Did I recall Everett prior to being cursed?
He thought back to the days isolated in his cell in Moros. The grim hours spent in the dungeon with Shivani’s blade fileting his skin from his flesh. Where had he drifted off to in his head? Who did he hang onto during those moments of misery?
His mind drew blank.
He felt sick.
Finnian couldn’t recall thinking of anyone other than Naia and Father.
The vibrational hum started beneath his ear. A reverberating in his jaw irritated the nerves up into his skull.
He ground his teeth.
An itch spread like tiny spiders breaking through their sac and swimming in his blood, scratching and burrowing into the flesh of his brain.
The curse. He’d triggered it. By thinking of Everett. Someone of importance. Just as it had with Naia in the Serpentine Forest.
He dug the heel of his hand into the spot on his chest and swallowed to counter the dryness of his throat.
Calm down.
He removed his hand from the curse mark, curling his fingers into a fist until his knuckles went white. A physical sensation. A distraction from the paralyzing fear flaring through his system.
Anything could be an illusion. A fabrication of his worst nightmares.
The dogs gathered at Cassian’s legs. He took the ball and tossed it with less vigor. It traveled half the distance across the field than the other times.
“I suppose so,” he finally said. “Though some say you loathed him just as much as you longed for him.”
The words made no sense. Finnian stared at the side of his face, watching the muscles of his jaw jump beneath his skin. It was clear this topic was affecting him, and for whatever reason, Finnian was determined to know why.
Approach him with kindness.
“Why lavender?” Finnian jerked his head to the horizon, past the valley of the village to the field. Despite the trembling in his fingers, he did well to speak casually. “Is it because of the calming effect the herb has?”
Cassian did not look at him as he said, “After I became the High God of Death, I was tossed into this realm. Only, backthen, it was barren. After I endured seven days and nights of the Bleeding, I was wandering around when?—”
“The Bleeding?” Finnian shook his head. “It sounds like a malicious ritual.”
“After obtaining my divinity, I bled out every last drop of my mortal blood. The ritual was slow and brutal. The Bleeding took place in what is now the Serpentine Forest.”
Cassian took a heavy breath before continuing. “Back then, my emotions were heightened, and I was overcome with sorrow, unable to process the pain and devastation of my death as a mortal. I collapsed in the field and dreamt of my mother’s lavender tea. She would crush dried stalks of it with the tips of her fingers, which always left the pleasant fragrance embedded in her hair and clothes. It was a cherished memory that brought me comfort. When I woke, the Land was a lavender meadow.”
Finnian imagined Cassian, young and wounded, dropped in a vast realm full of gray nothingness—right after being murdered and forced to duel the personified being of Death. It must’ve been difficult to bear the weight of such turmoil.
“And the Grove of Mourning?” Finnian crossed his arms, holding his gaze on the side of Cassian’s profile, coaxing him to look over.
“It is where I wandered during my time of denial, refusing to accept my new responsibility as the Ruler of Death and leave behind the only life I’d ever known.”
Lower your guard.
“That is precisely what led me to the apothecary you first found me in.”
Cassian took the ball from one of the dogs and stared down at it in his palm. “Is that so?”
Become someone to him.
“My time of denial was working in that apothecary, refusing to accept that my actions were what led to my father’s demise.As well as abandoning my sister to endure our heinous family alone. After many failed attempts trying to sneak back into Kaimana, I learned Mira’s word was absolute.” Finnian paused, the harsh fact clotting in his throat. “And I was doing alright until you came and disrupted my peace.”
