But as I sank to my knees in the corner of the room, where the sunlight couldn’t quite touch me, I could hardly imagine doing such a thing. My tired mind could no longer wrap itself around the concepts of facing my sisters, or calling upon my power, or putting my tired body through yet more punishment.
I hugged myself and shivered there in the shadows until I remembered Nanette’s balm. Applying that, at least, was something I could do. An easy thing. I slipped the pouch’s strap off my wrist, talking myself through each motion like I was learning how to move through the world for the very first time.
Grip the jar with one hand and the lid with the other.
Twist open the lid.
Coat your fingers in the balm.
Rub it into your grotesque, inhuman skin.
The laugh that burst out of me turned quickly into tears. Soon I couldn’t see what I was doing, how much balm I was using, if it was absorbing properly. I would run out if I wasn’t careful. I wouldn’t be able to help my sisters destroy the anchors because I’d be too busy scratching my skin off.
What would the Warden think, I wondered, if she saw me like this? Hunched pathetically in the corner of a dusty room, rubbing medicine into my abused body with trembling, taloned hands.
A small part of me hoped she would feel remorse, and that vain hope made me cry even harder. My fingers were shaking; I could no longer hold the jar. Someone took it away from me, set it safely on the floor. Someone’s hands gently took hold of my own; their thumbs brushed my talons tenderly. I knew those hands.
I looked up to see Gareth crouching before me, looking at me just as he always had—like I was marvelous, and full of goodness. Like he would be happy looking at me and only me, for the rest of his life.
“I’m so sorry, Mara,” he said. I’d never heard such sadness in a man’s voice. “I could kill her for saying those things. They meant nothing. She’s a miserable, sour person whose only pleasure comes from shooting, drinking, and hurting those around her who dare to be happy. Especially me.”
“But she was right, Gareth. Look at me.”
He did, unflinchingly, his eyes soft. “I’m looking, and I’m delighted to. You are beautiful, Mara, in this form and every other.”
“Didn’t you hear what I told her? I can no longer transform. I’mstucklike this.”
“It’s hurting you, isn’t it?” He picked up the jar of balm. “Nanette gave this to you?”
I nodded, fresh tears slipping down my cheeks. Their warmth stung my sensitive skin. “It’s meant to help the pain. Every few hours until it’s gone, she said.”
“Can I help you apply it? If it becomes too much, you can tell me to back off. But until then—”
“Gods, Gareth, juststop,” I blurted out, squeezing my eyes shut. “Don’t you understand what I’m telling you? Unless she decides to grant me relief, if she ever does, this is me.This, forever. I’m hers, forever.”
“No.” He was on his knees now, so close that my body prickled from the heat of his. “You are not hers. Binding magic, Order duty, I don’t care. That doesn’t matter. You are not hers. You belong only to yourself.”
“No, no, you don’t understand—”
“But Idounderstand. Look at me, darling.” His voice broke on the familiar endearment. “Gods, I want to touch you, but I don’t want to hurt you. Will you please look at me?”
I did, and immediately wished I hadn’t. That fierce conviction in his eyes, the passion painting color on his cheeks—he was too beautiful, too dear. I couldn’t bear it.
“There you are,” he whispered, smiling. “Did you know that I first fell in love with you because of your eyes?”
I let out a sob. “Gareth—”
“It’s true. All your power and grace, and it was your eyes that first ensnared me. They’re warm and kind, and when you’re angry, they’re keen as knives, and when you’re happy, they light up like stars. And the wild, wonderful thing is, they’re only a small part of you. There’s so much else to love. Your strength, your heart, your wit. The care you have for others. The way you look at me when I’m being an ass. The way you look at me when youwantmy ass.”
It was such an unexpected, perfectlyGarethcomment that I laughed despite myself. His face lit up at the sound.
“Please, darling,” he said, gently brushing his fingers against my cheek. “Let me help you.”
I was too tired to argue anymore, and some fragile, frightened partof me still dared to hope. This was Gareth; he loved me. He wanted a life with me.Our home.With a slight nod, I relented.
He began with my legs, applying the balm with long, gentle strokes. I held myself stiffly, bracing myself for disaster: I would flinch from pain, and he would never be able to bring himself to touch me again. He would suddenly realize what was happening, the true horror of what I was, and leave me, repulsed.
But I should have never doubted him. He worked in silence, a look of earnest concentration on his face, and not once as his hands smoothed the balm across my changed body did he recoil. In fact, he seemed entranced. I let my eyes drift shut, shifting whenever he murmured for me to do so. He ran his hands down my arms, between my fingers, across my back and—reverently, carefully—between my thighs. The way he touched me was like praying. I was the god, and he was the man on his knees in worship.
