“I won’t lie and say I didn’t wish for you to swoop in and rescue me in the moment,” I admit. “But hindsight gives the best perspective, and I’m glad you didn’t.”
He sucks in a breath, as if that wasn’t what he was expecting at all.
“You didn’t fail me. That was on me. For so many years. Would it have been easier and more painless for me if you’d shown up? Yes. But the truth of the matter is, I needed that final straw. I don’t regret it, because I needed tosnap. I needed to find my edge.”
I’d avoided it all my life, and it was jagged and painful and steep, but I found it.
“But I should’ve—”
“No,” I say, cutting him off. “I needed to do that for myself. No one rescuing me. No one fighting my fight. Ithadto be me. Do you understand?”
Emotion wars on his face. I can tell he still thinks he’s failed, still hates that he wasn’t there. And I understand that. I do. But…
I meet his eyes so that he can see the truth in mine. “I had to be the one to save myself.”
Something ruminative swirls in his gaze. “And you did. Youfucking did,” he says, pride lacing through every letter. “But Ihatethat you feel guilty. Midas got what he deserved. He was the real fucking monster. Not you. If you want to blame anyone for his death, you can blame me, because I should’ve been the one to kill the bastard before he hurt you. But I can’t fucking stand that you regret—”
“Wait a minute,” I interrupt, slashing my hand through the air.
He stops, eyes pinned to my face.
And suddenly, I realize this last piece he’s been struggling with—what he’s been thinking all this time. This is the narrative that’s crooned in his ear. I’ve been fighting the memories that night, fighting the truth about my ribbons, about my wayward magic, while I left him to churn in this alone.
I look him straight in the eye. “I want you to listen to me very carefully.”
He seems to brace himself, like a man without shelter locking his knees in a torrential storm.
“Fuck Midas.”
He blinks in surprise. “What?”
“You heard me. Fuck. Midas.”
Great Divine, that feels good to say.
He shakes his head like he’s trying to clear it, like he can’t believe what he’s hearing.
“My guilt is about the innocents who got caught up in my rampage. My uncertainty is about my magic. But Midas? No. I’m glad I killed him,” I say, my tone dogged and firm. “The only thing I regret is that I didn’t do it sooner.”
He continues to stand there watching me, like he’s waiting to see a crack in the plastered lie. But he won’t find one, because I mean every word. “You’re truly glad?” he asks carefully.
I nod. “And relieved. I’ve never felt such relief before. It’s just...gone.”
“What is?”
“The cage.”
He doesn’t ask me to elaborate, because I can see by his expression that he knows exactly what I mean.
“I’m still processing.”
“His death?” he asks.
I shake my head. “No. The depth of his control over my thoughts. My decisions. My life. Even now, I find myself cringing away from people, not just because of my power, but because he never wanted me to be touched. I saw things one way; he told me I was seeing it wrong. I felt something; he convinced me I was crazy or overreacting.”
It all comes rushing up. So many little moments. Times I was too blind to see. Too cowered by silver-tongued words in a gold-plated castle.
“It’severything,” I explain. “The little things. How submissive I’d become. Howtrodden. I was nothing but a road to him. A means to get to where he wanted to go, and I paved that path in gold. Even now, I worry I’ll never really be rid of him. I worry that I’ll still be walked all over. What if I never truly heal from his manipulations? What if the damage he’s done to my person is never undone?”
