Page 21

Heading back in the direction of the locket feels physically wrong, like heading back into a gloomy fog. She’s quiet for a good while. I can practically hear her thoughts churning in the absentminded way her fingers move against my chest.

“Do you even know where we’re going?”

“Yes. We’re close.”

“How do you know?”

“I can feel it.” I head closer to that fog and cut a sharp left. A sliver of the silver chain glints from under one of the pink leaves. I reach down and pick it up with every fiber of my being telling me to get far, far away from that blasted stone. I hastily hold it out for her to take. “Here. You hold onto it.” I pick up my pace, desperate to be out of the Blood Wood.

“So—“ That one word has my hackles rising with suspicions. Her tone is too friendly, too amicable. “If I didn’t have the locket tonight, I would’ve likely eaten you. Or vice versa.”

“I’m a lot bigger than you. I would’ve been the one to eat you.”

“Either way—it’s turned out to be quite useful.”

“Don’t even start,“ I grumble, immediately shutting that shit down. “You’re not keeping it.” She goes quiet. “If you hadn’t run off into the fucking Blood Wood of all places, none of this would’ve ever happened in the first place.”

“It’s my only protection.”

“No. It’s not.”

“What else do I have? The knives?” she complains. “Like those do me much good against magic.”

“I wasn’t talking about the knives.”

“What else do I have?”

“Me.”

She scoffs. “And, what protects me from you?”

“You don’t need protection from me because I’m not going to hurt you.”

“You—“

She breaks off. I already know what she’s going to say. I already have. And she’s right. My frustration still flames. “What you really need is protection from your own fucking self. I mean, of all the places you could go? You look at the map and say, 'the Blood Wood' that sounds like a nice place.' That seriously makes me question your intelligence, nought.”

“It really does affect you, doesn’t it?”

It takes me a beat to figure what she’s referring to. I lift a hand and drag it over my face with a growl. “It’s poison.”

“Because you weren’t being such a dick earlier before we got this locket—“

“Yeah, yeah, I get it, and yes, it affects me.” My eyes narrow. Didn’t expect to be called a dick by the sacred fucking virgin of all people. “Did they let you use words like that in Eden?”

“Well, they didn’t let me,” she specifies. “They didn’t let me do anything.”

“But you still did?”

“When I was alone…or with Dorine,” she mumbles.

That last word sounds sorrowful. “Dorine?”

“My handmaiden.”

“Your slave,” I correct, condescendingly, rolling my eyes at the archaic nature of their society.

“She still had more freedom than I did.”

I don’t perceive that to be a lie, seeing as she came quite literally locked in chains. It’s apparent by both her language and her refusal to put the chains back on that she didn’t necessarily buy into whatever weird brainwashing she was subjected to behind the Wall. At least not all of it. So, maybe she has some intelligence yet. Suppose that’s the most I can ask for from a nought.

“What does nought mean?”

Maybe some intelligence. “Figured you’d put that together by now. It means you. No magic, not magical, nothing, nada.”

“I assumed there was more to it than that.”

“Not really. Well, we do commonly use it as an insult when a Magi’s magic isn’t very good…” I suppose it is pretty derogatory.

“Ah.”

I clear my throat. “It bothers you?”

“No, I don’t care.” I can tell it’s a lie by the way her voice pitches up a few octaves. “How about this,” she starts. I give a warning grunt in response. “Since you’re unwilling to budge on the whole locket thing, how about we make a deal?”

“You’re not really in a position to be asking deals of me, in my opinion.”

“Just hear me out.”

“Hmm.”

“I will happily hand over the locket…”

It’s not like I’m going to give her a choice on the matter and I really don’t give a shit if she’s particularly happy about it. That thing's got to go .

“If you agree not to use your magic on me.”

“No.” That’s insanity. Like asking me not to speak to her.

“Come on—“

“Not agreeing to that.”

“That’s not fair,” she pouts.

“I will agree not to harm you with my magic. That’s the best you’re going to get.” She falls into silence, likely sulking. I know she’s up to something when she starts to squirm again. “What?”

“What, what?”

“What do you want to ask me?”

“You can’t…read my mind, can you?” she whispers in dismay.

A laugh pours out of me even with the effects of the theurgynate draining my spirit. “No.”

“How’d you know that I want to ask something?”

“You’re squirming. And you keep moving your hand.”

