“But you still don’t have the talisman.”
“I would rather have—” Damien cut himself off, eyes wide and staring into the darkness of the room.You. That was the answer. But it was also the problem. And telling her would be no gift to either of them. He cleared his throat and turned to her, words careful. “I would rather have you not be in pain.”
“It wasn’t just the pain,” she said, eyes glassy under the dim lights. “I was afraid of losing…of losing everything.”
Damien reached for her without thinking, and she moved to meet him in the middle of the bed. He pulled her right up against him, and she didn’t resist, but she did crumple like a small, fragile thing in his arms, burying her face into his chest. Amma clawed gently at his shoulders like a desperate creature rooting around for safety, and he held onto her as if she would be torn away at any moment.
How he could offer her comfort that she suddenly clung onto so tightly and simultaneously be the source of her pain, he didn’t know, but he pushed his disgust with himself away as he heard a sob break out of her. Of course she was afraid of losing everything—her home, her family, herself—Damien and his plans were a threat to everything she’d ever known, and he was asking her to play a pivotal role in the destruction of it all.
“Amma, don’t do this to yourself,” he said softly into the top of her head. “You are not weak for wanting to stop malevolence. To stop me.”
“Please don’t,” she whispered, her breath hot against his chest. “Please don’t say you’re evil.”
Damien certainly felt evil then, though in a wholly different way than he’d always imagined his deeds playing out. The insistence hammered at the back of his skull like a twisted arcana forcing its way into his brain, and he wanted to take her face into his hands and tell her just that, but then she’d so sweetly made a request of him, and he was so completely enthralled by her, he could do nothing but oblige. “For you, anything,” he said, the words some of his most dangerous, and also some of his most honest, “but for me, you mustn’t cry.”
She tipped her face up at him, cheeks tear-stained and eyes rimmed red even in the icy, blue light, but she set her mouth hard, lips no longer quivering.
Dark gods, did he want to kiss those lips, to press them to his own like he had back in the karsts when she was needy and excited, to rip away all of this indecision, to make her his, loyal only to one another. He ran fingers through her hair, and there was a flicker of joyful Amma in her bright, blue eyes.
Damien gently pulled her head back against his chest, and settled the two of them down into the bed, eluding her tempting lips. Amma’s fingers curled around his neck, tracing thoughtless circles on his skin and sending tingles along his body. How could she do that, make her touch so kind and enticing and painful all at once? The feeling lingered like arcana in his veins long after her hands fell still and her breathing became heavy, falling asleep across his chest as if she could trust him, as if she were safe in the arms of a blood mage, as if he had never threatened to end her life.
It was almost funny how perfectly she fit in his arms, humorous how comfortably her body tucked into his own like they were built just for one another. Even here in the ridiculousness of the Everdarque with ruin looming so close by, it felt like a fucking joke howrightit was to hold her and be held. And he knew then, unequivocally, that losing all of it—losing her—was going to be even more painful than never having Amma to begin with.
CHAPTER 27
BROKEN VOWS AND FIXED NUMBERS
Amma woke, glancing up to see a sliver of Damien’s violet eyes gazing down at her. It was not the first time she’d woken in his arms, but it was the first time he’d been completely aware of what he was doing, grin deepening as he squeezed her even tighter. It was already warm nestled amongst furs and one another, but a new heat flourished in her chest, the lingering embarrassment at the night before nudged and prodded out by contentment and safety and that other thing, that thing she wouldn’t say because feeling it for Damien was wickedly dangerous, but she knew it was there.
And then something else prodded at her, also quite warm but stiff too. She shifted her hips against it to maneuver around and cuddle up even closer, but Damien’s eyes flew open, and his fingers tightened on her skin. Instead of deepening their embrace, he released her and rolled away.
Amma pushed up onto an elbow, sleepy mind waking up as she grinned at him.Oh, no you don’t, she thought, but before she could pounce, there was a fervent knock at the door.
As if caught in the midst of unacceptable behavior, both jumped from the bed and scrambled for their clothes. Kaz started squawking, tumbling out of the nest of blankets he’d made himself on the divan and going for the door.
“They’re on their way!” King Wil announced from the threshold, filling up its entirety with his slender frame, arms out, excitement palpable.
Amma had just pulled on the thicker dress over her head and realized as she tugged it down that it was backward, chest and neck too tight, but she tried to put on her brightest voice, hearing it crack with hoarseness, “Oh, how many?”
“Every single one!” The king twirled into the room, steps light, then eyed Damien. “Even your friend, Scot.”
“I thought he was a traitor?” Damien’s tunic was undone but sadly on, and he ran a hand through his black hair to push it back but only mussed it up further, like a raven’s wing in a storm. Amma’s insides turned to mush as she watched him fidget.
“Defector, loyalist, what’s the difference?” The king danced over to Kaz, gave him a pat, and then back to the door. “There are new cloaks for you in the wardrobe. Be quick, there is still so much to do!”
As Wil hurried out of the room, Amma pulled open the opaque door of ice on the huge piece of furniture built right out of the wall. A white, fur-line cloak hung before her, quite long, deepening in color to sapphire at its base and run through with silver filigree, beside it, a black velvet cloak that shimmered amethyst when it moved in the light.
“Showoff,” scoffed Damien, and Amma snickered, moving them aside to reveal a third in the warm tones of changing leaves and just Kaz’s size.
The palace had been populated with hundreds of those short, flippered birds, presumably all conjured by the fae king and waddling everywhere, carrying trays and making last-minute adjustments under King Wil’s direction which was of course odd as, with a flick of his hand, he could change anything he liked to look precisely as he imagined—that was how the entire castle and indeed even the world beyond it had come into being, as Amma understood it, but it kept him busy enough to not fret much more over the impending guests.
Amma herself was anxious enough, but between the fae king’s constant, buzzing questions and the crooked, playful grins Damien was sneaking her, she didn’t have much time to wonder if the deal she’d made would be considered complete after this. She’d wanted to tell Damien the night before that she kept the talisman inside her not to stop him from doing something awful with it, but to stop him from leaving her to go do it. But it was shameful, that she cared more about keeping him around than about the whole, stupid realm.
There would be time to feel guilty about all that later though. For now, they had a party to throw. As she was giving one of the conjured not-birds a boost so that he could adjust a garland of pine boughs and holly berries over the throne room’s massive hearth, Amma got a very strong whiff of something sweet and floral that tickled her nose and made her turn.
A flutter of pink and yellow petals swept down through the tunnel of the palace, plastering themselves to the icy walls and creating a pastel carpet. The air was bright and filled Amma’s chest with warmth and the urge to skip about, like playfulness itself had been invited to the castle.
“Rosi, darling!” called Wil, and he swept across the throne room to meet the fae who led the small entourage entering. She was draped in a gauzy, pink material that clung to her full curves and floated about her like the wind was at her constant beckoning, which was entirely possible. Flitting about her was a small contingency of butterflies, coming to rest on a shoulder now and again, and atop her head was a wreath of thin sticks and vines, though on closer inspection, the crown was more of a nest on account of the eggs that sat on the dome of her head. She didn’t appear to feel the cold, but she was also glowing like the sun itself, skin a shade of gold and a mane of coiled hair to match, and as Amma took in the others behind her, she realized that Wil’s frosty skin and silvery hair were practically ordinary in comparison to the rest of the fae.
