Page 63

The silence is deafening.

Vast and unending.

That moment replays over and over in a loop in my mind. One moment, Delyah there…the next…gone. So blown apart, she almost disintegrated. Like a million things before her…but this time a person.

A person.

A person.

A whole fucking person.

Sitri’s outstretched bloody arms…the moment of recognition. In hindsight, it all feels so inevitable.

You don’t know what she is.

She knew.

And I know what I am.

Sitri left. No explanation. Likely reporting me to Morin, and I can’t even blame him. How will they end me? Hanging? I see that noose wrapping around Sitri’s mother’s throat, cinching tight before she swings. Nausea roils within me, and I gag. Magic? Publicly? Poison?

Poison. Poison. Poison.

The word echoes in my head like a fading heartbeat. No matter how they try to put me down, the dāemon will react. Possibly kill someone else. Possibly kill Sitri. I already almost did.

I know what to do. The safest option. The only option. Syra flashes in my mind, but I fling her away. “You were wrong!” I choke out. Wrong, wrong, so fucking wrong. I should’ve let the Grand Prioress and the Priest kill me long ago. Put me in the ground and leave me there. Then, none of this would’ve ever happened.

Besides, she probably already thinks I’m long dead. But my heart batters in my chest. Harder and harder and harder. My body flashes hot, then cold as I pull the vial from the shelf, uncork it, and press the cold glass to my lips.

Gasp.

Gasp again.

The dāemon surges out of me with my convulsing breaths, splintering floorboards and fracturing the walls. I lower the vial, clutching it tightly in my hand as I pace the chambers, trying to talk myself out of it.

No.

Trying to work up the nerve.

Is it going to hurt? Don’t be a fucking pansy, Pandora. I slap my cheek. You know pain. Slap. You’ve been dealing with pain for years. Slap. I think you can handle a few more fucking minutes. Slap. I accept that raw stinging sliding over my cheek. Slap. Relish it . Slap.

Would you really rather have a public execution?

No.

That’s your fucking option, Pandora. Pick it now while you have the chance.

I shove the vial to my mouth, dig it into my lips and sob. Shrill cries that pierce the empty room until my whole body quakes. I lower the vial and survey the empty chambers, the place that’s become my home. No, the place I’ve been imprisoned to. Should I…leave a note? Saying what?

I’m sorry.

I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. I dig my nails into my cheek as if I could push the tears back in. You. Are. Dangerous. Sitri will have to deal with the body.

Sitri .

My heart cracks open, bleeds . Don’t get fucking sentimental, Pandora. This is a favor. You’re doing him a favor.

I’m doing this for him . So he can be safe from me.

I breathe raggedly as I press the vial to my lips. Do it. My hands shake. Do it. I press it harder to my mouth. Do it. I tilt my head back. Do it.

JUST FUCKING DO IT.

The liquid spills into my mouth, and I force it down with a gulp. It doesn’t go down easy, my throat fighting against it. I expect fire and burning, but it’s only faintly bitter. For a moment everything calms with the decision behind me. The chambers turn serene. Cheery. Even the dāemon dwindles in relief. It’ll be over soon.

Done.

And then the door comes barreling open. The vial is flung out of my hand. It hits the wall. Shatters. Splashing its rusted brown contents down the wallpaper. His chest is heaving, like he’s sprinted here, and his face is both horrified and accusing. Like he already knows. He knows.

“I’m sorry,” I squeak out. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.

“Did you swallow it?” I shrivel as he bounds toward me. Fear slices me as he shakes at my shoulders. “DID YOU FUCKING SWALLOW IT ?”

Didn’t I…do the right thing?

My lips part. I’m sorry. But I can’t make the words as the fire erupts, consuming me completely. White, hot, searing pain that makes the dāemon feel like a fucking blip. One single high-pitched note escapes me as my mouth froths.

“Oh—oh, fuck,” he gasps, palming at my face, his voice pitched several octaves too high. “Oh fuck, oh shit.”

Uncertainty cloisters intensely, rising up inside me with the fire like a splash. Didn’t I…do the right thing? But the fire doesn’t feel right . It hurts.

He whips me around, hauls me to his chest, and his fingers dig into my throat, gagging me while his magic pierces my abdomen, forcing my stomach to convulse. I vomit the potion back on the floor. Just a single mouthful. But the fire doesn’t dissipate. If anything, it grows hotter, and my limbs seize in one final fiery blossom, one final gasp before the potion beating through my veins paralyzes them.

