There he goes, being kind to me. Being considerate andgood.
“This was a mistake.” I rush for the door. “I’m sorry to have disturbed you.”
The moment I touch the door handle, Boreas intercepts me, hishand engulfing mine. “Please.” The agony in his voice draws tears to my eyes. “Don’t leave.”
But there is an unspoken word: don’t leaveme.
I stare down at our hands. No shadows darken his skin, and his nails are blunt, human. His touch—tender, grounding—slides over me like water carried downstream.
Pressure builds behind my eyes, hot and stinging. I have been strong my entire life, but I cannot be strong about this. No one has ever put my needs before their own, as if I am worthy of such a thing.
“I’m sorry.” A sob tears out of me, a fracturing sound that quickly descends into hysterics. “I wanted to see you. I couldn’t… I thought…”
Boreas squeezes my fingers. I sense his desire to pull me close. I wish he would, damn it all.
Peering up at him through damp eyelashes, I whisper, “They hurt you.” But it’s more than that, isn’t it?Ihurt him. Zephyrus knew how to enter the citadel because of me. I informed him of the hole in the wall. I requested the sleep tonic. I picked the poppies. Me. It has been my doing since the very beginning.
The sight of his bruised right eye sends another wave of shame through me, and fresh tears course down my face.
“Bones heal,” Boreas whispers. “The bruises will fade. Alba’s remedies are strong, especially for mortals.”
And what of those internal scars? “I could kill Zephyrus for this.”
He says, with quiet restraint, “That will not be necessary. I’ve dealt with my brother. He has returned to his realm and is barred from the Deadlands, and the Gray, forevermore. I may be a god no longer, but a few old acquaintances were happy to do me a favor. He will soon learn the consequences of his actions.” A satisfied little smile that sparks my intrigue.
“What did you do?” I breathe.
“Let’s just say Zephyrus will have an interesting time growing comfortable in his new skin.”
I have no idea what that means, but whatever plague he cast upon his brother, it is well deserved.
“What about the Shade? The darkwalkers?” How will his sacrifice affect those connected to this land? “And you? I mean,youwere a darkwalker, and now…”
He nods as if he expected such inquiries. “The Shade is restored to its natural balance. It will no longer require mortal blood to maintain its strength. As for the darkwalkers, they have been cleansed, their souls returned to the Les in pure form. As for me—” His throat works. “From what I understand, my soul was purged the moment I chose a future with you. The moment I shed my anguish and grief.”
“But—” It can’t be that easy. What of the ripple effects of this change? Is there to be a great cataclysm? Will I be struck down by the gods? “There has to be something else, something more—”
His expression smooths into one of concern. “Wren.”
My knees wobble at the sound of my name in his mouth, crafted so lovingly. “It’s my fault. I can’t forgive myself.”
“You don’t need to forgive yourself.” He tugs me against his chest, then rests his hands on my hips, anchoring me in place. “I forgive you. Whatever you have done, I forgive you.”
“No.” I shake my head and push away from him. “It’s all wrong. You… you forfeited your immortality. For someone like me?” Why can’t I catch my breath? “Zephyrus could have killed you. You had no protection, no means to defend yourself.” My blood ices over from the devastating possibilities. Whatcould have been.
“Wren.” Lifting my hand, Boreas presses it to his swollen cheek, eyes fluttering closed and an expression of quiet agony passing over him. “I would do it all over again, give it all up, if only to spend another day in your company.”
It’s official: the North Wind is insane. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. You’re concussed.” Yes, that explains it. “Your power is gone. It’s not coming back.” Along with the eternity he was promised by his immortal blood. “You gave it up like it was nothing.”
“What need have I of power when my life is full? You mean everything to me,” he whispers hoarsely. “My beautiful, stubborn, thoughtful wife, whom I love.”
“What?” I wheeze for air. “You can’t…”
He takes a step closer. “Stop talking, you frustrating woman.” His thumb presses into my chin, tilting it up so I’m forced to meet his gaze. “Did you think I lied to you in that cave?”
“Yes, actually. I did.”
He laughs endearingly. “You don’t believe me? But I suppose that is to be expected.”
