Alchemised, p.69
Alchemised, page 69
She lay there, still feeling phantom fingers tearing her apart; her body was unutterably cold, reliving the cold, snowmelt water. She pulled more blankets onto herself, stealing Lila’s bedding, and huddled, trying to sleep, to escape from the deadness Soren had left inside her. Every time she closed her eyes, Soren’s final memories and sensations flashed through her mind.
She hadn’t brought back his ability to feel pain or emotions, but her own mind dutifully tried to fill in those blanks, phantom sensation and terror rippling through her until her mind threatened to fissure, splitting between two realities.
It was only pain that drew her back into herself. She kept pinching at her skin, scratching at it. It wasn’t intense enough. She needed something stronger.
She blinked and found herself holding one of Lila’s knives, a second away from shoving it through her left forearm.
She dropped it and fled the room, wandering half blindly through the empty hallways of the Tower. It was night, quiet; almost everyone was asleep. It was so eerily still. She was consumed with a sort of mania.
She stumbled outside, hoping that the clear air would help centre her.
Lumithia hung overhead, bright as a white sun in the black abyss.
Helena’s eyes throbbed just looking up at her. The Ascendance always put everything on edge, but Helena was already on edge. Ascendance had shoved her right over.
She closed her eyes and she was drowning again, nails dragging welts across her skin.
Kaine.
Kaine would know what was wrong. He’d understand. He used necromancy; he must know how to deal with this.
Without pausing to think, she headed for the Outpost. The destination was deliriously urgent. Curfew would be soon. She had to get through the checkpoints.
The streets of the city were like silver ribbons gleaming under full Ascendance, the shadows like teeth.
Just a little farther, she kept telling herself with every step. Until she was across the bridge, the river high and roaring beneath her, the tenement looming in front of her.
It was only when she reached the steps that she stopped to think.
She’d promised Kaine she would never come to the Outpost unless there was a Resistance emergency. He was a spy. It was dangerous for him. She’d given her word.
She’d risk his cover—endanger him.
She turned away.
Without a destination, her focus fractured.
Soren. Helena. Soren.
She felt her jaw give way, cold air and blood as her oesophagus tore open. Fingers gouging into her eye sockets. Water closing over her head. She was drowning but couldn’t die, so she just kept drowning.
When her consciousness found her again, she was lying on the ground. The black sky, dark as ink, loomed overhead as Lumithia bore down, a scorching cold in Helena’s resonance.
“Marino, what have you done to yourself?”
She was barely conscious of being lifted off the ground. Hot hands touching her face and forehead, driving away the drowning cold. She burrowed into the heat.
She was delirious. Truly delirious now, because Kaine was there with a giant winged dog standing behind him.
She’d never had a hallucination before, but all things considered, it was oddly pleasant. Kaine was like a furnace, and when she buried herself in his arms, face pressed against his chest, she could scarcely feel the cold dead fingers anymore.
“Soren Bayard died and I—I brought him back, but the other necrothralls tore him to pieces. I can’t stop remembering how it felt. I think he took part of me with him. How do you do it again and again without going insane? Is it like this forever?”
One of his hands tilted her head back so she could see his eyes. In the moonlight, the grey glowed almost as bright as Lumithia, his hair gleaming that same colour.
“Had you ever used necromancy before?”
She shook her head.
“I don’t suppose anyone told you how to do it, did they?” He exhaled, the back of his fingers pressing against her forehead. “You had the shit luck of knowing him, too. You’re going into shock.”
A hysterical laugh bubbled up from her. Of course no one had told her how to perform necromancy.
He shushed her, pulling her back against his chest, warding off the way her skin crawled with the memory of decaying fingers burrowing into it. “You tried to bring him back, didn’t you? Idiot. You’re freezing cold.”
She didn’t struggle as he half carried her towards his giant dog.
On closer inspection, it wasn’t a dog, but a wolf with bright-yellow eyes, and it was the size of a warhorse, with wings the size of—
She didn’t know of anything on earth with wings that large.
Kaine pushed her up and set her on a saddle cinched behind the wings, and then swung atop behind her. Helena’s eyes fluttered shut as she sagged against him, tensing at the sensation of icy-cold fingers tearing open her skin. The creature hunched down, muscles rippling beneath thick fur. There was a lurch, then a sickening jerk that nearly threw Helena off.
Without warning, they were airborne.
Wind stung across her face, and her eyes rolled back. She was barely conscious of anything except Kaine behind her and the cold wind screaming in her ears.
Then she was sliding down, her legs giving out, and Kaine caught her before she hit the ground. They were standing somewhere so high up, the night so bright, that she could see beyond the mountains. She’d never been so high.
She looked around. She was on a balcony and alone with Kaine. For the first time in years, she felt a sense of distance from it all, looking down onto the East Island, cratered by years of war, cast in moonlight.
The air was thin, as if she were back in the mountains, the world dreamily still.