“Oh….there was something I wanted to ask you.”

“I gathered that. If it’s about the locket, it’s going to be a no. You can have literally anything else.”

“I can?” she asks in surprise.

“Anything.”

“It’s not that…It’s something they would say behind the Wall. I wouldn’t believe it, especially seeing as the mylings weren’t what I thought they were, but if everything else has turned out to be…right, maybe it does have some merit after all. And with the Bonewalker—and you said it’s not the first time something has tried to eat you—“ Her words come out in a rush, and I still can’t make heads or tails of what she’s trying to ask.

“What are you saying?”

Several beats of silence pass before she asks, “Do you…eat people?”

I bark out a laugh. “What?”

“Behind the Wall, they said witches were known for…eating people and using them in their potions.”

“We don’t eat people.” She lets out a soft sigh in relief. “I suppose it doesn’t come from nothing. Anthropophagic magic is real.” Her body tenses. “But it’s been illegal for several hundred years, and even back then, it was somewhat of a rare thing. Even I don’t dabble in that.”

“That’s good,” she murmurs.

“Actually, the only one of us that’s tried to eat anyone here is you.”

She groans and I let out a laugh that seems to soften the edge of the theurgynate’s effects and I note once again how strange it feels to be laughing at all.

When we reach the edge of the Blood Wood at last, I hold out a hand, and she begrudgingly hands the locket off to me so I can toss it. Thankfully, we’re far past the threshold of the Bonewalker’s magic.

“But what if someone else comes here and is affected by the Bonewalker?”

I snort. “No one else is stupid enough to come to the Blood Wood.”

Her hold on me tightens as we near the under city. I tweak my appearance with a glamour, tugging my cloak low over my face and instruct her to do the same. “Tuck your hair in.”

“Why?”

“You have a very defining feature.”

I look back to make sure she’s obeyed before heaving forward. We near Magi in the streets in varying states of the ichor’s affliction. If I weren’t in such a hurry to get her back, I’d take my time going around them. Some are so dosed they lie there in a hazy bliss. I cross the street to avoid one in the throes of withdrawal. Rats scramble around his form, and he grunts and twists feebly to fight them off. She shrinks in closer to me with a sharp breath.

“It’s okay.” My hands tighten reassuringly around her legs. “It’s not real. They’re only a manifestation of his magic.”

“Why is it doing that?” she whispers.

“It’s an after-effect of taking a certain kind of potion.”

“Why do they take it...if it does that?”

“Because it increases their magic, and it feels good.”

She gasps as another man drifting down the street suddenly staggers into us.

“What the fuck, man?” His eyes are rimmed red, and he glares at me like it’s my fault he’s walked into us and starts forward, chest puffed.

“Oh, fuck off,” I snap, throwing up a cloak shield that roughly shoves him back several paces. He lifts his hands in surrender and stumbles off, muttering under his breath. Her arm is wrapped so tightly around my neck that it’s starting to choke me. I tug at her arm to readjust her slightly, and she loosens her grip. “It’s okay.”

“Sorry,” she mutters.

It’s only minutes later when her head drifts down and taps my shoulder. She immediately jerks it back up. “Sorry,” she gasps again.

“It’s alright.”

Seconds later, her chin tips down again. This time, she doesn’t yank it back up. “Nou—I mean, princess?”

She jerks. “Sorry,” she says again, but this time the word comes out slightly slurred.

“How are you feeling back there?” I turn my head to the side to get a glimpse of her. Her eyes are heavily hooded, pupils so blown I can only see a small sliver of her irises. “Shit.”

“Actually, I jus’ go’ really—dired. Are yu’ puttin’ me to slee’ again?”

“No, you’re just tired. You’ve had a long night. It’s okay. You can rest.”

Her head lolls forward, and immediately flinches back up. “No—I do’ think—I should do dat,’” she says, looking around the under city in a dazed panic.

“I promise I’ll get you back in one piece.”

“You will?”

“I swear it.” With that, her head hits my shoulder, her arms go lax around me, and even with my magic aiding me, holding her like this becomes awkward.

She starts to slide back, so I maneuver her around to carry her in front of me, hooking one arm under her legs and the other behind her back.

Scrutinizing her face, I can’t see that the poison is affecting her in any way aside from the drowsiness.

