Oracle of ruin, p.24
Oracle of Ruin, page 24
I hardly remember the rest of the walk back, my memory foggy. Darkness claims me for a few moments as I slip in and out of consciousness. The only sure memory I have is of Amír’s hands holding the brunt of my weight.
My mind only clears once we reach the inn and the gunslinger unceremoniously dumps me on the couch. She hisses something under her breath to Rowan that leaves the man uncharacteristically silent.
He stumbles over, his face still white as if he has seen a wraith on the walk home. “Are you alright?”
He’s trying. I can see how clearly the words strain him. He’s asking because he loves me, and because he wants me to know he still loves me. But what I did, what he’s seen… It’s hard to put it plainly. There’s no other way to say it.
I part my lips to respond, but only a startled croak emits. The sound seems to trigger something in my body that leads to violent coughs and convulsions.
Rowan’s eyes go wide, and as if on instinct, he unfastens his cape and throws it over me. “I will go get some water. Stay here,” he commands.
Had I any voice, I might have responded that there is nowhere for me to go, nor could I move if I want to. But nothing but a whimper emits, so he is off to find water.
Blaine and Torin shuffle in, their faces drawn. Blaine settles heavily on the chair beside me, Torin opting to sit on the arm of the couch and stroke my hair. I question him with my eyes, quite plainly wondering when he arrived.
“I was on my way to the inn when I heard the gunfire. We spoke a bit on the walk home.” Then he frowns. “Do you not remember?”
I shake my head, the motion sending heat splintering behind my eyes. Stars dance behind my eyelids when I squeeze them shut, streaking gold and red. Someone tips water between my lips, parting them with their thumb. Rowan’s blurry face smiles softly at mine when I open my eyes, looking much more like the man I know. He strokes that thumb across my chin and dabs away my sweat with a damp cloth, allowing me to take small sips when I want.
“Thank you,” I murmur, “but can I speak with them alone for a moment?”
Rowan didn’t need to see me like this, not when I know how much it is costing him. Hesitance coats his mannerisms, but he stands nonetheless, and passes the cup off to Torin before leaving the room. Blaine hooks his hand under my arm, the other flying to the small of my back as I attempt to reach a seated position.
“I’m scared.”
“No shit. You scared us too.”
Torin glares at Blaine for the remark but offers to me in a more gentle tone, “We were worried for you. All I saw was you in the snow and you looked like a ghost.”
“It was out of control,” I offer with a shuddering breath. “The darkness. I couldn’t stop it. I thought… I thought…”
It almost killed me. Despite the sacrifices, despite my blood, it almost killed me. Fear is smothered by a mask of rage. Mavis is blessed, not even a pureblood, and yet she can wield such power without anything like this. Do I just need more training? Am I not good enough?
Blaine’s gray eyes are iron as they peer over his straight nose at me. It isn’t fair how he can still look like he has been chiseled by the gods while being infuriated. My face goes all red and my voice pitchy. I never stand a chance in an argument.
Torin’s nimble fingers have woven a small, mindless braid at the bottom of my hair. He promptly unbraids it then creates two instead before undoing those as well and taking to twirling the hair around his finger. His voice is smooth and charming, not too unlike the charm he’s used on his many admirers. The manipulator’s voice, yet it is honest when speaking to me. “You are pure light, Vera. In a world of chaos, the darkness is going to try to smother you.”
I take another shaky breath, my ribs rattling with the minuscule motion. “I think I’ve been consumed by the darkness for so long that it’s starting to call back. What happens if I let it?”
“Then we all die.”
Torin bristles. “Blaine. With respect, fuck off.”
The former captain only shrugs, his shoulders square and his mouth forming a taut line. Even without his title or his armor, he cuts an imposing figure.
“It’s true. If she fails, we die. This is war. I don’t have time to make jokes and metaphors. She sorts this power of the pureblood shit out, or none of us stand a chance.” He snarls when he catches Torin’s scowl. “What? Can you suddenly kill a Kijova? How about an army of them? Last I checked, she’s the only one who can.”
“He’s right,” I admit, my shoulders slumping.
The two men stare at my face, slack-jawed and borderline pale.
“What?” I finally snap.
“I just never thought I’d hear those words come from your mouth. Ever.”
“I can admit my faults, thank you. It feels like that’s all I’ve been doing lately.”
It is true. I’ve been failing as far back as my memory goes. I failed Irene constantly, not that I cared about that anyhow. I failed Blaine, then I failed him again when he returned to war. Then Tanja, the Nightwalkers, Mavis, now the only family I’ve ever known.
I promised them an answer. I promised them I would find the key to unlocking this power and save them.
How am I supposed to save them if I can’t even save myself?
I doze off not long after. I awake a few times during the day to hushed voices and golden light streaming through the window. Someone moves me to my bed at some point, but I continue to doze through the entirety of daylight, only awaking to the sound of an owl outside my window.
Rowan sits at the foot of the bed, his elbows braced on his powerful thighs. His head hangs low like a man in prayer, though I know him better. I’m drawn to him as if on instinct, crawling forward and looping my arms around his shoulders.
“You’re awake.” Not a hint of tone laces his voice. Just pure exhaustion.