“Oh, fuck,” he gasps. He throws me onto the couch, my body’s stiffened like a corpse. His movements are frantic as he digs into his cloak, pulls out a vial, and wrenches up his sleeve. He carves the symbol on his arm and dumps the inky black liquid over it, moving before it’s even had time to absorb. It drips down his wrist as he places his hand over me. I feel his magic sink under my skin like cold water spreading and encasing me before the twisting sensation of the healing starts. It hurts but it’s nothing compared to the fire.

It does nothing to the fire. He pours and pours magic into me, my body jostling with the force of it. “Heal!” But the burn grows whiter, hotter. I want to writhe. I want to thrash. But I can’t move. “Heal,” he growls. “Heal!” he growls. “Heal, heal, heal, fucking heal,” he growls. His eyes dash up to my face, my watering eyes, the foam spilling out of my mouth. “It’s not enough,” he gasps. “It’s not enough,” he growls. “It’s NOT ENOUGH.”

He hauls me up, binding me in one arm as he throws the door open with the other. He carries me into the hallway and freezes, looking around like… he has no idea where to go. No idea what to do.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck,” he heaves, each exclamation more carved in desperation than the last. He starts down the hallway, slow at first, and then he’s running, resolved in whatever decision he’s made.

“If any of you fucking pricks watching are ever going to do me a fucking favor,” he screams at the empty hallway. Internally, I writhe and thrash as the fire blazes, but my body remains paralyzed and silent except for a gurgle as foam spills down my chin.

He whips his hand to unlock the door, kicks it open, revealing a bed with rumpled floral bedding and wooden furniture similar to his own. He flies over to a cabinet, flips it open, begins rummaging frantically, fumbling with vials, knocking them over, and tossing things on the floor. “Come on. Come on, Come on.” He clears one shelf. Two shelves. Three—all of them.

“Don’t you fucking fail me, Mom. You promised.” He tosses every object on the floor and his hand meets the back of the empty cabinet before he slams it shut with a crack. “You fucking promised.” He breathes raggedly as he scouts the room. His one-armed grip around me tightens. “Hold on, pet, just fucking hold on.” He launches himself across the room to the nightstand by the bed, hauls the entire drawer out, and tosses it on the bed. His hand closes in on a cinched bag and he feels at its contents before tearing the bag open with shaking fingers, letting out several shrieking gasps as two vials fall out.

“Oh, shit,” he gasps. “This is it. Here we go,” he says as he lays me back on the bed. He dumps the vial into my open mouth and clamps my mouth shut.

“Swallow, pet.” But I’m paralyzed. I stare at him with wide, watering eyes. “Swallow!” I can’t. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do to rid myself of the fire at this point, but I can’t. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he groans . He lifts a hand, and the potion is painfully wedged down my swollen throat. It does hurt, but it’s nothing compared to the fire consuming my limbs, my blood, my being.

As soon as the potion is down, the burn starts to dissipate. Painfully slow. My fingers twitch, and I suck in a wheezing gasp. “Breathe,” he commands, smoothing my face, my hair. But it still fucking hurts, and I let out a gurgled groan. My body contorts as the ability to move comes back to me, and I start to convulse. He retreats. “Now this one,” he says, dumping a different vial into my mouth. “Can you swallow it?”

He tilts my head up, and I manage to choke it down between gasps. “Good—good girl.” I whimper with the retreating fire. “Just give it a second.” He draws some water from his hand and washes it over my lips, my mouth, and my chin before he collapses on the bed, wraps his arms around me, and drags me back to his chest, holding me still, his own breathing ragged as the convulsing of my limbs begins to dwindle.

The fire goes out, replaced by rolling, decadent waves of euphoria. Like nothing matters and everything is easy again. No pain, no guilt, no dāemon. Nothing but Sitri’s hands running over my shoulders, my arms, and my fingers.

“Not that , pet. Not that.” he chastises softly, voice still distraught. “Never that. Why would you do that?”

Something tugs at me, stiffening my spine. The urge to answer with the draught of candor still affecting me after everything. “Cuz’…I love yu’ and I wan’ yu’…do be saafe.”

My words are slurred, barely coherent, but his body tenses underneath me. He wraps his hand over my mouth to quiet me and groans. Quivering fingers trail over my cheek, my forehead, my temple. “I’m sorry,” he gasps out. “I’m sorry, I’m so fucking sorry. I didn’t know. I didn’t understand. I didn’t even try to under—“ His voice breaks, and then his chest is shaking underneath me with the voiceless sounds of his sobbing.

I know there’s something I want to say, but the potion builds. My body lightens as it washes over me like a clouded haze that makes everything feel carefree, weightless, simple. An overwhelming sense of peace and rightness envelopes me and I soar up into the orbed lights above my head until I’m floating among them, grounded only by the searing pleasure of fingers stroking over my skin again and again and again.

I don’t know how long I float among them before his voice finally calls me back down, back to this reality. “Pandora?”