“Somebody doesn’t know how to handle their liquor,” a lady cackles from across the road. I ignore her, tugging the nought in closer to my chest as Magi leer at me. I continue through the streets at a brisk pace, uncertain what the time frame is here from unconsciousness to…death.

I cut around the garden to enter the side door of the castle closest to my chambers. I’m about to heave the door open when something catches my eye. A rope hanging from the balcony directly below mine. I unravel it from the rail and summon it to me to study it.

Is this…her blanket? Mixed with various other materials. That’s…clever. Definitely not stupid, then. I stare up at the balconies separating mine from the ground.

It’s also kind of fucking nuts.

Once back in my chambers, I lay her on the bed and pull back her cloak. Her hair flares out around her head like splayed silk. The antidote turns out to be a simple potion. It doesn’t take long to whip up, though it’s not a potion I’ve worked with directly—seeing as most people have the sense not to wander into the Blood Wood. The grimoire states a warning that it might cause temporary warmth.

The result is a thick, paste-like poultice applied directly to the wounds the roots have left behind. I unravel the ties around her arms and smooth the potion over the many welts, whelps, and cuts. Once finished, I sit down beside her and wait. It doesn’t take long.

A few minutes later, she sits up ramrod straight, chest heaving and eyes wide and wild as they flit around the room.

“Hey. It’s okay,” I say, coaxing her to lie back. She isn’t having any of that.

She pants, runs her hands over her chest, and then both of them over her face. Her face flushes a furious shade of red, but I don’t think it’s from embarrassment this time. “What did you do to me?” she accuses.

“It’s only the antidote. It might have side effects, but it will pass.” I’ve dealt with my own share of unpleasant side effects.

“I’m burning,” she croaks in a desperate plea. She rips at her cloak and tosses it onto the floor.

“Careful, don’t mess up the paste on your arms.” She ignores me, jumps from the bed, and snatches at the hem of her dress. She tears it over her head, taking some of the poultice on her arm with it. “Calm down.”

“What did you do? I’m burning,” she cries. She reaches down to tear off her slip, too, and I quickly bind my hands around her wrists to stop her.

“Don’t do that.”

“I need it—off!”

“It will pass. Just give it a moment.”

She struggles against me. “Please?”

With a sigh, I grip her upper arms and carry her to the bathroom, settling her in the tub under the spout. I keep a hand locked around her wrists above her head and twist at the tap to drench her in cold water. She sucks in a sharp gasp before her body relaxes, and she cradles her head against the faucet.

I sit on the edge of the tub behind her, holding her wrists above her head so she doesn’t wash the paste away for another twelve minutes. Now, with the cold water running over her, she’s sated.

Once the alloted time passes, I lower her arms under the stream of water. “You can wash that off now.” She obeys, and I walk around the tub to face her. Her eyes are still closed, head cradling the tap.

Her slip is plastered against her like a second skin, showing me every divot and groove of her shape, the tips of her breasts, the point of her hip bones, even the small dip of her navel. I might as well have let her take the damn thing off. I force my gaze back to her face to find her eyes open. “Better?”

Her eyes are no longer wild and flitting. If anything, she looks very tired. She nods weakly.

I reach forward and turn off the tap, and she straightens in the tub, blinking at me. “What’s happening to me?”

“The bloodteeth trees. The tree roots--” I say, nodding toward her arms. “Are poisonous. I gave you the antidote, which burns off the poison fairly quickly, but it has some undesired side effects, as you have learned.”

Her brows pinch as she shakes her head. “You didn’t say anything about them being poisonous.”

“Didn’t want to alarm you.” Her eyes expand with incredulity. “What? It wouldn’t have helped anything, and you tend to overreact to things a little.”

She doesn’t appear at all pleased with that. I really don’t care. “Come on, get outta’ there,” I say with a jerk of my head. She’s still pretty disoriented as she climbs to her feet. Water from her soaked slip drips noisily to the bottom of the tub. When she catches me…admittedly staring, she crosses her arms over her chest with a scowl. I raise a hand, siphoning the water from her slip. It slaps to the bottom of the tub, returning the fabric to its normal, not nearly as revealing state.

She climbs out of the tub and staggers her way out of the bathroom. My head sags forward, exhaustion finally catching up with me.

Ugh, what a night. What a mess. What a pain in the ass. And…she’s not going anywhere. This is only the beginning of life with the nought.

Yet…she’s alive.