She held out a hand, letting the silver coat her skin.
“Do you think this is what my subconscious thinks I want?” she asked, peering towards the light of the Alchemy Tower’s beacon gleaming like a small golden sun. “To run away from the war with you?”
Kaine’s expression was unreadable as he pulled her back from the railing. There was a dark doorway, and he led her through it and into a hallway. After the silver brightness of the city, her eyes struggled to adjust.
“What do you want?” he asked.
His voice seemed to come from the darkness.
Her eyes burned and she reached, feeling the wall under her fingertips.
“I don’t want to always be alone,” she said. It was easier to be honest in the dark. “I want to love someone without feeling like if they know, it’ll end up hurting them. People who love me always die. No matter what I do, it’s never enough to save them. I have to love everyone from a distance, and I’m so lonely.”
Her eyes blurred, and then the darkness fell away, revealing a large room with a roaring fire. The place was lavish. The Holdfasts’ city residence had once been like this, filled with gilded furniture that glittered in the firelight.
It was elegant but impersonal. There wasn’t anything to make the place feel lived-in.
She looked back; Kaine was standing behind her. His black clothes were limned by the glowing firelight, adding a flush of gold and ember red to his almost monochrome appearance. He still had that otherworldly glow about him.
“You don’t have to be alone,” he said.
She looked down, wanting to fall headlong into the fantasy of believing that; to feel good for a little while, and tell herself it would do no harm.
But she knew that was a lie. Her mind was never quiet enough to let her enjoy anything without thinking about its consequences.
“Why? Because of you?” she asked bitterly, going towards the fire instead, sinking onto her knees in front of it. She couldn’t think she was drowning here. She shook her head. “I don’t get to care about you.”
Her chest clenched, fingers curling into fists. “If I care about you—I won’t be able to use you. And you’re the only hope I have of keeping everyone else alive.”
She curled in on herself, staring at the dancing flames. Somewhere on the Outpost, she was lying on the ground, going into shock, possibly freezing to death.
“Then use me,” Kaine said. He was right next to her. He pulled her close and tried to kiss her.
She jerked away. “No! No, I can’t.” She shook her head. Wake up, Helena. “I don’t want to do that to you. You don’t—deserve that. I can take care of myself.”
He wouldn’t let go.
“You don’t have to push me away to protect me,” he said in a hard, familiar voice. “I can take it. You can stop being lonely. I won’t misunderstand. I know you just want someone to be with.”
She looked for a door. An escape.
He didn’t let go. “Helena…”
She stilled at her name.
“I’m alone, too,” he said.
A lump rose in her throat, her heart pounding. “But I don’t want to hurt you, you don’t deserve—”
He kissed her, swallowing her objections. She didn’t struggle when he pulled her into his arms. The heat of the fire faded until there was only the heat of him, his lips warm against hers, his hands cradling her face. Then there was the softness of a bed beneath her back, pillows and sheets, and she pulled him closer, fingers seeking the buttons on his coat and unfastening them, but he caught her hands in his, holding them captive against his chest, and drew back. He tilted her face into the light.
She stared dazedly at him as he pressed the back of his hand against her forehead and tucked her in as if she were sick and needed nursing.
When she tried to sit up, he sat down next to her and let her huddle close, face buried against his chest.
“Necromancy doesn’t—bring someone back…” he said, “but that can be hard to remember in the moment. When it’s someone you know, when you can feel the span of their loss, it’s instinctive to think it costs that much to bring them back. What you did with Bayard was put a part of yourself into reanimating him. In other circumstances, you could have reversed it, untethered yourself, but he took all of it with him when he was destroyed.”
There was a pause.
“You’ll recover, but it’ll leave a scar. You just have to stay grounded until your mind learns not to go there. Lucky for you, animancy should help with that.”
“Did this ever happen to you?”
He was silent for a minute. “Something similar once, but it was a long time ago.”
Helena curled closer to him, listening to his heartbeat.
He was alive. She had kept him alive. She found his hand, pulling it up near her chin, holding it in both of hers, tracing the ridges of his knuckles, lacing her fingers along them. Just holding on.
She lifted her head to look at him.
He didn’t move, not even when she let go of his hand to reach up and touch his face. Or when she shifted near enough to brush her lips against his cheek. Her fingers traced across his cheekbones, and she kissed his temple and his forehead. Then, hesitantly, she pulled him closer and kissed him on the mouth.
He was fire to touch.
She kissed him slowly until his arms slid around her back and he returned it.
She didn’t know if what she was doing was holding on or letting go.
The first thing his fingers found were the pins in her hair. Her braids tumbled down her back, his fingers combing through them until her hair was loose. His hand tangled through it as he kissed her again.
The kisses were slow. It wasn’t seething or rushed or guilty, but it was still desperate, because he always made her desperate.
She kissed him the way she’d wanted to. The way she’d secretly wished she could.
She could have this.
Once.
She gave a low sob. He paused, but she held on, not letting him go.
