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I’d burn his presence into my soul after that. Every angle of him. Every scent that war carried across the sea breeze.
I’d burn his presence into my soul after that. Every angle of him. Every scent that war carried across the sea breeze.
He was cursed. He was tainted. I could feel that even from here.
He was cursed. He was tainted. I could feel that even from here.
I’m six years old and the salt water hurts and I’m going to die.
The Arachessen taught me that my emotions should always be a calm sea. But sometimes, those storms snuck up on me. And once the waves swallowed me, it was hard to find the surface.
A meaningless touch. Strange thing to crave.
“Hm,” he said. “To think I let such a dangerous creature sleep beside me every night.”
Places had souls. The threads that connected us to locations were just as alive as those that ran through living beings. And the soul of Vasai was rotten. Sick and tangled and festering with the broken dreams of the people who lived here.
“It’s impossible not to notice everything, with you.”
It’s not your fault he ended up this way. You didn’t know he was alive.
I didn’t move my hand from Atrius’s bare chest. Nor did I move when his hand slowly flattened against my cheek, fingers tangling in my hair, cradling my face. And when he came closer, closer until his breath mingled with mine, I let him.
Gods. He was alive, and broken, and familiar, and mysterious, and dangerous, and safe. And for one terrible moment, I wanted so fiercely, I forgot everything else.
His presence was an anchor. I held onto it tight, like a raft in a stormy sea.
And I thought, Yes. Kill them all. And I did not think of the Arachessen, or the Sightmother, or the blessed dagger—or Acaeja at all.
Maybe, if I could see him that way, I would have felt the overpowering urge to draw him, the way I had once felt the urge to draw the sea.
When you see the moon rise, he had said to me once, some might say there’s something more to it than coordinates in the sky.
“In the beginning I doubted you,” he breathed, his words close to my face. “I doubted why the Arachessen would let you leave. But now I see why they didn’t want you. Because you’re just like us. Just as cursed by the past. And that curse just keeps fucking taking, doesn’t it?”
“I understand you. I’m just as broken. Just as angry. I hate them just as much. Nothing will make that alright. Nothing. Once I thought a goddess could. But I was wrong.”
“I already see you, Atrius. I’m not afraid.”
“Tell me to stop.” Four words that could mean so much. Tell me to stop—stop this war, stop the search for redemption, stop the quest for vengeance, stop this, whatever dangerous thing was about to happen in this moment, inching to inevitability. I didn’t want him to stop any of it. I wanted Atrius to destroy the Pythora King. I wanted him to do it slowly, painfully, relishing revenge. I wanted him to let me help. I wanted him to save his people. I wanted him to earn Nyaxia’s respect. I wanted to burn it all down with him. I murmured, “No.”
You make me ravenous.
Because touching Atrius was like immersing myself in every forbidden pleasure at once.
The hand on my stomach, now the only thing keeping me upright, trailed fingers back and forth along my skin. I understood what that movement was saying: I will not hurt you.
I had never felt so close to another soul before. It terrified me. It intoxicated me.
It wasn’t until this exact moment that I realized: as far as Atrius was concerned, I was one of his people.
I could not do it. I would not do it. I sheathed the dagger.
“I’m not asking anything. I’m telling you that I would like that person to be you, Sylina. And you can do with that information what you will.”
“This arrangement isn’t about me. It’s not about us. It’s a title that you deserve because you are a good leader. You are intelligent. You are compassionate. You know what the people of Glaea want and need. You have lived the lives of many here. And I know that if you were to be tasked with their well-being, you would advocate for the lives of these people until your dying breath. That makes you worthy of power, Vivi.” A wry twist of his lips. “And so damned few are.”
So here we were. About to do perhaps the most dangerous, stupidest thing I’d ever done, and if we got ourselves killed, everything would be over. The stakes were, if nothing else, exciting.
“I cannot kill you because I know you, Vivi. I know every moment you lied to me, because I know every moment you told the truth. I know your truth. I can’t ignore it. Even though it would be far easier if I could.”
“I’m not afraid of death.” But I am afraid of this.
It’s worth it. The fight will always be worth it.
