I jump at her voice, balanced as I am between this world and a land of dreams.
Her words are direct. Brave. And not a question, so I give no answer. I pull the needle back out and a wild snarl erupts from me. I would give my good arm to know what she thinks about Shivhai’s words and realize distantly that I only need glance at her face to know. Her emotions are always splashed there, loud and vibrant and impossible to ignore. Shame keeps my eyes downcast. Her thoughts are not for me.
“You would have only been eleven,” she says in disbelief. Even in my haze, I know what she seeks. Assuagement that it’s impossible, that I’m not the monster who ended that man’s life. That she hasn’t made the decision to accept the help of a man no better than the gruesome beasts of the Nemoran wood.
I’ll give her no such thing. I don’t reply, only breathe deeply against the burn of my shoulder.
“You don’t have to tell me, Shaw.”
Gods help me, I want to. I want to tell her the whole goddamn story, ending with how my soul became fractured enough to kidnap and hurt and ruin her. I never want to tell anyone anything; why do I want to tell her? To earn her forgiveness or scare her away forever?
“I don’t care what you’ve done. And honestly, I don’t care what you need me to do to help you, because I’ll do anything to save my brother.”
Don’t say that. Don’t ever promise anyoneanything.Especially me.
I want to tell her this, but the words are lost somewhere on my tongue. My blood coated fingers fall away from the needle.
“But I need you to tell me something true. Something honest. I need to know you are capable of being sincere. That you will do anything and everything you can to help me find my parents.”
My eyes snap to hers and the openness in them guts me. Even now, after everything I’ve done, she doesn’t shy away. Instead, she offers me another opportunity to prove my worth. It makes me so angry I want to shake her; how can she not know that creatures like me will always destroy beautiful things like her? It makes me so light I want to kiss her; how can she know I will give everything I have to become worthy of her faith?
My words float into the blackness before I can say them, but it doesn’t matter anyway, does it? I can’t remember.
“Tell me something true, Shaw.” A command, not from a weak Similian, but from a mighty queen.
My body responds as if she has reigned over me my entire life.
“Anrai.” It’s hardly a word, and hardly one that matters anymore, but it’s all I have left to give her.
Her eyes widen and her lips part. “What?” she breathes.
“Anrai,” I repeat hoarsely, “My name is Anrai Shaw.”
And then I pass out.
* * *
Mirren
It isn’t wise to give away one’s name so freely in the Dark World.
It’s one of the first things Shaw told me when we met, and it was sage advice. It’s advantageous to move anonymously through the treachery of this world. If you can’t be seen, you can’t be hurt. Shaw has gifted me with his anonymity. He’s no longer an unknown specter of the night, but something concrete that can beseen.After taking so much, he’s found a way to give back some of my power and I see it for what it is—an act of contrition.
And then the stubborn ass had the audacity to pass out. Thank the Covinus he was sitting when it happened, because with the way he toppled backward, he would have taken us both out if he’d been at his full height. As it was, his eyes rolled into the back of his head and his tall body crumpled into an unceremonious heap. It’s the most ungraceful thing I’ve ever seen him do.
I dance uncertainly on the spot, hedging glances at his vulnerable body. If even a small part of me doubts Shaw’s word, now is the time to leave. He’s lost enough blood that he might never wake up and if he does, he’ll be in no condition to hunt me down. And this time, I have a horse, even if I barely know how to ride it. I could be long gone by the time Shaw wakes up.
Anrai.By the timeAnraiwakes up. I say the name out loud, testing its weight in my mouth. Then I flush hotly. How ridiculous. Thankfully, he isn’t conscious to witness my insanity.
Shaw is ruthless. He’s violent and selfish. He tears his way through every moral boundary he comes across as if they don’t exist at all. He’s more than capable of finding my father and getting me back to Similis before it’s too late. If I can only trust that when it comes time, he won’t betray me for his own gains.
There was agony in his eyes when he asked to help me—when he askedmeto helphim—a desperate sort of hunger that seemed genuine. It was wide open and vibrant, different than the dispassionate mask he usually dons. He’s done horrible things, things I will never begin to understand, but deep down, there is something about him that calls to me. Something I understand in those places I’ve kept hidden, where the dark and gnarled vines of abandonment and anger live. He is doing this for his father as I am doing it for my brother.
Undoubtedly, Shaw’s version of help will require something terrible. But to have his fight, his determination, hiswillingnessto do whatever it takes on my side for once—well, it seems like exactly what Easton needs.
The weight of indecision flutters from my shoulders like a bird in flight. My gaze falls on Shaw’s prone form and a wave of irritation washes over me. Of course the stubborn ass would rather fall over unconscious than admit he was weak. I consider kicking him for good measure, but instead, walk carefully to his side.
His breathing is labored and uneven and I wish I paid more attention in my volunteer rounds at the Healing Center. Or any attention, really. Luckily for Shaw, I also volunteered at the seamstress. Stitching skin can’t be much different than stitching canvas.