I push a kiss into his shoulder before resting my chin between the juncture of his jaw and clavicle. “I am,” I whisper, not even sure what to say. My voice is gravelly with disuse, my mouth dry and tongue heavy. I can feel his chin bob as he nods.
“You and Derrín were supposed to leave tomorrow at first light. To find the Oracle.”
Shit. I nearly forgot, too consumed by the thought of avenging those girls through Lars’s death, girls whose faces and names I never even knew. I packed my bags days ago and they rest in the corner of the room, leaning against the doorframe.
“We will still go. Clearly, I am well rested.”
My joke falls on deaf ears as Rowan shudders. “You used dark magic.”
“I did.”
I can feel each breath he takes as he forces them to be even, feel his shoulders stiffen beneath my touch. He leans forward and rises, forcing me with him. Though there might only be a few inches between us, the distance in the air presses heavy against me. My feet stay rooted to the floor, the rest of my body threatening to follow suit.
“Even after… after all it’s… Dammit. This is harder than I thought.”
His distress presses steel into my heart and I step forward, wrapping my arms around his center again. My head rests against his chest, listening for that heartbeat. It seems to drag beneath my touch.
“You deserved better, so I became better. For you.” He runs his hand through his hair as he looks at me. Tired, he looks so tired.
Gripping tight to his sleeve, I plead with him. “I know.”
“And what of what I deserve?” He moves out of my grasp, and my heart begins to race. Control is slipping out from between my fingers faster than I can grapple for the pieces.
“What?”
“I deserve better than this, Vera. I don’t deserve for you to play with my heart. You know what dark magic did to my family, to me. And yet you still…” His jaw clenches. “I can’t keep doing this, whatever this is.”
My heart lurches into my throat. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying that if this is how things are going to be, then I’m done. We are done.”
The pain of the statement forces me to double over myself. My fingertips press into my chest as if I can force the broken fragments together. I’ve considered many things since I’ve returned, and a life without Rowan is not something I thought to picture. Rage creeps into the crevices of my soul, rebuilding a wall from the rubble of the one I tore down.
I laugh drily. “You will see me as your equal or you won’t see me at all.”
“I do, Laei… Why do you think I’m telling you all this?” Rowan runs his hand through his hair, taking a step back. Widening the berth between us. Something in that one simple step lights a fire in my chest.
“Oh, so when you act like this, it’s fine, but when I do, suddenly, I’m a monster?”
“You’ve changed,” he murmurs warily.
“So what if I have? Things are different now, Rowan. I’ve seen people die. People I love die!”
“So have the rest of us, Vera. We aren’t here for fun. We are all trying to protect the people we love. That’s why I—” He pauses, his gaze downcast and breathing labored.
“That’s why you what?” I spit back, too pissed off to care for the pain in his voice.
“That’s why I’m trying to stop you.”
My heart stills in my chest, the sound of blood rushing filling my ears as I weigh his words. Because when I cut you, he bleeds. That’s what Mavis said.
Space. I need space and time alone. This is a choice I have to make, to save everyone, and I can’t do that if he’s here stopping me.
“Nothing good comes from dark magic, Vera. Hell, it’s in the name! Dark magic!” Rowan shouts at my turned back as I begin to walk towards the door.
Shut up. Stop making this harder than it is, I plead mentally before I whirl around to face him again. “You told me yourself that Raonkin wasn’t evil, that it was Deungrid, so why are you trying to stop me? She’s the victim here.” I’m the victim here. “The Oracle can help us.”
“I know that, but it still exists. The curse—it catches up with you, and not even you can outrun this.”
Back and forth. Each word we trade like new lacerations on our hearts. We cut deep enough to wound, to bleed, but never to kill. And gods, we know how to hurt each other worse than anyone else.
“And you’d know, wouldn’t you?”
Stop. I need to stop before it’s too late, but I can’t.
His eyes darken.
“We still haven’t talked about that, you know. Or anything you’ve done, really. So stop playing all high and mighty with me when you’ve been lying this whole time.”
“Everything I did, I did to protect you. What would you have done if you saw Blaine then? You would’ve made things worse for both of you.”
“And I would’ve left the palace that night and no one would have died,” I snap, narrowing my gaze.
The bitter and ugly truth. If he had simply told me where Blaine had gone, I would’ve left early to help him. I would’ve been gone before Ophelus was ready. No one would have died. Tanja would not have died. I force myself to swallow the lump in my throat and press my forehead against the cool stone wall.
Every muscle in Rowan’s body turns to stone. He stills as if the chill of the room has seeped into his blood and frozen him from the inside. It has always been his instinct to fight his way out of conflict and he has never been the type to be good with his words. He’s never needed them before now and he’s trying. Gods, is he trying.
He runs his tongue over his lips and when he speaks again, the words are strained. “I understand.”
“You understand nothing,” I hiss. “Nothing at all. Are you the only one able to kill a Kijova? Are you the supposed chosen one who has to save everyone? I have the whole world on my shoulders, Rowan, and there is no one who can take that away. No one who can even share or begin to understand that.”
