He snapped around and crumbled to his knees, throwing his arms around her waist. “I-I am sorry Marina—I am so— hisblood— the child’s blood and you were and—” his voice cracked. “I am sorry. I am so sorry!”
Marina wrapped her arms around his head.
“I am too much!” He buried his face into her stomach, holding her tighter. “I lost control. I—you were on the ground—I couldn’t bare it—I didn’t mean to?—”
Another woeful sob tore up his throat, and he wept through his shame and relief, clinging onto her, afraid to let go.
Marina curled over, resting her cheek on the top of his head. She twisted her knuckles into his hair, embracing him as close as their physical bodies would allow.
“Do not apologize. I love you just as you are, Acacius.”
37
TO HELL WITH PEACE
Acacius
Fat white cloudsgrazed across the cornflower-blue sky, briefly obscuring the sun’s rays.
Acacius sat on the cliff’s ledge, watching the shadows move over the forest, granting shade to the clearing. Up this high, in the far distance over the ridges, he could see the darkened land of Tenebris.
He thought back to when he’d danced with Marina in the space below, unable to hear or see her beloved village. The outside world also happened to be nightfall, making it undetectable for him to notice that she’d suffocated the noise and sights with her shadows.
Her brilliance stoked his never-ending flame of affection for her.
Acacius rubbed at his chest, the spot where her nightrazer plunged through, feeling the solid flesh under his skin. His eyes tracked Theon as he roamed the snowy, massacred land, collecting ashes from the Daemon carcasses into a jar.Something he would take back to the Blood Heretics’ occult lair for them to dissect the fragments for their studies.
Acacius shuddered to think of a new spell that would connect back to him.
Naia and Ronin consoled their child, attempting to cheer him up by creating cartoonish sculptures from the snow.
Marina stood off on the other side of the cliff with Finnian, letting him inspect her.
The few moments of true death had colored a smattering of white streaks throughout her dark hair. A reminder that he’d lost her, but also a reminder that she still lived. A reminder of a new vow to himself to cherish each moment he was granted with her.
Acacius constricted his fingers into a fist, flexing his jaw.
Her death would have never happened had it not been for Soren. Wherever the bastard of trickery was hiding, Acacius would make him a permanent meal, dismembered limb by limb, for his Daemons.
As swiftly as his anger rose, it fell back to his disappointment, thick and so tar-like that he could barely breathe.
Iliana was right.
He was still the same volatile young god, unable to control his own tendencies. Back in his inexperienced days as a deity, his emotions were his urges for destruction. The habit took centuries to break.
He’d done well to learn self-control. Or, at least, he thought he had.
A distinguished pair of footfalls approached from behind, as light as a feather dancing through the air. A trait that, even after thousands of years, had stuck with his older brother.
Cassius plopped down beside Acacius, letting his long legs dangle off the ledge. He squinted out at the cratered holes in the earth, the snapped trees strewn across the frosted ground. Hispale strands were windswept, and splatters of blood marred the pristine fabric of his white button up.
Silence trickled between them.
Acacius peered ahead, his disappointment growing heavier in his stomach. He had so much that he wanted to say, but words hardly felt like enough.
I’m sorry for nearly killing Finnian and refusing to believe you when you tried to warn me about Ruelle.
I’m sorry that I lost control and you had to clean up my mess—again.