“Hm?”

“How do you feel?”

When I don’t answer, he shifts me to the side so he can look at me. I blink at him. “How do you feel?”

“Good,” I rasp, voice still hoarse and sluggish.

“No pain?”

I shake my head.

“Good,” he murmurs. “Do you need anything?”

“Touch me?”

“Okay,” he whispers, cupping my face and tracing circles over my cheek with his thumb.

But now that I’m looking at him, I can’t look away. My fingers itch up his chest, but he squeezes my hand closed. “I wan’ to touch you too.”

He shakes his head. “No, I promise you don’t, Pandora.”

“Oh, please?”

He frees me with a soft sigh, and I trace his jaw, temple, and brows. “You’re beautiful,” I whisper.

His brows pinch with a pained look. He gives the slightest shake of his head.

“You are though. You have beautiful eyes. They are my favorite eyes, do you know that? And, your brows. They are very expressive.” My words slur with the effects of the potion clouding my mind. My fingers trail down to trace his lips. His eyes drift shut, but his face is tense. “And, these lips? They’re the best lips I’ve ever seen. But do you know what my favorite part is?” I press his lip up. “These two teeth. I want to kiss them.”

He clamps a hand around my wrist as his eyes flash open. “No, Pandora.”

“You won’t let me?”

He shakes his head and my face crumples. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Pout.”

“Why?”

“Because it will break my heart.”

My eyes widen and trail down to his chest, and he lets out a shaky snort.

“Because you want to kiss me too?”

He groans. “You’re going to kill me, Pan. You’re literally going to kill me.“ Then there are real tears welling in his eyes and spilling down his face, and I freeze.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” I croon. I’ll—I’ll stop. Please don’t cry.”

“I’m not. I just—fuck.” He urgently swipes the tears away before he snatches my hand. He kisses my fingertips as if to say ‘there’ and then my palm before laying my hand over his face. He groans into my palm.

I examine the foreign room. “Where are we?”

“This was my mother’s room.”

I scrub at my face. “I feel like I’m forgetting something.”

“Don’t think about it,” he says pressingly. “Come here, and I will kiss you.” He lugs me to his chest and kisses at the top of my head, distracting me by weaving his hands through my hair. It works for a time, but that feeling gnaws on me, and slowly, things start coming back.

I push back at his chest and stare at him intently as I struggle to work it all out. My memories are still fuzzy and distant, as though they’re years in the past. As though they happened to someone else. “You…”

He watches me silently, face somber.

“You…were supposed to let me die,” I whisper.

“No, I wasn’t, and I won’t,” he bites out.

“It’ll be dangerous to get rid of me.”

“No one is getting rid of you,” he growls.

“You have to because…I…I…I…I—“

He sits up beside me. “Pandora, look at me. I need you to stay calm.”

“I killed someone!” I clap a hand over my mouth, breathing quickening as the unrelenting truth of it washes over me. “Didn’t you go to tell Morin?”

“What? No, pet. I just…I had to get rid of the body. Look at me. I’m going to take care of everything, but you need to stay calm. It wasn’t your fault. She tried to kill you first. It was self-defense.”

“No, I mean, I told you it wasn’t me. It was the dāemon. I—I—I can’t control it.”

He sighs. “Pandora, you do not have a fucking demon. You are a Magi.”

Tears well and spill out down my cheeks. “You d-d-don’t believe me?”

“Hey,” he says, voice softening. “I believe you. I do. I know that’s what you believe, but it’s not the truth.” He lays a hand on my arm, and I yank it back as the dāemon begins lashing.

“Don’t touch me!”

His lips part.

“I can’t control it. It could happen again. It could happen to you,” I sob. I shoot out of the bed as the dāemon lashes harder and more frantically.

He stands slowly, raising his hands. “I’m going to teach you how to control it.” He takes a careful step forward.

“Don’t come close to me!” I groan, pressing my back into the wall and digging my nails into my arms, my face reddening as I try to keep my fragile hold over it. “I’ll hurt you!”

“You’re not going to hurt me, pet.”

“I already did!”

“I deserved that.” He takes another step forward.

“Please!” I gasp. The dāemon wells too intensely, too powerfully for me to hang onto. It expels with the height of my panic, cracking at the walls, and my breathing turns to hyperventilating.

“I’m not scared of you, Pandora.”

“You should be, you should be,” I bawl.

“You’re hurting yourself,” he groans. Blood trickles down my arm from how hard I’ve dug my nails there. My sobbing turns uncontrollable as he moves steadily closer and closer. Wall decor crashes to the floor. When I try to flee, he locks me there.

“I’m going to help you. Sleep,” he commands, slipping a hand under my chin, and the world goes black.