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Wes. The name tugs at me, reminding me of nights in the Wilds with Tessa. Her quiet smile, her quick hands, her gentle manner. Her intelligence. Her bravery. I fell in love with her by moonlight.
Not my jacket. Harristan’s jacket. I’ll never see my brother again.
Maybe I’ll hold it long enough that I’ll suffocate and die.
but the name reminds me too much of everything I’ve lost. I have to duck my face into the blanket again.
“You should’ve left me alone, and you could’ve had twice as much.” “I’m not watching you kill yourself.” That draws my gaze up. He’s not looking at me either.
“We need to get back to Kandala,” I say quietly. “But if we get out of this cage, I’m going for Tessa first. I’m not going back without her.”
Of every promise I’ve ever made to Tessa. Of wanting to do better. To be better. Of everyone and everything I might never see again. Of everyone I’ve failed—including the man in front of me.
I told him I would find a way to slit his throat in his sleep if he didn’t find us somewhere else. I’ve heard enough empty promises, and I’ve been betrayed by too many men.
Every time I look at him, I think of Corrick being blown off the deck of the ship, and my throat swells. I think of Kilbourne being killed in the hallway, or Lochlan being lost at sea.
So I wake every morning, and I force myself out of bed, even though every fiber of my being wants me to hide in the darkness forever.
He can’t give me what I need. I need to reverse time. I need Corrick back. Sometimes I remember his voice so clearly it’s like he’s beside me, and the memory is so painful that I think my chest is caving in. Please, my love.
I spend a lot of time staring at the water, waiting. I’m not sure what I’m waiting for. It’s not like Corrick is coming back from the dead.
I don’t know how to say that I don’t want to leave the sand in case Corrick comes looking for me. It feels pathetic to even think it. Corrick is never coming back. I swallow the lump in my throat and follow him out onto the dock.
I have to shove aside thoughts of Tessa when I’m like this. She’s a weight in my heart that I feel every time it beats, but she hates this part of me.
I have to choke back a whimper. Please, my love. Forgive me.
And now I’m supposed to go kill someone I’ve never met. Someone who might be just as desperate. Someone who’s helping Rian help these people. Tessa would hate everything about this. I know, my love. I’m trying.
He’s exactly the man Weston Lark would be, if he were real. I swallow and it hurts. She thinks I’m dead. Rian might not harm her, but what I’m imagining him doing is a whole lot worse.
He acts like I was a heartless executioner. I know this is an image I spent years cultivating for myself, but I hate it. I hate that he sees me that way. I hate that everyone in Kandala sees me that way, and I can’t even escape it on an island where no one knows who I am.
Tessa, I’m coming. Forgive me.
I set my jaw, but there’s nothing to say. He’s right. I am stalling. I’ve felt his judgment all day, but being confronted with this accusation makes me feel like a coward, too.
“As usual, I’m confronted with horrific options, yet I’ll be judged for whichever choice I make.
“Maybe I’ll fall and break my neck and all your problems will be solved. You told me to quit stalling. Now it’s your turn.”
It feels like forever since I was last hiding in the darkness, and it’s weird to do it without Tessa beside me. I’d know her emotion without her having to say a word, whether she was feeling brave or frightened, angry or eager. I’d know the pattern of her breathing, the scent of her skin, the meaning of every indrawn breath or frown. I’d give anything to have her here right now.
“I already know you think I’m a monster, Lochlan. It’s the only reason we’re here.” He grabs my shoulder and jerks me back into the alcove. “No,” he growls, his voice low. “I actually kind of hate that you’re not a monster.” His eyes are very dark in the shadows. “But I know you can do terrible things when you have to.”
I can’t be better for Tessa if I can’t get us out of this mess. I steel my spine, and then I tap Lochlan on the cheek, a little too hard to be friendly. “Love you, too. Now cover my back.”
It reminds me of Tessa. Tessa, whose own father was killed right in front of her. I watched it happen. Tessa, who would hate every single part of what we’re doing. Tessa, who sat in front of me on the Dawn Chaser and lectured me about the way I turn every single person I meet into an adversary before I give them a chance to be an ally. Much like I’m doing right now.
Longing. I miss Corrick so very much.
As much as I love Kandala, and as much as I want to do the right thing for everyone, the sorrow is too overwhelming. My knees are in danger of buckling. I press a hand to my abdomen, because my stomach clenches again.
