Page 44 of A Match Made in Hell

He portals us into his sitting room.

I avoid looking at the bedroom door and drop on to the couch, suddenly boneless.

I failed. I really failed. I’m not going home.

It feels like a weight has been lifted only for another to be dropped straight on me, because Sath still hasn’t said one thing to suggest he’s pleased about the development.

A drink is placed on the table. I don’t touch it. Sath downs his in one and sits beside me, keeping a careful distance. We’re like two bookends with no tomes between us, just empty space and unsaid words. I have so many things to ask him but, for once, can’t bring myself to speak.

Sath breaks the silence. ‘What were you thinking?’

‘I was thinking . . .’ I muster the energy to shoot him a glare. His lack of enthusiasm is starting to grate. ‘That Aric’s a bastard who deserved to be stabbed. He was threatening everyone here.’

‘Aric’s always been a bastard,’ Sath retorts. ‘All you had to do was control yourself for once and you –’

‘What did you think would happen?’ I throw the words at him like weapons. ‘He’s been torturing us for months. Following us around, making his sly threats, sharpening his teeth. He attacked Henry yesterday. What did you think I’d do when I was presented with a knife and locked in a room with him?’

‘I thought, after everything you’ve overcome, you’d pass.’

‘Well, I chose not to.’ We glower at each other. ‘Sorry all your effort went to waste. Aric told me what you did. How you promised he could kill me if he kept quiet about that day in the games room. Did you promise him Harper too?’

‘Of course not,’ Sath says, sounding weary.

‘After your fight, I saw an opportunity. I told him if he let what happened go then he’d get his chance for revenge.

I lied to him, not you. He was supposed to antagonise you during wrath, yes, but he couldn’t attack first and I assumed you’d have the sense not to attack him.

And I never gave permission for him to hurt Harper. ’

‘Then you’re an idiot. Of course he hurt Harper. He’s a monster.’ My hands shake. ‘And if I’m a monster for hurting him back, so be it. Guess I always belonged here.’

Sath looks away. The dismissive gesture is like a knife to my own gut. ‘You say that like it’s a good thing.’

‘Isn’t it?’ My voice is small as I ask the question that’s been on my mind since I saw his face in the pit. ‘Is it that terrible, that I’m staying?’

I’m staying . The realisation seeps in further, a trickle of water pushing through a dam until the knowledge bursts. I’m dead. I’m dead, and I’m staying that way.

And Sath doesn’t care.

‘Is this about your concession? Was it really more important than –’ I already know the answer; it’s written all over his face.

It was. Every moment we had together was all designed to help me pass, to get him whatever it was he wanted so badly, and now I’ve failed I’m no good to him.

I will him to contradict me, to offer me some modicum of comfort.

‘You’ll end up in the Void, Willow.’

That is the opposite of comforting. But if he thinks he can scare me, he’s wrong. ‘So, the no-punishment-for-failing thing was a lie? Well, fine. Bring it on. I hear my mother’s voice so often I may as well be in the Void already. She can’t hurt me any more.’

‘It was all for nothing,’ Sath mutters. I’m not sure he’s been listening to me at all. His eyes are fixed on his empty tumbler, but his gaze is unfocused, his mind elsewhere. ‘It’s over. I can’t . . .’ He gets to his feet and begins to pace, steam rising from the carpet.

‘Sath?’ The last time he looked this lost, it was the day I made him kill those demons. ‘What are you talking about?’

‘You were supposed to . . . You can’t . .

. They’ll kill you. You’ll go to the Void, and you’ll be nothing, and I – you’ll be nothing .

’ His voice cracks. ‘You’ll be gone. Gone .

’ With each repetition of the phrase something rumbles in the distance, building into a crescendo; flames spark down his arms, stronger than ever.

‘ Sath .’ There’s nothing to be done when he’s in this state. I settle for propelling myself across the room and gripping his arm. ‘Sath. Stop.’

His expression is feral when he turns to me, eyes fully aflame. Black strands of wild, untamed hair droop over his forehead. His shoulders heave as he pants.

The room shakes again, harder this time, like everything’s been tilted on an axis, and we stumble and slide into the bar as though we’re on a slippery slope.

I wince as my arm cracks against the marble.

The room pitches again. Sath does a better job of bracing himself this time, planting himself wide before gripping my waist and pulling me into him before I go tumbling.

‘What’s happening?’ I raise my voice to be heard over the sound of rock crunching deep below my feet. ‘Is it the gates?’

Cold, prickling fear creeps down my spine.

‘Sath.’ I place a hand on his chest. His heart is thundering. He shudders beneath my touch, but the frantic beating slows a smidge. ‘You can’t lose control.’

The look he gives me is one of utter, utter hopelessness.

‘It’s inevitable,’ he whispers.

Every part of me aches for him. There’s nothing I can say or do to help though, so when he turns away from me, I don’t protest. The gates have quietened now, at least, and the room has taken a temporary reprieve from trying to throw me around.

‘There’s only one thing I can do,’ he says. ‘I haven’t got a choice.’

I place a hesitant hand on his arm and immediately flinch away, because he’s hot , burning up, like his flames and power have erupted. My hand is red and scalded, as though I’ve accidentally doused it in water from a freshly boiled kettle.

He moves, making a sound that’s half scream, half roar. I crash into a stool in an attempt to get away. Hairs lift on the back of my neck, my breaths coming in rapid bursts.

And then Sath spins round, and I stop breathing at all.

There’s a heart in his hand. Why is there a heart in his hand? I scan his chest for evidence he’s just clawed inside himself, but his jumper is unmarred.

‘Take it,’ he says. ‘I’m giving it to you.’

I hear the words. I don’t understand them.

There’s a heart in his hand.

It’s black and shrivelled; rivers of blue veins glisten as they snake and coil around the organ. It pulses in his palm, slow and steady and alive.

‘What . . . ?’

‘Take it.’ He drops the heart into my palms. It’s heavy, and curiously dry. Despite my mild disgust, my thumb runs over it, feeling the bumps and ridges along the surface. If I close my eyes, I can pretend I’m holding a large raspberry. A beating raspberry.

‘Is it yours?’ I ask.

Wait.

If this is his, it clearly holds some of his powers. I don’t see how else it would still be working if not for magic. What if . . . ‘Would I be able to leave with this?’

He doesn’t answer. He stares at me, then at the heart, as though if he looks hard enough he can will me into action.

‘I don’t understand.’ My tongue feels heavy in my mouth. If this is my salvation, I don’t want it. I chose not to go back.

‘You did enough. You have to have done enough.’ Sath’s eyes glisten. ‘Take the heart.’

‘But . . . I . . .’ This doesn’t make sense. Something’s not right. His hands capture mine, closing my fingers around the heart, desperate almost. The heart pulses, fluttering with panic, like a bird that can’t beat its wings as fast as it’d like.

‘Please,’ Sath says. ‘Put it next to your chest and the heart will do the rest. It knows what to do.’

It? What does he mean it ? It’s him, it’s his, it’s been held in place by his ribcage for all the centuries he’s been here, and he’s giving it away like an old pair of shoes.

‘Or,’ a voice says from the doorway, ‘you can be a good girl and hand it over here.’