“I won’t,” she says with so much certainty.
She pulls me down for a kiss, letting her lips speak the words neither of us have been able to say yet. I’m positive because my tongue tries to communicate the same message.
I love you. I’m yours.
We quickly shower and crawl into bed, holding each other all night. Neither of us sleeps, choosing to lay in the quiet intimacy of what we just shared. Choosing the movements of drinking in each other’s features through the faint light of the moon and the crackling fireplace rather than missing a second before I leave.
When the sun begins to rise, Renata’s silent tears threaten to hold me hostage, so I kiss her again.
It turns into something deeper when she straddles my lap and makes love to me one more time. She rides me in a desperate, feral rhythm that doesn’t last long enough, but brings us another ounce of comfort as I untangle from her and get ready to leave.
Chapter 43
Renata
Two weeks and a day have passed since Archer left.
Two weeks of sleeping alone. Of hallucinations that are getting worse by the day. Of reading—then rereading—the ancient text Archer stole from the library, and looking for missed clues in Petra’s journals.
Two weeks of loneliness, disappointment, anddread.
We even missed celebrating his birthday together. Awake at least.
The coven and Gale had a dinner for Sybil. She received a gift and a letter from her family. It was clear she had the least interest in celebrating the day though—not without her twin.
He finds me in my dreams every night, and it’s one of the only things getting me through this time apart. Five hours isn’t the easiest time difference, but it’s manageable to find a couple hours together.
I’ve never had a hard time being away from someone before. With Archer, it could kill me.
He shouldn’t be more than a couple of miles away from the shore. What do wereallyknow about Calista and her island, though?
I haven’t been able to go back to sleep since he left our dreams. So, I’m back in the conservatory, pacing along the large glass walls.
Things have been tense here. Sybil is ignoring me—not that I can blame her. The new friendship we were maintaining was obliteratedwhen she found out that not only is her twin brother fated to die, but at my hand.
She’s been in her head since he left. Archer admitted that he and Sybil have always been attached at the hip—all their adventures have been together, and both were often teased as children.
I’ve spent so much time thinking about how I’ll recover when Archer is gone, but how will Sybil?
My breathing comes in shallow spurts, the first signs of an anxiety attack taking over.
Sitting on the broken bench near me, I drop my head into my hands and do my best to hold onto reality. The hallucinations are coming every day now—sometimes twice a day. I don’t know if it’s from losing the warm safety of having Archer nearby, or my ancestors’ growing frustration.
The shuffle of socked feet comes closer and I wait, expecting Rowyn or Esme’s voices to soothe me—to try to fight off the claws that are sinking further into my brain.
Instead, it’s Sybil’s low, raspy lilt. “Hey,” she murmurs and sits next to me. Her hand finds my back and she rubs gently. “I’m here—this is real.”
Pushing my palms further into my eyes, I try to take a deep breath and nod. “We’re in the conservatory, right? Just the two of us?”
She lets out a sympathetic, throaty noise. “Yes, you and I are in the conservatory.” She pauses before adding, “And it desperately needs new windows.”
Laughing, I lean back and wipe the tears. “What are you doing down here?”
“Couldn’t sleep,” she admits and shrugs. “Haven’t gotten a lot recently.”
It’s my turn to show sympathy. “This place seems to do that to people.”
“So,” she says in a cautious tone and turns toward me. “I’ve been thinking…”