“When my parents died,” I say, “Wes was the only thing that kept me going. He was risking his life to help the people, so that’s how I made it through each day. Knowing he’d be waiting for me in the workshop that night.” “Do you mean His Highness?” I blink and realize I said Wes. In my memories, he’s still Weston Lark. My throat goes tight, and I swallow thickly. “Yes.”
“Are we going to argue over semantics again, Quint?” His eyes hold mine, gleaming in the flickering light. “If it pleases you.” My heart gives a little stutter.
I feel flushed and uncertain and off-balance, and I haven’t felt like this since . . . I don’t know when.
“Thank you for the debate, Master Quint.” “Yes, Your Majesty.” His voice is so calm, so composed. There’s no spark in the air, no blush on his cheeks, which makes me feel foolish. Like my heart got twisted up with my imagination. Over Quint, of all people.
But I’m not pondering all that, because I can’t stop thinking about that stupid list of dates in Quint’s little book.
“Forgive me,” I say, and the words are thin and barely audible. My voice breaks, and I realize I’m crying. Not just for my guards, but for Bert, for Reed, for all of them.
I’m surprised by the sudden pang in my heart when I realize he’s yielded. But he doesn’t leave.
When his hands land on my bare chest, it’s more than a jolt. It’s a lit match. A bonfire. An inferno. His eyes are full of stars, and his hands are so warm, and even though there are a million feelings I should keep buried, a million things I should be doing, I’ve simply run out of strength to care.
His hands slide along the bare skin of my chest, one finding its way behind my neck, the other shifting to take hold of my waist. No one has ever held me, and my entire body is responding in a manner I’m not ready for, easing against him, my breath deepening. His lips part just as his fingers slip along the bare skin of my lower back, and when I feel the brush of his tongue against my own, my whole body jumps.
My eyes flick to his mouth, the curve of his lip. There’s a part of me that longs to touch him again, and I don’t think it would be unwelcome—but I’m not entirely certain. It’s rare that I ever touch anyone at all, and certainly not like . . . this.
“After that,” Quint says, “I started to pay attention. You might not comment or linger, but sometimes men would pass. You would notice.” “Even I have eyes,” I say.
You suffer needlessly. Every one of us still hurts the same, still loves the same, still bleeds the same. Every one of us still dies the same.
In spite of everything, that makes me smile. Quint presses his hands over his heart. “That!” he says. “That smile is what I’ve been longing for.” His gaze turns a bit wicked. “Lusting after. Falling for.” “I don’t believe you.”
I take a piece of paper anyway and write without thinking. Dear Tessa, I’m coming, my love.
I need to lock these emotions away, but we’ve gone in too many directions, and I’m not sure how anymore.
“You can tell me,” she says again. “I’ll listen.” “Corrick wasn’t my husband,” I say, and my voice breaks. “But I loved him.” The tears spill over. “I loved him so much.”
You’re so much more than pleasing to look at. You’re brilliant. You’re flawless. You’re exquisite. Have you not noticed the effort it takes to summon words when I look at you?
Oh, Corrick. My love. I miss him so much that my heart aches. I can hear his voice, smell his scent, feel his touch. I’d give anything for him to be here now.
“Oh, Corrick,” I whisper, and my breath hitches. He’s staring down at me in wonder, as if I’m the one who’s been dead all this time. My thoughts refuse to believe that he’s here, that this is real, that this is possible. “Am I dead?” I say, and my voice breaks. “No, my love.” He takes my hand, and he brings it to his face. He kisses my fingertips, then presses my palm to his cheek. “Very much alive, I promise you.”
“I don’t want you to disappear,” I say, and then I realize I’m crying in earnest. “I won’t,” he says. “Never again. I swear it.” He leans down to kiss me. “I swear to you. Never again.”
“We really do have to stop meeting like this.” It makes me huff a laugh through my sobs, and I grab him around the neck, clutching him fiercely. “And to think I almost killed you.” “That was a good strike,” he murmurs against my neck.
Before I can ask him anything at all, his hands find my cheeks, and his mouth lands on mine. Every emotion pours through his kiss, and this is what finally convinces me he’s real. I can feel his longing. His loss. His worry. His fear. His love. His hope.
