Page 27

Chapter

Twenty-Seven

T he waves rush toward me, swallowing my feet and part of my calves before retreating to the ocean. I sit on the shoreline, the sand hot beneath me as the sun shines above us, unimpeded by any clouds. I removed the cloak and gloves as soon as we got here, wanting to feel the bright rays on my skin.

Movement nearby catches my attention. An orange crab scuttles toward me, freezing when it notices me watching. After a few seconds, it scoots forward another inch. I arch a brow, waiting to see what it will do. Making a wise decision, the crustacean quickly turns around and scampers off, sending a flash of amusement flickering through me. Was it my frightening appearance that scared the creature away?

When Thorne landed here in this secluded cove, I immediately began washing off the blood that stained my neck and chest. The saltwater stung the unhealed cuts, but I refused to stop. Maybe I thought if I could wash away the evidence of the morning, it would be as if it never happened at all. I was able to clear the worst of it from my skin, but the nightgown is beyond repair.

“You might as well come enjoy the water,” I call to Thorne, who’s been pacing through the sand since we arrived. Even with all of his layers, there’s no sweat on his brow. He doesn’t appear to be fazed by the heat at all.

He comes to a halt at the sound of my voice. A second later, he’s kneeling into the sand a few feet away, his eyes intense as he watches me.

“Are you alright?” I ask.

“Me?” His head cocks back incredulously. “Are you alright?”

I open my mouth, but no words come out. For the first time in ages, I can’t bring myself to tell a lie. What’s wrong with me lately? Why can’t I pull myself together and do what has to be done?

“I’ll have to go back soon,” I mutter.

“Back?” He shakes his head, eyes blinking rapidly. “Why would you go back?”

My eyebrows pull together as I tilt my head to the side. “Because I have to.”

“Fuck that,” he growls.

I clench my jaw, getting really tired of his attitude. “You don’t understand.”

“On that, we can agree,” he mumbles under his breath.

We sit in silence for several minutes, both of us stewing as we watch the waves.

“Are you actually a reaper?” I ask one of the many questions that has been bothering me since I learned his true identity last night.

He raises a brow. “That was random.”

“It’s a fair question, given your propensity for lying about who you are.”

He rolls his eyes. “My mother was a reaper, which means I am too.”

“Oh.” I want to ask more questions about her, but I know it’s a sensitive subject for him.

“Can all reapers make shadows?” I ask instead.

“All reapers can wield shadows,” he says, staring out at the waves. “And we can all take a life with only our touch. But both of those abilities manifested differently in me. More vicious. Less controlled,” he admits. “I don’t know if that’s because of how I was raised or because of who my father was.”

I suppose being the child of a God would have an impact on your magic. Everything Thorne told me about his father fills me with hatred for the God I never met. All the stories I’ve heard about Desmond, the former God of Death, lead me to believe he was a beloved leader. Is that how the history books will remember Baylor too?

Pushing those thoughts away, I return to my other pressing questions. “Why did you choose to go by Thorne?”

“Because it’s my name,” he says flatly.

My eyebrows pinch together. “Your name is Killian .”

“Killian Blackthorne,” he corrects me. “My father chose to name me Killian, but Blackthorne was my mother’s last name. Those I’m closest to have always called me Thorne.”

An inkling of warmth blossoms in my stomach at the knowledge that not everything was a lie.

“How old are you?” I ask after clearing my throat. “A thousand?”

He barks out a deep laugh, shaking his head. “Not that old. Not nearly.”

My eyes narrow. “You’re evading the question.”

“Do you truly want to know?” He glances at me from the corner of his eye and I spot hesitance in his gaze. “I fear the answer might disappoint you.”

“Just tell me,” I insist.

“I’m a little over two years into my third decade of life.”

Shock has me nearly tipping over into the sand. “You’re only seven years older than me.”

He shrugs. “If you say so.”

“But—But you’re a God,” I stammer.

His shoulders shake as he chuckles, rich and deep. “I’m afraid being centuries old isn’t a prerequisite. There’s only one requirement for the job.”

It’s what every Heir who ascends into Godhood has in common. Their parent, who held the title before them, must die.

“I’m sorry,” I say, unsure how to approach the subject of his father.

He waves his hand. “Don’t be.”

“The things you’ve told me about your father make him sound horrible.”

“He was.”

“I’m sorry,” I tell him sincerely.

He glances sideways at me. “You said that already.”

