He closes his lids briefly, as if I have struck him. “I’m sorry—”
“Spare me the apologies. You are thecruelestthing I have ever known—how could you lie to me like that. How could you pretend all this time when you were really just waiting for—”
“Why am I letting you go now?” He cocks a brow. “If I truly am evil, why am I not dragging you to your father this very moment. How about you answer that before you judge me.”
For a heartbeat, the logic stuns me into silence. But then I narrow my eyes. “Because Julion is already bringing an army to the altar and that’s a wrinkle you didn’t anticipate. You have to go warn my father. Without the Dark King, you don’t get the bounty you need for the demon defenses to be prepared. It’s not about my safety. It’s about your security—”
Merc curses at me in a rush of words I don’t understand. “I have risked my soul for you!”
“You don’t have one anymore!” I yell back. “And you are myenemy!”
“I amnot, and I didn’t plan any of this—”
“You engineered all of it! Up until right now, when things are falling apart! You didn’t think I’d go to the Sooths, but you couldn’t stop me—and then youhadto come clean.”
“It’s because I can’t live with myself any longer, and I didn’t know how to tell you!”
“Lies! You were banking on me being in love with you, and you’re manipulating me with some heartbreaking tale that came with an I’ll-protect-you-up-north ending. But it didn’t work, did it!”
Merc just shakes his head slowly. “You have this all wrong.”
“No, Ihadit all wrong. I see the truth now—”
“I didn’t think I would fall in love with you!” He wheels his horse around. “And if I’m so evil, why am I leaving you now. Huh? Why am I giving you a chance? I meant what I said. The world is better with you in it and I’ll protect you for as long as I’m able—”
“No. Your cover is up and you have to run back to your master and tell him that I mean to go to Julion and his army.” I jab his dirk at the air, as if I’m stabbing something. “That’swhy you’re leaving. Your loyalties are not to me and you will say anything right now because you’ve been caught!”
Merc stares at me for the longest time, holding the reins to his steed in a brutal grip. Then he says, “I’m not the only one without a soul, Sorrel. You justdon’t remember when you lost yours yet, but it’s coming. Your truth is stalking you and about to jump out of the shadows at you—and hate me all you like, just remember… I loved you even though I knew your whole story because who you are is so much more than the curse you carry.”
“Curse…?” I breathe.
Merc shakes his head again, and it’s as if he’s staring at an animal that is so wounded, it has to be put down. “Have you never wondered why you can’t see your own death, Sorrel? Before you condemn me, take a good look into your own eyes.”
With that he gallops off, disappearing into the tree line, leaving in his wake a kind of destruction that cannot be described, much less borne.
My own eyes?
My own… eyes.
On a strangled cry, I stumble over to the shoreline and fall to my knees into the water. Bending over, I stare at my reflection. The disruption in the surface prevents me from seeing anything at first, and surely there’s a compassion in that.
Soon enough, though, the pond’s surface stills and I stare into my own gaze, seeing only my reflection… of a freckled, white-haired young woman whose face is haunted with terror.
Covering my mouth with both hands, I hold in my scream.
So that is why I cannot see my own death.
I am… already dead.
Ninety-TwoThe Real Battle Begins.
I stay where I am, in the pond, arms wrapped around myself, my eyes glossing over. I’m dimly aware of the sun sinking down even farther at the horizon, and the darkness prowling around me. I am immobile, numb, and strangely hot. Even with my clothes soaking up the cool water, I feel a burning deep inside me, and images of my village, smoking and ruined, take over my conscious thoughts.
My unconscious ones are too scattered and traumatic to catalogue.
It’s as though I’m a house burning to the ground, just like the ones I saw inside the wall, my outer layers eaten away, my interior supports gone, my personal articles obliterated. There are no more chairs or tables for me, no pegs on which to hang my cloak, no bed for me to sleep in or trunks for my storage. Never again will someone make a meal in this destroyed home of mine, and no footsteps will sound out, for I have no floors or stairs.
What I once was, what my purpose had been, what roof I’d had and windows I’d sported, gone, gone, gone.
