He scoffs amiably. “I can’t cook to save my life. The palace prepares it.” He takes a small bite of his own drumstick with a satisfied noise. “It must have thought you needed some comfort food.”
I halt midbite. “The…the palace is alive?”
Now Marina laughs, a sharp but delicate sound.
“Of course not.” Tiernan chuckles like the idea is ridiculous, even in Letum. I relax slightly. The idea that the very building we’re in is sentient and watching is unsettling, and not only because it probably answers to the king. “Only the kitchen.”
He digs into his food, finishing two of the drumsticks in quick measure, before turning his attention back to me. “Niko said you’re going to be with us for a while. It’ll be nice to have someone new to talk to around here.”
His words slice through my warm calm like ice. I blink, trying to grasp the edge of my thoughts. They’ve gone fuzzy and muted, like trying to make out the details of an old photograph.Niko.I’d wanted to escape him so urgently I’d been willing to risk everything to get out of the Lunaedon tonight. But now, in the womb of this beautiful courtyard, the need doesn’t feel quite so desperate.Why?
Taking another bite, both the question and the answer slip from me like silk. If Niko wanted to hurt me, he’s had plenty of chances to do it. As awful as he is, I’m safe in his home.Aren’t I?
Marina signs, and Tiernan translates, “Tiernan would talk to a wall if he thought it would listen.”
He sneers at her, wrinkling his face in a decidedly childlike manner. “Hey! It isn’t my fault you two aren’t cultured enough to enjoy my fabulous company.”
Marina laughs, giving Tiernan a rude gesture of her own.
I settle back into my chair, my unease dissipating once again as I fill my stomach. I can’t remember the last time I ate a meal without the edge of nausea—without the creep of anxiety and sleeplessness. But now, my stomach is stretched and full and my eyelids grow heavy as another wave of peace washes over me.
Tiernan and Marina continue to go back and forth, the rhythm of their good-natured ribbing settling me further into my exhaustion. I lose track of the conversation, nestling into the depths of my cloak with a deep sigh. The warmth of the fire laps against my skin like a soft wave, and my breaths begin to slow.
I’m so warm. Every one of my muscles is pleasantly heavy, like a thick blanket has been laid over my body. My thoughts roll slowly through my mind in soft shades of blue and purple as my eyes fall closed. I teeter on the edge of dreams, a delicious dark pool that beckons me slowly.Come to me, Willa Darling. Drown in me.
The steel wall I normally keep over my mind is nowhere to be found in the silky slip of exhaustion, and without its hindrance, I step toward the edge. Darkness slithers over my thoughts, caressing the jagged edges until I nearly moan at the delicious sensation.
That’s it, Darling.
Darling.
Darling.
The name rends through my calm, and shivers race up my spine like sparks of electricity as my eyes snap open. I blink wildly, the courtyard slowly filtering back into view. The fire still burns in the hearth and the candles flicker all around, but my skin feels like ice. The muscle of my shoulder burns viciously, the skin stretched over it feeling entirely raw once again.
Suspicion prickles at the base of my skull, as I realize Sam and Tiernan are nowhere to be found.
I closed my eyes only for a few moments.Hadn’t I?
Anxiety threads through me, a sharp cold that doesn’t relent, even when I see I haven’t been left entirely alone.
Marina is crouched in front of the hearth, poking at the embers with an iron. Her back is turned, her face half-hidden in the shadows, her white-gold hair now pulled into a messy bun at the top of her head. The fire crackles and blazes in response to her administrations, and as she stands to hang the iron, the sleeve of her gauzy dress slips down one shoulder, revealing an expanse of milky skin—and the most horrific scar I’ve ever seen.
It spans from her spine to near her shoulder, the end hidden somewhere beneath the loose fabric. A gnarled, angry red, the old wound is so vicious, it twists the healthy skin around it. My veins go cold, my mind racing furiously, as Marina adjusts her sleeve, shielding the scar from view.
I’m still attempting to gather my thoughts, to corral my horror and rage into something useful, when she kneels to pluck a piece of wood from the pile and the diaphanous dress slips further.
A furious gasp escapes me. There aretwoidentical scars on either side of her spine.
Marina jumps at the noise, whirling to face me with a guarded expression. Dreaded understanding sinks into my stomach like cold iron as I take her in fully for the first time. Her delicate stature. The unnatural gold of her hair. Her fiery nature.
Marina is a pixie, just like the bartender at the tavern. Except someone has stolen her wings. Brutally.
“Who did that to you?” The question is out of my mouth before I can consider it, but I don’t take it back. Nor do I attempt to calm the fury careening through my veins. My voice trembles with it.
Marina doesn’t reply, only stands frozen, watching me. An absurd part of me wants to go to her, to comfort and shield her, but the thought is ridiculous. I’m a comfort to no one, and about as soothing as a pair of hot pliers to the toes. I don’t know how to be soft or tender.
But I am fucking angry. Always. For as long as I can remember, rage has bubbled inside me like corrosive acid. I can give Marina that. I can give it to Jamie and Marina and Tiernan and everyone else who’s been hurt by the unnatural darkness nurtured inside the Carrion King.