“I know.” I dig my fingers into the sand, wishing one of the waves that splashes against my legs would drag me away. “I just… I really mean it. I understand what it’s like to hate your father.”

He’s silent for a few moments. “I suppose you do.”

“I saw mine last night for the first time in fifteen years.”

“How did that go?” he asks hesitantly.

“Surprisingly well.” Relief washes through me as I marvel at the truth of my confession. “I realized I truly don’t care what he thinks of me anymore. It was empowering.”

“Then I’m glad you had that experience,” he says, his tone earnest. “Still, I think if I ever meet him, I’ll likely do to him what I did to that man at the ball.”

“Lord Burgess?” I smile at the thought. “That was fun.”

His eyes widen, and I force a somber expression onto my features.

“Disturbing,” I correct myself quickly. “I meant that was disturbing. Personally, I didn’t enjoy it at all.”

“I’ll bet it was just terrible for you,” he murmurs, amusement filling his tone.

We sit in silence for a few moments, both of us staring at the water as the waves stretch toward us.

“Are you ready to talk about what happened this morning?” he asks finally.

Something ugly twists in my gut. “I don’t know.”

He swallows, and I can tell he’s gearing up to ask one of his pressing questions. “Has that sort of thing happened before?”

“Sometimes,” I admit in a small voice.

His jaw clenches, and his hands dig into the sand. It’s obvious he’s trying very hard to restrain himself.

“Does he—” He cuts himself off, taking a few deep breaths before finishing his question. “Does he force himself on you?”

I shake my head.

“It’s not me,” I whisper. “Not really.”

A puzzled expression crosses his face before his eyes go wide with understanding. “The eidolon .”

I stay quiet, unable to do anything as he uncovers my greatest shame.

“That’s why you refuse to believe it’s a part of you?” he presses, twisting in the sand to face me. “Because of him. And that’s why you’ve kept your ability a secret. So Baylor won’t find out.”

I nod.

“Come to the Fifth Isle,” he begs, leaning forward. “I’ll hide you from him.”

The request sends a wave of shock radiating through me. I turn to face him fully, crossing my legs beneath me.

“Why would you do that?” I ask.

He shifts uncomfortably but doesn’t answer.

“Never mind.” I shake my head. “It doesn’t matter anyway. I can’t leave.”

“You can!” He grabs my shoulders with his gloved hands, and the contact startles me. “Let me help you. Why won’t you just leave?”

“Because of this!” I pull at the collar, wincing as the movement reopens a few of my cuts. “It’s not that I won’t leave. I can’t !”

I know I’m saying more than I should, but I can’t stop myself as the confessions keep pouring out of me.

“No matter how much I hate him, no matter how much I want to be rid of him forever, this fucking noose around my neck keeps me tethered to his side.”

His mouth gapes open as his gaze furiously flits back and forth between the collar and my eyes.

“That’s why you never take it off?” he murmurs softly, almost as if he’s speaking to himself instead of me.

My chin dips as I glance down at my hands twisting in my lap. “He’s the only one who can remove it.”

“Fine,” he says a moment later, his tone resolved. “Then we’ll get rid of the problem.”

My heart flutters at the way he says “we,” as if him helping me is a foregone conclusion. But I push those useless thoughts away, trying to focus on the important part of his sentence. “I told you, he’s the only one who can rem?—”

“I’m not talking about the collar,” he interrupts. “I’m talking about Baylor.”

My head tilts. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying I’ll kill the king.”

Air catches in my lungs. I pull my knees up to my chest, wrapping my arms around them as I shake my head. “You can’t do that. Promise me you won’t kill him.”

“Why?” he demands, pushing himself to his feet. “Give me one good reason I can’t kill that bastard.”

“Because the enchantment won’t fade with his death,” I whisper. “If he dies before the collar is removed, it will be activated.”

“What happens then?”

I meet his gaze. “It tightens around my throat, cutting off my air so I can’t breathe. And if he’s dead, it won’t stop like it usually does. It will keep going until…”

His eyes widen with horror. “Until you suffocate.”

Unable to respond, I turn my head away from him, leaning forward to rest my cheek against my knee. A tear leaks from my eye, tickling me as it trails down my face.

“ Like it usually does ?” he asks slowly. “That’s what you said.”

I don’t respond.

“He’s done this to you before,” he says, a statement of fact rather than a question.

