of me is frightened of what I might see, conscious of the crystal dome inside my chest that’s growing more fragile by the second. Like the churning, sawing, slithering emotions trapped beneath are wearing it down.

You did this.

You fucking did this.

I reach out. Pause.

Snarling, I shove forward on my hands and knees, flattening against the floor as I wiggle beneath the bed and grab the parcel.I edge back, rocking onto my knees and holding it in my palm, gasping at the unbalanced weight of it. Top-heavy.

Familiar.

Heart thundering, I loosen the twine and unravel the cloth. It falls to the floor, a small scroll landing beside it, leaving my diamond pickaxe resting upon my trembling hand.

My eyes flame with unshed tears that distort my vision.

He got it back.

I touch my lips to the handle and breathe deep, picking up the faint residue of him spliced with layers upon layers of me.

A sob breaks free, and I bite down on my fist, squeezing the handle so hard my knuckles turn white.

He has been speaking … I just haven’t been listening.

The bluebell heads …

The sheath …

This …

Trinkets of affection passed to me with silent hope I slashed and stabbed.

I set the pickaxe on the floor, retrieve the scroll, unravel it … whimpering as I look upon the splayed masterpiece. The beautiful disaster he’s stained upon the parchment one delicate stroke at a time.

I’d know that cobbled hall anywhere, the curve of it almost calling for me to fall into its length and break myself against the stares of the many people lining one side.

Whispers.

And there—huddled in a ball on the ground, face tipped, gaze cast on the wall—is me. Unmistakably me. Like I just fell into the paper in a tangle of wrought limbs and tear-stained cheeks.

He was there that day, watching me from the darkness. He saw me disassemble myself as I finally looked upon the eyes of the brother I lost.

He saw the worst parts of me. My weakness.

My ugly secret.

He saw the full, unguarded horror of my monstrous mistake. My horrendous confession—unwittingly given from a guilty subconscious that was overflowing with all the lives I’d taken.

He saw me … yet he still came to Bahari. Stood before me and absorbed my blows. Tried to sponge my pain and stop me from hurting myself.

Me?

I took one look at his monster and murdered him.

A deep, agonized moan tears me up from the inside out. The parchment falls from my hand, curling in on itself as I tip forward, hands assaulting the floor.

Simple, Milaje. I refuse to live in a world where you don’t exist.

The crystal dome inside me shatters with a strident pop that rattles my teeth, sharp splinters lodging into my heart and lungs and bones. Another guttural sob as those thorny vines erupt with vicious, slashing vengeance, slicing me to ribbons. They saw up my throat, paralyzing me.

Don’t cry …

Face crumpling, my mouth falls open with a silent scream, the echo of his words a barbed blow to what’s left of my unguarded heart.

I buckle, fold around the hurt, scramble to collect those thorny vines with torn and bloody hands, a feeble attempt to contain their sawing rampage.

It’s useless.

There’s too many broken bits. Too many cutting thorns.

Too many mistakes and unsaid words sitting on my chest like a jagged, unscalable mountain.

Digging through my pocket in jerky, trembling motions, I pry out the caspun root.

I don’t want to hurt anymore.

I just want to sleep.

Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry—

I shove the caspun between my teeth and crack off a chunk, letting the remaining piece fall to the floor. Chewing through the crunchy, bitter-tasting flesh, I tear off my cloak and crawl toward the neatly folded black shirt sitting atop the side table.

Gripping my tunic front with both hands, I cleave it apart, popping buttons, my tender shoulder throbbing in my haste to undress myself until I’m naked but for my underwear.

Cold.

Alone.

My fault.

I pull Rhordyn’s top on, dousing myself in him.

He had something to show me …

Perhaps it was his own damage? But he didn’t get the chance because mine chewed him to pieces.

Because I thrust that talon forward.

I’m attacked by the sight of him falling, the talon lodged deep within his chest—

A shuddering breath, and I grope at his top, crunching it in my fists. I’ll never be able to go back to that terrible, terrible moment and make a different choice. We’ll never experience the beauty without all the pain.

I’ll never be able to look him in the eye and tell him I hear his silent words.

Don’t cry—

I grab the caspun and take another bitter bite, haul myself onto the mattress, body growing heavy as I crawl across the sheets and fall against his pillow. The chill strikes my marrow and seeps through my flesh, turning my exhales milky.

Slow.

It feels like him wrapped around me, pebbling my skin.

I nuzzle his pillow, gulping breath.

I don’t want to run anymore. To push him away.

Hurt him, or myself.

I want to pull him so close that all sense loses shape, our mistakes a bony battlefield to build our castle upon. One that’s not pretty or extravagant, but deep and dark and a little bit broken.

Too late.

Another crunchy bite. Another bitter swallow.

Tugging his blankets over my head, I tuck into a tighter ball, my laden lids drifting shut as my mind dunks into that inky pool of sleep, consumed by a chilly embrace that feels like home.