Willa watches me carefully, those clever eyes having no doubt noticed my reticence to face the ship. She follows behind me as I walk to the very back of the cave, the part of the rock ledge shadowed by the Indomnitus.
Before she can ask anything further, about the ship or what she’s learned of my power, I nod to the soaking hem of her dress. “We’ve got at least four more hours before the tide is low enough to leave, and the coldest part of the night approaches.”
Her mouth twists and despite the chill evident on her skin, Willa crosses her arms stubbornly over her chest. “There’s nothing in here for a fire. I looked while you were…” I stare at her flatly, and she cocks a brow. “…resting.”
I let the word linger, though we both know I hadn’t been resting. Seizing relentlessly, drowning in nightmares, is hardly restorative. I hate that she was a witness to my weakness and hate even more that she’s guessed the source of my pain. It’s a secret I’ve viciously protected, one that could raze the entire kingdom if Dawson ever discovers it.
The threat of my power is the only thing that has kept the Strayed in their place for so long. If they knew it wasn’t endless—knew I couldn’t withstand the force it would take to destroy them all—Letum would be lost to their madness.
“We don’t need a fire.” I motion to the wall, the one that had been mostly hidden by the bulk of my ship. Steam rises where the humid air meets the black rock.
“This cave is fed by volcanic activity. It’s what keeps the temperature in here mostly bearable, but it won’t be enough with wet clothes,” I explain as I peel off my gloves finger byfinger, and then shed my leather cloak. The fur lining is soaked through, and with how water-logged Willa’s dress is, it’s a wonder we both haven’t frozen to death already.
“A survivalist, are you?” she bites out irritably, but there’s longing in her expression as she sidles closer to the warmth of the wall. “And here I was, thinking kings had no useful skills aside from stroking their own egos.”
I don’t bother to wait for her agreement. My death is always cold, like jagged shards of ice constantly flaying open my skin, slicing through my muscles, but it’s worse after such a great use of it. A cold that burrows into my marrow; that feels like I couldbeflame, and it still wouldn’t relent. Shivering exacerbates the gnawing ache in my joints, so if Willa prefers to freeze out of some misplaced sense of propriety, I won’t be joining her.
I spread the cloak over the slope of the wall, before peeling my soaking clothes off down to my briefs. I hang them carefully, and then spread myself out on the floor in front of the wall, settling onto the warm rock with a groan.
The heat sinks into my skin, and another wave of exhaustion crashes over me. It’s been so long since I’ve been forced to use so much magic in such a short time, and even longer since I’ve had to recover without Sam to ease the pain. I’ve nearly forgotten how debilitating the after effects are, and how long they take to abate.
I’m almost thankful for the tide, despite it trapping me with the Indomnitus in this cave of horrors and memory. I don’t know that I’d even be able to manage the walk out of here, let alone the one up the beach. And if Dawson has already returned with reinforcements, I wouldn’t survive it, and Willa would be alone.
A wave of hatred rises suddenly in my chest—disgust for the frailness that plagues me, for the consistency of my body’s faults. Always doomed to fail no matter how hard I try. Too weak to fight through the pain, to save what matters.
Only the pattern of Willa’s approaching feet drags me from the vicious cycle of thoughts. The rustle of clothing brings a wicked smile to my face, and when I peek an eye open, it’s to find her hard stare on mine.
She’s hung her soaking cloak but moved no further than that. Her arms are crossed protectively over her chest as she glares down at me, her eyes raking from my face down the extent of my body. Though her expression remains carefully blank, my skin warms beneath her frank assessment. She takes in the tattoos that sprawl from my jawline, across my shoulders and chest, and down the muscles of my abdomen. Her eyes snag on the waistband of my briefs, and vicious pleasure threads through me that she’s more than likely wondering how far down they spiral.
“Are you going to sit, my darling Willa, or has arousal rendered you incapable?”
Her gaze jerks back up, and that same delicious flush I saw the first day we met flares over her cheeks. My eyes darken as I follow it—down her throat, over her delicate collar bones, and to the swell of her breasts. As beautiful and encompassing as the design of my tattoos, an art unique to Willa alone.
“You promised me answers,” she growls, her upper lip curling.
“I promised you nothing of the sort.” Willa’s eyes flare furiously, and I grin, stretching my arms to cradle my head in my palms. “Power is not the same as truth, and you’re going to have to work for both.”
She takes two charged steps toward me, her hand going to the hilt of her sword like she’s considering carving the answers out of me. Her violence only makes me smile wider.
“Ah, ah, Darling. I’d be careful how you threaten me in the presence of my death. You’ve seen what one touch of their silk will do.”
My ribbons shudder along my skin in demonstration, and pain wracks through me. A constant reminder of the cost of such a touch.
But Willa doesn’t step back. She only smirks. “I like your ribbons better than I like you. And after our understanding on the beach, I don’t think they’ll harm me. Even for roughing you up a little.”
“Understanding?” I drawl, even as my death slithers from my grasp.
Willa watches them writhe on the cave floor, inching ever closer to her bare toes. Her smirk turns into a small smile—an intimate one, lips curved like they hold a secret. I furrow my brow, suddenly at a loss for words. I know Willa doesn’t fear death, but who in the fuck stares at it likethat? Like it’s a cuddly pet, or a long-lost friend?
“Yep,” she replies lightly. “They helped me find this cave.”
“Helped you…” I repeat dubiously. “Helped youhow?”
I try to keep the demand from my voice, the desperation that’s suddenly ensnared me as I watch my ribbons crawl over the floor to circle at Willa’s feet. Even without my hold, they don’t touch her skin. They only vibrate playfully, like she’s an altar to worship rather than a life to drain.
Instead of answering my question, Willa throws a hand on her hip and glares at me. “You want answers, Corpsey, you give me some first.”
“I assure you, calling me Niko is perfectly acceptable,” I reply with feigned patience.