A moment later, the beach is covered in darkness as shadows press in on us from every angle. His snakes slither over the sand, circling me as they hiss at every nearby crustation.

I push myself up, my legs coated in sand. He stands a few feet away, his wings outstretched behind him. In this moment, he’s every bit the menacing God of Death. His eyes are solid black as he watches me with a hard expression.

“That day in his office?” he asks. “When you came out to the hallway, you looked as if you’d been crying, and your face was so pale. I thought perhaps you were just…” he trails off as he clenches his jaw. “He was doing it then, right? He was using the collar against you?”

I nod.

Rage radiates through him at my admission, causing his body to tremble. Shadows press closer as the snakes hiss and snap at invisible threats.

“Tell me how to fix this,” he commands, his body vibrating.

“There’s nothing you can do,” I answer honestly.

“I don’t believe that!” His fingers grip clumps of his hair, pulling at them furiously. “How are you so calm about this?”

My head snaps back. “What makes you think I’m calm?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” He throws his hands up. “How about the fact that you’re standing here so fucking calmly?”

Anger stirs in my gut as I eat up the distance between us. “Do you think I don’t hate this? I do! I’d give anything to be free! But until that happens, I have to be smart! I have to give him whatever he wants and pretend to be his good little pet!”

His eyes darken. “Don’t call yourself that!”

“Why not?” I demand. “You did.”

“And I hate myself for it!” he shouts back at me, taking a step closer. Our chests are nearly touching now. “I should never have thrown that in your face.”

“It’s fine.” I brush it off, uncomfortable with his apology. “Everyone does.”

“That doesn’t make it okay,” he says, his tone softer than before.

He’s right. It doesn’t make it okay. But just like when Naomi hurls hurtful comments at Morwen, it’s easier to pretend it doesn’t sting than to admit the truth. Apathy is the only weapon I have against their attacks. Somehow, I know it would be a thousand times worse if I let them all see how much they’ve broken me.

“I didn’t know at first,” I find myself confessing.

I shuffle back, putting space between us. The shadows have receded somewhat, but the snakes still guard our perimeter.

“Go on,” he says, nodding at me encouragingly.

His wings fold against his back as he forces himself to sit on a large stone. I appreciate the effort he’s exerting to keep his temper in check. I know it’s not easy for him right now.

“When he put it on me, I was only ten years old,” I continue, keeping my gaze on the shore instead of facing at him. It’s easier to divulge shameful truths when I’m not looking at anyone.

“I believed him when he said it was going to protect me.” A dark chuckle claws up my throat. “I was actually excited to have something so nice since my father never let me have beautiful things.”

“Because he’s worthless too,” Thorne grumbles.

“Do you remember down in the tunnels, when I told you that I’d drowned once before?” I ask him in a small voice. “What I didn’t tell you was that it was my father who held me under the water. He—” I cut myself off as I clear the emotion in my throat. “Afterward, he thought I was dead, but I wasn’t. I’d only passed out. And when I woke up, I was in a coffin six feet under.”

Thorne’s fingers dig into the rock beneath him. “Tell me I’m allowed to kill your father.”

I bite my lip against an inappropriate smile and continue without answering him. “That was the chain of events that started all of this. That night, after I crawled out of my own grave and walked home, Baylor was there. He took me away, and I haven’t been home since.”

I squeeze my eyes shut as images flash through my mind of Clara fighting against the guards.

“I’m so sorry.”

I wince. “Don’t apologize to me. I’m not innocent.”

He leans forward, his blue eyes intent on me. “Tell me why you think that? Where does all this guilt stem from?”

I lower my gaze, not wanting to see the expression of disgust on his face when I admit the next part. “There was a time when I believed that I loved Baylor. When I let myself forget everything he’d done. I wasn’t like your mother.” My voice breaks. “I was a willing captive.”

“Look at me,” he demands.

I shake my head. I hear him rise from the rock and stomp through the sand until he’s right in front of me, but still I refuse to do as he asked.

“Look at me, Angel,” he says again, softer this time.

Taking a deep breath, I force myself to lift my chin and meet his gaze. What I find shocks me. Not a single ounce of judgment or disgust clouds his features. There’s no revulsion. Instead, his eyes are full of understanding.

“You have nothing to be ashamed of,” he says, cupping my face in his hands. “We all do what we must in order to survive. No one understands that more than me.”

“I should have been stronger,” I argue.

He shakes his head, using his thumbs to wipe the wayward tears from my cheeks. “You were a child. That kind of strength should never have been required of you.”

