Page 88 of Wild Reverence

LXVII

Endless as the Stars

VINCENT

This would be the last quiet night at the fortress, and yet I sensed little sleep would be found.

There were far too many worries teeming within my mind and far too many things Matilda and I needed to discuss.

I could feel the weight of unspoken words hanging between us as we sat facing each other before the hearth.

Alyse had been here, stoking the fire and turning down the bed linens.

Fresh juniper had been cut and arranged upon my mantel; the air was spiced with evergreen, and I saw that Death’s letter to me—the one I had yet to open and read, the one that had first brought Matilda to my window—was still on display, tucked into the greenery.

“Where should we begin?” I asked.

“I suppose you could tell me what happened here while I was away,” Matilda said.

Yes, I thought. Something simple and straightforward.

I told her of the preparations that had been made for battle and of Nathaniel’s request to keep his killer alive. Of how Bade had appeared and stayed for dinner.

“Did Bade say why he was here?” she asked.

I frowned. “I thought he was your ally.”

“He was. Is. But I broke the salt vow with him days ago. I set him free of it—he is no longer duty bound to me—and so I am perplexed to see him here.”

“Matilda,” I breathed. “He is here because he cares for you.”

She fell quiet, but a pained expression stole across her face.

It almost seemed as if she could not believe it—this idea that Bade had come out of love and not obligation—and I wondered what it had been like for her, growing up amongst powerful immortals.

Had she never been told she was loved? Had her mother never held her and said such affirmations to her?

I thought of my own words, written and burned into smoke for her. Words that had traveled through realms to reach her.

I love you dearly, Red.

My face grew warm with the remembrance. I had not received a reply from her, but nor had I expected one. She had once claimed her magic did not flow in that way, and so I had waited for her to return. For this very moment, when I could speak with her.

Matilda stood and began to pace.

I sensed her energy; it bubbled, warm and anxious, like a spring.

She was keen to run. If we were not held by stone walls, she would have, I thought.

I could envision her sprinting over the moors, her hair tangling behind her.

I could feel that distance spanning between us, even as we were in the same room, and I was suddenly desperate to remain close to her.

I knew this would be my fate when it came to loving her. She was everlasting; she was destined to come and go, like the cycle of seasons. And what was I? A humble mortal cursed to age and die. I was rooted to the ground, destined to return to the earth as dust.

I could not hold her any more than I could the wind, but I loved her for it.

I watched her move, graceful even in uncertainty, her cloak rippling in her wake. That was when I noticed it.

“Your cloak,” I said, and she halted, meeting my gaze. “This is a different one.”

“It is, yes,” Matilda replied, but I noticed she shivered. “I lost mine when the eithral fell. But I will reclaim it, after this battle.”

I had been waiting to speak of the eithral.

My guilt felt hot as a burn on my skin. I rose, unable to sit.

“I am sorry, Red,” I said. “I should have never agreed to those ballistas and bolts. It is my fault that you were shot down. Forgive me, for my weakness.”

She stared at me a long moment before stepping closer. My body responded like I was an instrument with strings stretched too taut, aching to be touched by her.

“You do not need my forgiveness,” she said, stopping two paces from me.

A safe distance, but still close enough that I could smell her skin.

I could see the firelight burning like stars in her eyes.

“You were protecting your own, as you must. You have grown up fearing these creatures. They have wreaked death and havoc upon your people, and I cannot fault you for this. And how could you know that I would arrive on the back of one? I hardly expected it myself.”

“May I hear the story?” I asked. “How it came to be that you rode upon such a creature?”

I could see her swallow. She glanced down to the floor, tucking hair behind her ear.

“You may. But first, I must tell you something else. And I…” She broke her own words with a huff of laughter, but there was no mirth in it.

It sounded like a shield, a bluff. “I do not know what this feeling is. I have rarely felt it before, but I think I am ashamed, or perhaps embarrassed, to tell this to you.”

I waited, giving her time.

At last she met my gaze again.

“I would have returned to you much sooner,” she began, “but I was wounded. And it took me days to heal myself.”

She turned and let her cloak fall away.

I stared at her bare back, the crosshatching of scars gleaming gold in the light. There were so many; I could not count them all, and my sight turned red at the edges. My fury was a sudden, terrible thing, clawing through my chest.

“ Who? ” I asked. “Red, who hurt you?”

Matilda pivoted to face me again. Her expression was solemn; I could not even begin to assume what she was thinking, but my emotions were as vivid as dye on my skin.

“My father,” she said simply. “He punished me before the entire Skyward court.”

Her response brought me up short. I felt broken, imagining such a scene.

“Why?” I rasped, moving closer to her.

“I wish I could tell you, but I cannot. And I am fine now. The wounds have healed, and only give me trouble from time to time. I am nearly restored to my full power again.”

I had hurt her. When I had embraced her in the hall. My hands had pressed upon her back, and she had winced in response.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, the words thick in my throat.

Matilda smiled, but it was born from sorrow.

“I received your letter while I was healing at Fate’s villa.

Your words… I have never received words such as yours before, and I was eager to respond to you, to see you again.

To give you my own in reply, but I was still weak.

I tried to ride the trade winds to Wyndrift and ended up at Drake Hall. ”

My heart throbbed as I listened to her relay what she had seen there.

My people she had spoken with, their distress and worry.

And then her journey back to Wyndrift, and the rogue eithral in the forest. The ice on her back, the melting of her fever.

The tentative bond she had shared with the wyvern.

How she had dared to ride upon the creature’s back, knowing she would reach me much faster in flight than if she walked or went by horse.

We both knew what came next.

A bolt of obsidian.

My command to hold fire, ignored on the wind.

“I know that Hugh is your ally,” Matilda said. “But I would not trust him. There is something foul happening on his lands. Something he is withholding from you.”

