My penance may be to lose her over and over again; but in this moment, I allow a treacherous hope to plant itself in my ravaged soul that maybe—just maybe—it will all be worth it to find her once more.
* * *
Mirren
The power trickles from my veins, my body giving it back to the sky from which it came. I am hollow and I cling to Shaw as if he’s the only thing keeping me tethered to the earth. Tears sting my eyes and I make to pull away from him, but he only grips me tighter until I relent and bury my face in his chest.
I admonish myself for letting the tears fall, for not being strong enough to hold them back, but they are unstoppable. It’s my own water magic that pours from me now, one borne of pain and trauma. Before long, my sobs are ragged and uncontrollable.
Shaw just holds me. He feels so strong, strong enough to hold my shattered pieces together before I lose them all. His skin is fevered against mine and I savor feeling something outside of myself. Something that is not raw pain. My lungs burn and I gulp down some of the brisk night air. I try to match my breathing to the steadiness of his. His heart beats against his chest, and I focus on its rhythm until my body calms.
I look up at him and he doesn’t look away. He is intimately familiar with grief and pain, wearing his own like armor. The power that ran through me will never scare him, never intimidate him—not when he’s held the power of death itself in his hands. Not when a curse has rent apart his soul. For the first time, I am innately grateful for who Shaw is. An abandoned child, like me, who doesn’t shy away from the ugly parts of life. From the ugly parts of me.
Shaw holds me until I have cried all my tears. Until my breathing calms and the only sound is the soft rippling of the pond and the powerful waves of the sea in the distance.
“Mirren, about what Jayan said—"
I shake my head vehemently and pull away. “I don’t want to talk about that now.”
I look toward the assassin. Somehow, perhaps by a remnant of the power, I know he still lives. He looks younger than he did when he lingered over me, his face softened by the moonlight. His lips are pouted with sleep and long lashes sweep across his cheek bones. Under different circumstances, he could be handsome. But the world has spoiled him like it spoils everything else.
“Mirren, I have to explain.”
I turn back to Shaw, and he falls silent at whatever he sees on my face. Shaw’s betrayal still smarts, but it’s now buried under a myriad of other emotions, confusion and exhaustion being chief among them. And, by the Covinus, the way Shaw almost sacrificed his vow, sacrificedhimself—it is too immense. Too encompassing for me to begin to sort through tonight.
“I’m tired, Shaw,” I finally say.
He nods and takes my hand, leading me from the cliff pond. “Let’s go home,” he murmurs.
I don’t have the energy to point out the manor is not my home.
* * *
Cal and Max wait in the foyer when we arrive. Max sports a fresh welt along her jaw and Calloway’s once beautiful clothes are torn and dirty. His eyes widen as he takes in my appearance. And Max,Max,rushes forward and throws her arms around me.
“I’m so glad you’re okay,” she whispers into my neck before releasing me.
I nod distantly. Words are entirely beyond me.
“The assassin is still at the pond grove,” Shaw tells his friends. “He’s…unconscious. I need you to move him here so we can figure out who hired him.”
A wave of weariness overcomes me and my legs wobble. Shaw circles an arm around my waist, keeping me from collapsing in an enervated heap.
“Second man you’ve held hostage this evening. You’re on a roll, brother,” Cal says, impressed.
A smile pulls at Shaw’s lip but worry shines in his eyes. I consider telling him how unnatural the expression looks on his normally smug face, but I don’t have the energy.
“We’ll take care of it. Of him,” Max says quickly. I must look near death if even she presents no argument.
Shaw steers me up the stairs and into my room. He hesitates awkwardly near the door. “Do you…do you need help bathing or dressing?” He eyes the floorboards as if they’ve suddenly become extremely interesting. “I can get Max or Rhonwen,” he offers.
I shake my head and crawl onto the large bed, with no care for soiling the sheets. I wrap my arms around my chest, gripping my elbows. I only want to sleep; to escape the echoing hollowness. I chose to live, to climb forward everyday no matter how difficult, but I can’t bear to think of it now.
Tomorrow.
The light flicks off and I expect Shaw to take his leave. To oversee the transfer of the assassin and begin to dig answers out of him. He won’t be able to rest until he ensures everyone is safe.
Instead, he steps into the room and closes the door behind him. I watch him, surprise resonating somewhere remote. He tugs his shirt over his head, its fabric wet from kneeling beside the assassin while the power ravaged him, and it hits the floor with a squelching sound.