His words penetrate some dark corner of my mind. Would I feel the same way if this had happened to someone else? Would I blame any of the women I’ve helped Della rescue? Call them weak because they succumbed to manipulation or abuse? Would I feel the same disgust for Lynal Skinner’s daughter that I do for myself?

Logically, I know I wouldn’t. I’d tell them it wasn’t their fault. But for some reason, it’s so much harder to offer that same grace to myself. There’s too much residual shame built up inside of me. Every time I try to wash it away, I find more hidden deep within the crevices of my mind. To truly cleanse myself of this guilt, I’d have to open up the vault and face every single monster I locked away inside my mental prison.

And I’m honestly not sure I’d survive that.

“What did the queen think?” Thorne’s voice pulls me from my worries.

“Leona?” My eyes widen. “She was… disapproving.” The word feel painfully inadequate. “Baylor convinced me it was jealousy. That she saw me as a threat. She kept insisting that I was too young for him, and I took that as an insult. I spent all of my time with adults and I’d had too many experiences that no kid should ever have to face. So, when she called me a child, it made me even more desperate to prove to her that I wasn’t, that I could handle a relationship with a grown man.”

I go quiet for a moment, searching for the strength to speak my next words. “That’s the thing I’m most ashamed of. That in the last years of her life, we were so at odds. And it was all my fault.”

“What about Remard?” Thorne asks. “Why didn’t he intervene?”

I stiffen. “Remy was different. He never really commented on it.”

His eyes darken as he balls his fists. “Coward.”

I shake my head, hating that anyone would associate that word with Remy. “No, I think he saw how I pushed Leona away and choose to keep his concerns to himself so I’d still have one person in my life I could trust. One person who genuinely wanted the best for me. It’s only now that I’m older that I’ve begun to realize how difficult that must have been for him.”

Feeling tired, I sit back down by the water and let the waves wash over my legs again.

“When did things change?” Thorne asks as he comes to sit beside me. “When did you realize the truth about Baylor?”

“When he asked me to kill Leona,” I confess. His eyes widen, but I don’t stop. “By that point, he’d already begun using the collar to force me to kill people.”

His brow furrows. “What do you mean ‘ force ?’”

I swallow, not wanting to admit this part.

“When he places his hand on the collar, any order he gives must be obeyed,” I whisper. “It’s as if he takes control of my body, making it impossible for me to disobey.”

He goes still at my words, but I keep speaking.

“I hated killing those people,” I insist, my eyes bulging as I plead with him to understand. “But I believed him when he told me they’d plotted treason against him. He’d done so much for me, and I told myself I was being ungrateful for not wanting to protect him. Then one night, he said he had an important assignment for me.”

Would you do anything for me?

Of course.

I shudder at the memory. “He said there was someone who was standing in the way of us being together, that this person was trying to separate us. He told me the only option was for me to kill them. I didn’t even think about it. I just immediately agreed.”

Revulsion roils in my stomach as I recall the smile that crossed his face as he asked me to murder his wife.

“I remember being shocked after he said it was Leona. I couldn’t even speak. I just kept waiting for him to tell me he was joking or something…” I trail off, remembering the way my heart fractured in my chest the moment I realized he was serious. “When I didn’t respond, he got nervous. He started reaching for my collar, and I knew he was going to order me to do it. So, without thinking I just—I slapped his hand.”

The shock on his face in that moment was staggering. Neither of us knew what to do until I shot up and ran from the room. Thankfully, he didn’t follow me.

“That’s when I realized I’d been wrong about everything,” I tell Thorne. “I’d been unbelievably stupid. The next morning, I went to tell Leona everything, but it was too late. She was gone.” My voice cracks as tears stream down my cheeks. “They said she did it to herself, that she went to the veil in the forest to take her own life, but I knew that wasn’t true. Baylor killed her. And it was all my fault.” I squeeze my fists, my body shaking as the guilt overwhelms me. “I should have gone to her immediately. I shouldn’t have waited until morning.”

A gloved hand reaches for mine, forcing my fingers to uncurl as he takes them in his strong hold. “It wasn’t your fault, Ivy.”

My face crumbles. “Then why am I so ashamed?”

The fractured pieces of my soul snap apart as a horrible noise rises in my throat. In this moment, with all of my defenses shattered, I can admit to myself that I want Thorne to have a good opinion of me. But I won’t lie and present myself as something I’m not. I don’t want to lie anymore, not to him.