I raked my hand through my hair. “I know. But how am I to recover those of mine who are missing? How am I to find answers if Hugh knows I am suspicious of him?”

Matilda was quiet for a beat, lost in thought. Then she said, “I think he is going to ask you for something. In exchange for your people’s safe return. You should be prepared for it after this battle ends.”

I nodded, dread winding through me. I was rife with conflictions: I never wanted dawn to come and I wanted the sun to hurry on its course so our trepidation would end.

I began to turn away, but there was still more I needed to say.

“If friendship is what you want, then I can give that to you,” I said, but the words scraped through me, dragging across my bones. “Simply tell me what you want of me.”

She was quiet so long that I thought I would collapse. I was coming undone between heartbeats, struggling to breathe, uncertain where to look.

Matilda drew closer. I watched the firelight catch the copper in her hair, the stray threads of gold near her temples, the drops of moonstones piercing her ears. When her gaze held mine, I found that I could not move. She could break me with a single word, and I waited for it.

“You said in your letter that there was a moment when you knew. ” She paused, but her eyes were warm as summer earth. “You said there came a moment when you looked at me and could not breathe. When was it?”

“The morning after we camped in the meadow,” I said.

“I stood with you at the wayside and asked you to return to Wyndrift. I did not want to let you go. I did not want us to separate, but you were the only one I trusted to aid my brother. One moment, you were there before me. The next, the wind had carried you away. And I missed you as if a part of me had been torn. I would have done anything to follow you.”

She was quiet, softened by wonder.

“Do you want to know my moment?” she asked. “The moment when I knew?”

When she knew she wanted more, or when she knew she wanted less?

“Tell me,” I whispered, aching.

“It was when I woke in your bed. You were sitting at your desk, writing. It was the first time I had ever felt safe, sleeping close to someone. It made me want to relive such a quiet moment, again and again. To sleep, to wake, to open my eyes and see you there. Every morning.”

She reached out to caress my face; her touch was so gentle, so light, I could have imagined it save for the way my blood began to pound.

“I cannot pretend with you any longer,” she said. “I love you. I have loved you for a long time.”

A sound escaped me. I was trembling, and I wanted to hide it from her. How weak I must seem. But then I realized I wanted her to see me bare. I was weak for her alone, and I wanted her to know it. I did not want to keep anything from her.

I laid my hand over her own and turned my mouth to her palm, breathing her in.

We were doomed, she and I.

One day, I would perish, and she would live on, endless as the stars.

But if we were doomed, then let us fully embrace it.

When she kissed me, it was not for anyone but for her. For me.

It could have been an hour or mere moments. Time melted between us as we explored each other, our mouths meeting again and again.

I could not get my fill of her.

I knelt, pressing my face into her gown. I breathed into the linen, feeling it warm beneath my mouth. My hands encircled her waist, easing her down to sit on the edge of the chair before the fire.

Slowly, I removed those uncanny slippers from her feet and eased up the hem of her dress, dropping kisses on the inside of her knees, the inner softness of her thighs.

Matilda gasped, her fingers spearing into my hair.

Her head rolled back, exposing her throat, her breaths skipping when I traced her with my tongue.

I looked up at her, watching the rapture flicker across her face.

Her back was arched, her eyes closed. Her gown was falling off her shoulders, and her skin was flushed in the firelight.

She tugged on my hair and I groaned, reveling in the taste of her.

The sight of her. And I thought that I could perish then and there and be wholly content to die, on my knees before her, my heart beating so wildly it felt like it would split open, like a tithe of first fruits on an altar.

“Vincent,” she whispered, feather soft, breathless. Her fingers knotted in my hair, and I welcomed the flash of pain. “I…”

Let it go, I thought, sensing her struggle to fully lean into her pleasure.

I devoted my mouth to her a moment more, drinking her in. I continued to watch her face, reading every line, every skip of breath.

And I thought that yes, time would be cruel to me.

The winters would leave their mark upon me, year after year, and one day I would die and Matilda would lock my body in a tomb.

But until that morning came, I would spend my hours worshipping her, learning what she liked, what she loved, what she needed.

A moan slipped from her.

I wanted to coax it from her again, and again, but when she pulled on me to rise with her, I stood, lips gleaming as I claimed her mouth.

“I want you,” she murmured between kisses, “to sit.”

She pressed on my shoulders, easing me down to the chair. I swallowed as she drew my boots, tunic, and trousers away. I watched as she unclasped her moonstone belt. It fell in a glittering rush to the floor, followed by her gown, until we were both skin to skin and eye to eye.

She began to lower herself upon me. I was now the one to moan.

I let my hands rest on her hips, but I could feel the ridge of her scars beneath my fingertips.

The wounds curled around her sides, licking her ribs.

I was mindful of them as my hands continued to roam across her skin, careful not to press too hard as Matilda found a rhythm between our bodies.

A dance that made my vision go black for a moment.

“ Oh gods, ” I breathed, clinging to her.

“Are you blessing or cursing me?” she asked wryly, kissing me again.

“Can it be both?”

She smiled, and when I brought my hand down to touch her, she shivered. Her eyes closed again, a furrow pulling between her brows.

Let it go, I thought again, watching her intently.

Perspiration began to shine on our skin. Our breaths became a sharp cadence. Hers rose when mine fell, as if we were chasing the beat of an elusive song.

“Look at me,” I said. “Look at me, Red.”

Matilda opened her eyes, her gaze meeting mine. She did not glance away, and I saw the dark gleam in her eye. I felt her come, and I followed her over the edge where the agony became gold, and pleasure gilded our limbs, making the world hazy, heavy.

My hands traced her scars, feeling them as if they were on my own skin.

Tears stung my eyes. I would have taken every single lash for her.

And I buried my face in her hair.