Cassian’s backside slammed against the iron fence as Finnian positioned the magical dagger’s end to his throat. “Who was Everett?”
Cassian kept his chin lowered, the shadows of the night hiding his profile. A singular curl fell over his forehead.
“At first I thought it was the curse fucking with my mind, but I’ve been here before, haven’t I?” Finnian inched closer, applying pressure on the dagger. “In your palace. In that room you stuck me in. The magic on the ceiling wasmine!”
Cassian said nothing.
The breath grew heavy in Finnian’s lungs, of smoke and impatience. He curled his fingers around the collar of Cassian’s suit jacket, satisfied by the wrinkles it caused in the crisp material. “Or was it one of your sick illusions? The curse isn’t acting fast enough and you need Ash’s bloodnow. For what, revenge? We all know you and Ruelle despise one another. What could she have possibly done to someone likeyou?—”
“Enough!” he snarled.
Finnian flinched, his hold slackening a little.
Cassian ripped his head up. Devastation marred his face as tears gushed down his cheeks, fat droplets catching in the creases of his nose, drenching his lips, dripping down his chin. The skin around his eyes brightened red and swelled. Such beautiful sorrow.
An ache splintered down Finnian’s chest. His breath locked in his diaphragm, stunned by his own pain.
The dagger dissolved in his grip and he lowered his hand.
“I am not strong enough for this,” Cassian said.
Finnian searched his broken gaze: two vibrant, golden hollows brimming with anguish.
He was overcome with a harrowing displeasure by the sight. Suddenly, he regretted everything. Storming out of the palace and provoking Cassian this way. Finnian wished to hug him, hold him, assure him everything was okay. He couldn’t make sense of the feeling of grave concern awakening inside of him, of the innate need to dive deep within Cassian’s waters and strangle the source of his pain.
“Who is Everett?” Finnian asked again, softening his voice.
He knew, but he needed to hear the words from Cassian.
“It was all a mistake. I shouldn’t have…” Cassian shook his head, sniveling.
The cracking in his voice punctured Finnian’s heart.
Lightly, he took a hold of Cassian’s chin between his thumb and index finger, forcing their eyes to meet. “Shouldn’t havewhat?”
Cassian delved deeply into his gaze. “I loathe you.” He said it softly, like a poignant vow.
Fresh tears slipped down his face.
Finnian’s jaw tightened, painfully confused by the contradiction.
“I loathe you just as much,” Finnian said back, reaching for the resentment he knew to exist within, but it felt like cupping a fistful of fog. Centuries of it lived inside of him, disdain and contempt that bubbled up and caked his tongue each time he was forced to interact with the High God.
Though, by now, Finnian was well accustomed to the tartness of resentment. It was a taste he could not get out of his mouth each time he laid eyes upon Mira. True, discernable hatred that did not exist standing before Cassian now.
Cassian tipped forward and dropped his forehead on the top of Finnian’s shoulder.
Finnian stiffened from the physical contact, surprised by the visceral reaction to put his arms around him, almost like a second nature.
“No,” Cassian whispered. Tears dampened through the material of Finnian’s shirt. “I loathe you, and I…”
“Long for you.” The words pushed up his throat before he knew what he said.
A gasp caught in Cassian’s throat.
It was like the unraveling of a stitch—the graveyard, the triplets, the mage, Malik threatening to carve Eleanor and Islaapart, Everett arriving and saving them, the fear blazing in his eyes as he tore the blades out of Finnian.
Cassian raised his head and pulled away. “What did you say?” His eyes flitted between Finnian’s, ignited with a frantic hope.