His arm comes around me, pulling me close without letting our skin touch.

“More often than not, our shame isn’t deserved. It worms its way into our minds, infecting us with guilt for things that were never our fault.” His brows pull together as his eyes search mine. “Do you truly believe Leona would want you to blame yourself this way?”

I shake my head. Deep down I know he’s right, but this kind of pain doesn’t release its hold on a person easily. Some hurts don’t get better with time; instead, they burrow so deep it feels impossible to root them out.

Something tickles my leg, and I glance down to find one of Thorne’s snakes curling around me, laying its shadowy head against my calf. The barest hint of a smile pulls at my lips as I realize it’s trying to comfort me.

My face aches, my eyes raw and strained. I’m sure in this moment I look hideous, but there’s no judgment in Thorne’s eyes as he wipes my tears away and tucks a strand of copper hair behind my ear. Maybe it’s good to break sometimes. Perhaps I’ve shattered myself so fully that the only option left is to begin to heal? And for once, I don’t push the emotion back. I don’t try to lock it behind some mental prison.

I let it out.

Thorne offered to fly me back to my room, but I didn’t want to risk us being caught together. Instead, I had him drop me off near the edge of the forest line, only a short walk to the north entrance of the palace gates. Before he left, he looked like he wanted to say something, but instead, he turned and shot back into the sky. I’ve noticed it’s becoming a habit of his.

Twigs crunch under my bare feet as I make my way through the woods. The trees are thick enough to block out most of the light, creating an eerie atmosphere. If I turned and walked in the opposite direction, I’d soon find myself standing before the veil. The idea of souls being pulled through this forest, unable to deny the call of the lonely stone archway, leaves me cold.

I can’t help but feel sorry for them. Not being given a choice of whether to pass on or not seems terrible…

I’m unsure if I’m happy about sharing so much with Thorne. I’m not foolish enough to believe he’s trustworthy. He’s a God. And he lied to me from the moment we met. I’d be stupid to ignore the fact that it benefits him to create instability in Baylor’s court. I believe he truly cares for me, but we both know it can’t go beyond that. Neither of us are in a position to choose our own fate.

Still, it felt good to unburden myself a bit. To be open and honest is a rare gift.

Unease sparks as I near the Palace gates. There’s a strange energy buzzing through the air, something that makes my senses go on alert. Up ahead, a man sprints toward me. I tense for a moment, my hand reaching for a blade that isn’t there, before I realize it’s Bellamy. Pulling my cloak tighter, I try to conceal the bloodstained nightgown underneath it. I’m sure my dirty feet are already conspicuous enough.

I expect him to slow down as he gets closer, but instead, he slams into me. His arms wrap around me immediately, holding me tightly to his chest.

“I was so worried,” he breathes.

“Bel?” I ask, unsure of what’s gotten into him.

He pulls back, his gaze catching on my puffy eyes, red from the tears I’ve shed.

His face falls. “So, you’ve already heard?”

My brows pinch as I shake my head. “Heard what?”

“About father,” he says, as though it should be obvious.

I push against his hold, taking a few steps back as I try to understand what I’m missing. “What about father?”

“You didn’t—” Realization dawns on his face. He drops his gaze, his hand running through his hair as if he’s uncomfortable. “I just assumed. You looked like you’d been crying.”

“Iverson!” Baylor shouts as he runs up to me, pulling me into his arms. “You’re safe! When we couldn’t find you, I was terrified that bastard had gotten you too.”

My skin crawls at his proximity, but I manage not to stiffen too much. When he lets me go, I glance back and forth between them, a sinking sensation settling in my gut. The urge to turn and run back into the forest is nearly overwhelming, but I force myself to meet Bellamy’s gaze instead.

“What’s going on?” I ask hesitantly.

“It’s father,” my brother answers. “He was found in his room this morning.”

“Okay?” I drag out the word, not understanding what he’s getting at.

“His throat had been slit,” Baylor announces.

My brain accepts this information without protest. There’s no denial or despair. Only a deep well of nothingness. They both watch me, searching for signs of shock. I do my best to appear appropriately distressed.

“Do we know who did it?” I try to make my tone sound somber.

“That bastard left a message,” Baylor fumes. “The word ‘mercy’ written in your father’s blood.”

Everything spins as I try to follow his meaning.

“The Angel of Mercy killed your father.”