His lips part softly in an expression I recognize quickly. I saw it every day in Mavis’s compound when the others saw past their fear to notice the loosely fitting clothes and my wobbly steps. Pity. This deep, embedded sadness that they know they cannot save me from this fate, no matter how desperately they want to.
Because they still think I am too weak to handle it.
Even though the anger in the room has dissipated, I force ice back into my words, fighting my instincts to erase any bit of progress we have made. “Besides, isn’t this what you wanted? What you trained me for?”
A blink, and the pity is gone. I can practically see the walls go up, the barbs of defense lacing his tongue. “I was training you to be able to defend yourself.”
“Really? Is that what all those missions were for? You made me this,” I spit with as much venom as I can muster and beat my fist into my chest. “Congratulations, you have your weapon.”
“I’ve made mistakes,” he pleads, but there’s a bite behind his words now. Even as his voice grows watery and his hands shake, there is something darker lurking beneath. Something that calls to my own darkness. “But all I want now is you.”
He may think he means those words. Looking at him and knowing him, I believe him when he says he believes that. But he doesn’t. He wants who I was before he broke me. Before he and Mavis and Lucius and this whole world decided to fuck me over.
“You don’t get to judge me for the blood I’ve spilled when you put the knife in my hand.”
His gaze is hard, but I force myself to hold it. Force him to understand.
“I’m going. I won’t expect you to be awaiting me when I return.”
Then a pause at the door.
“Goodbye, Rowan.”
Chapter 31
Verosa
I don’t know where I thought I was going when I left my room, but I am far too angry to turn back. No, it is not anger. It is fear and sorrow and pride. These force my feet to move forward until they melt back into anger and I find myself standing outside a specific door.
Rowan was the one who helped change my mind on the blessed and the cursed, who showed me that the only fundamental difference between us is something as trivial as blood color. So how can he expect me to believe him again now that he says we are not equal? Not in ability, anyway.
Because the shadow show in the forest proves him right. Because I was completely out of control and was going to be killed. If I hadn’t by some god found the power to settle the darkness, it would have engulfed me. The curse is real, and as unfair as it is, that is the key difference between the cursed and the blessed. Why must it be that way?
I knock once before opening the door.
“Hi,” I whisper softly as I enter the dark room.
A beat of silence, then the near-silent sputter of a match as the flame transfers to a candle. The light traces the form of a simple bed, a few books, and the man I’ve come searching for.
Blaine sits at the edge of his bed, one leg resting on the worn wooden frame. He cuts an imposing shape even in the dim light, his hulking form seemingly shrinking the rest of the room. His face softens by a fraction. “Hey,” he responds with the same tender softness that mine had.
Each footstep echoes through the room, the rest of our motions silent as if our bodies are terrified to break the quiet peace. His shoulders square and muscles tense as I settle next to him, my knees pressed against his thigh.
“What are you doing here?”
The hell if I know. Something like a thread tugged my feet until I found myself standing outside his door, dawn not yet brushing against the sky. Perhaps it was anger, or that constant longing for the comfort of familiarity. Whichever it was, it brought me to Blaine.
“Why are you up?” I ask instead, leaning my head against his shoulder.
He stiffens for a moment before relaxing, allowing his hand to rest in the space between our thighs. Not close enough to be holding or touching me, but enough so that each time I shift, I can feel his knuckles scrape against my leg.
Blaine laughs lightly, holding up the book in his hands. “Just needed to occupy my mind.”
He doesn’t need to say why. He’s grown more distant in the past few days since we announced Derrín and I would be leaving to find the oracle. It is not the type of distant it used to be back when we were in the palace. Then, it was cold and forced indifference. This time, the space between us is filled with longing, tension, and dare I say regret.
I inhale sharply, shattering the quiet. “I can help.”
The words slip past my lips before I can realize what I am saying. What I am doing.
Blaine watches my motions with deadly stillness as I idle closer. I feel no warmth as my skin meets his, no shocks to fleck my skin with gooseflesh. I push myself closer to him, my torso tightly pressed to his.
My lips move against his jaw, sending each breath he takes rattling through my skull. My fingers reach up to his lips as he clenches his jaw, restraining himself even now as I offer myself wholly to him.
His breath ceases to warm my face as he inhales sharply. He’s holding his breath. The sight of him so unraveled by our close proximity should ignite that old heat. It doesn’t. Maybe if I just…
I’m halfway on top of him now, my lips only a breath away from his. He smells like before the world went to shit. Spice from the local bakery. Some earthy scents from the days we would run from the inner palace. Home.
My lips brush against his, and as I am about to move a hair further, his hand clamps over my mouth, shoving me just far enough away. My back hits his mattress, his body kneeled over mine. His breathing is ragged and his gaze dark. The muscles in his arm tense as he holds me there. Close enough to hold and yet far enough to be out of reach.
“Don’t kiss me,” he murmurs huskily. “Not while you’re still thinking of him. I won’t be your replacement because you’re pissed off that you can’t have what you want.” His voice should be filled with rage or desire, but there is only sorrow in his dark eyes as they bore down on me.
I swallow thickly, and he flinches as he feels my lips brush against the hand that covers them. Slowly, he lowers it and I breathe deeply.