“This—is the way I wanted it to be,” she admitted. “With you. I wanted it to be like this with you.”
He went very still.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry it wasn’t,” he finally said, pulling her closer.
Had he ever actually been like this? She wondered sometimes how much of her drunken memory of kissing him was real. Or if she’d invented all the intimacy to replay when her life felt too void of any tenderness.
“It doesn’t matter,” she said, resting her head on his shoulder.
“Yes, it does. Let me give you this now.” He drew her face to his and kissed her. Slow and intent.
Like a star, he was glittering and ice-cold from afar, but when the space was bridged, the heat of him was endless.
His lips didn’t leave hers as his hands found the buttons on her shirt and underclothes, unfastening them slowly this time. The fabric whispered across her skin as his fingers traced along her spine. His mouth followed the curve of her collarbones, fingers drawing her head back so he could taste the dip of her throat.
She fumbled at his clothes. Her fingers were unsteady, but there was no rush this time. She managed the buttons one by one.
He was unfathomably gentle. His touch light, and yet it made her feel as though a flame were kindled inside her, a desire that made her ache.
It wasn’t too fast, or too much before she was ready. He went as slowly as she wanted him to.
When he pushed inside her, his eyes were fastened on her face. “Is this all right? Is it good for you?”
She gave a gasp and nodded. Because it was good this time.
“It’s good. Don’t stop,” she said, gripping him by the shoulders, pulling him nearer. She could feel the scars of the array spanned beneath her fingers. She didn’t know how he could be so calm with all that power humming beneath the surface of his skin.
His forearms were around her head as though framing her, his fingers laced in her hair. When he started to move, he pressed his forehead against hers, their breath intermingling.
When he kissed her, it felt like the beginning of something that could be eternal.
It happened so gradually, she almost forgot that there was more to it. They could have stayed like that, lost in each other, and it would have been more than enough. She breathed in against his neck, tasting his skin with the tip of her tongue, memorising his scent, the feel of him in her arms.
The world beyond them had ceased to exist. He knew how to trail his fingers across her skin so that she was gasping, kiss her so that her legs wrapped tight around his hips, and move so slowly that, at first, she didn’t notice the coiling tension inside her. That lurking hunger.
But of course there was more, and Kaine was looking for it. All his meticulous attention to when her breath caught, what angle made her hips rise in response, when she caught her lip between her teeth to hold back a low moan, body shuddering. He entwined their fingers and noticed when she gripped him, squeezing so tight her nails bit into his knuckles, breath growing short.
The pace and friction and contact increased, growing into something larger and deeper than comfort.
When he slid his hand between her legs, she instantly flinched away. The comfort vanished. She went cold all over, trying to twist, wanting to escape, turning her face away.
“No.” She tried not to panic, but this was all a mistake. “No, don’t.”
He withdrew his hand and cradled her face, kissing her. “You get this part. This is yours.”
She shook her head. “No. It’s not.” She drew in on herself, chin down, speaking rapidly. “When I became a healer, I had to promise I wouldn’t ever—I took the vows—and—and then you said—about Luc, if he knew. I can’t stop thinking about that. That—that I’m a whore—”
Her voice failed.
“I’m sorry.” His hand still entwined with hers tightened. “I’m so sorry. I ruined so much of this for you. This is how it’s supposed to be. Let me give this to you now.”
She didn’t move, her heart pounding against her ribs.
“Please, Helena.”
She gave the barest nod.
“Close your eyes.” His breath whispered against her cheek.
Her eyes fluttered closed as he kissed her.
Without being able to see, her focus was on the sensations, the feeling of his body pressed against hers. The movement of air across her skin. When his lips brushed against the pulse-point of her throat, she moaned. His palm cupped her breast, stroking as he started to move.
He kissed her as he slid his hand between their bodies again, deepening the kiss until her jaw loosened, mouth slack, and pleasure flooded through her, so intense her spine bowed. She gave a ragged gasp against his lips.
She was being wound up, fire igniting, growing, running outwards along her nerves, through her arms and legs until her fingers twisted, tangling in the sheets. Every time he moved or his lips found some new sensitive place, the tension ratcheted inside her, notch by notch, until she was on the verge of fracturing open.
Her breath caught inside her lungs as she struggled, trying to hold herself together, overcome by the terror that she would break apart. She couldn’t.
If she broke, there would never be anyone to pick up the pieces.
“I can’t—” she finally gasped out.
“Helena.” Kaine’s lips brushed across her cheek and temple, his breath ragged. “You get to have this. You’re allowed to feel good things. Don’t be alone. Have this with me.”
He pulled her leg up with one arm, deepening and shifting the angle, drawing the tension higher, and crushed their bodies together, kissing her.
Her eyes shot open.
She stared up at him as her whole world shattered into shards of silver.
“Oh gods—” She sobbed the words out. Her fingernails sank into his arms. “Oh—oh—oh…”
