Acacius swallowed thickly, venom rolling on his tongue. “I don’t see how that is any of your business.”
“So, you do then. For Ruelle, I presume?”
Acacius rubbed his fingers together as a distraction from the crack opening in his chest at the mention of her name.
“Do not bring her up,” he warned, his lips numbing as his mental barricade fought away the horrifying memory of Ruelle’s death.
“Do not bring her up because you do not wish to speak of her, or because you do not wish to recall her death?” Marina looked at him, right through him—as if she saw how bare and trivial and meaningless he felt.
When did he start to feel this way?
You are not the one I long for, Acacius.
Years of time with Ruelle played in the back of his mind, sweet and framed in golden fragments. Those shining momentsflickered and warped in fissures, and all Acacius saw was a slow, cruel decay.
He held Marina’s stare, despising how it wormed in his skin and sank beneath his surface. He felt too exposed, too unguarded.
“It haunts me every day. What do you think?” He spat it out, stunned by the level of truth in his words.
Marina cast her gaze down at their almost-touching feet. “My father’s death does the same to me.” Her voice grew quiet, small, lulling Acacius in.
He recalled it. Though, he was chained to the iron fence in Finnian’s Grove by one of her nightrazers at the time. Acacius had watched as the foggy shadows lifted and revealed the syringe in her grasp, Vale in between her and Finnian, and the horror on both of their faces.
Acacius expected the High God of Nature to intervene somehow. In the span of Vale’s so-called imprisonment, Acacius was well aware the High God wasn’t actuallylocked up. Cassius wasn’t heartless enough to enforce those kinds of rules onto his oldest friend.
Acacius knew little of Vale and the relationships he had with each of his children. Finnian and Naia had been raised primarily by his hand, and the others followed Mira’s guidance. That was all. Acacius never prodded further into the politics or corrupt family dynamics. Such drama tired him. Therefore, he stayed out of the business of others, unless it was a necessary request by the Council.
However, he couldn’t ignore the splinter in his heart by her words. It was barely there, a pinch, but irrefutable proof of sympathy for the High Goddess that only further irked him. After what she’d done, she deserved to drown in her sorrows.
“My father promised me a dance in the rain once, when I was a child,” she continued. “Though, that promise never came to fruition. Now, every time it rains, I think of him.”
Acacius sat still, disgusted by the traitorous consolation brimming in him—the urge to offer her kindness and comfort. She was the source of his tragedy.
But something in him gravitated toward her pain. It was the part of him that wasn’t sure how long he could continue to walk in his deafening solitude.
Acacius stood and held out his hand, blaming his actions on the tears gathering in her eyes, a vulnerability he was not used to seeing so visibly on her. “Get up.”
Marina scowled up at his outstretched hand. “No.”
He rolled his eyes. “Would you just get up?”
“Give me a moment, and we can resume our fighting.” She waved him off.
He squeezed his hand into a fist, a natural action when it came to her. “For the love of all gods, Rina, get up.”
No longer hiding behind her blank stare, she shot him a glare. “I don’t know why you refer to me as that, after all this time. I’ve never once given you permission to call me by a nickname.” Nonetheless, though, she rose to her feet, disregarding his hand.
Acacius almost laughed. He enjoyed this side of her, grumbling and irritated. It was refreshing, compared to the lifeless vessel she so regularly encapsulated.
He stretched out his fingers and elevated his hand, gesturing for her to accept it. “Let us take a breath and honor those deepest in our hearts.” He paused, not sure of his own actions. Though, in that moment with her, behind the veil of rain, tucked away in the darkness, it felt right to allow their grief to show. “Even if just for a moment.”
A disapproving line formed between her brows. “Are you asking me to dance with you? Only moments after your hand was inside of my chest.” Her tone was flat, insinuating he was the stupidest god to ever exist for asking such a thing.
He gave extra effort not to look down at the torn fabric in the diaphragm of her nightgown.
“Did you hear a question exit from my lips?” he quarreled back. “I am smart enough to know that if I ask, you will turn me down. Instead, we can pretend, even if just for a second, that this is what we both want, with those who we truly desire each other to be.”
The heaviness of his words bridged between them. In that strange procession, the rain falling around them felt like the tears they refused to cry.
