Shamefully, both of those things still exist inside me two centuries later, but they are no longer light. They are sharply edged; muddied by the pain of living as most things are.
“Sam,” Addy’s voice whispers from the deck above.
She stands at the top of the stairs, the curtain of her hair haloed by the iridescent light of the moss and the will-o-wisps tangled between the inky strands. Even in the dark, her gray eyes churn like a storm born between the stars, and despite my earlier resignations that this visit is purely in the best interest of the kingdom, my heart lurches at the sight.
Her towering above me beckons images of the many times I’ve been on my knees before her, none of which bear thinking about if I intend to maintain my sanity. When I’d buried my tongue inside her until she called out to the sky above; when I’d fallen before her and begged her to let me love her—to let me stay.
I clear my throat, my face heating. I should be more adept at governing my thoughts, but even after all this time, it seems the simple sight of her sends them careening wildly out of my control.
“I’m sorry to show up in the middle of the night like this,” I begin awkwardly. I climb the last few steps to the sprawling porch of the treehouse, hoping to the star above Adira hasn’t been listening to the ridiculous thoughts ricochet through my head.
“I’ve been waiting for you to come to me.”
Her words stall the breath in my lungs, and for a long moment, I just stare at her stupidly.
“I—you have?”
I’m certain I’ve misheard. Adira has made it clear since the death of dreams that I am only welcome in the Grove on occasions of urgency, though I’d be lying if I said I haven’t thought about whether she’s changed her mind since the sunrose on Letum; lying if I said I haven’t thought about running over here and stealing her away like the true pirate I am.
But it has only ever been a mad fantasy. The new beginning for the island does not signify a new start for us. Letum may be healing, but the scar tissue between Adira and I is thick and gnarled.
She tilts her head curiously. “Of course. The wild has been abuzz all day with rumors that the king has returned. Is it true, Sam? Has Niko come home?”
The spark of hope in my chest is snuffed out, even as Adira’s hope winds around me. The bright color of candied treats, and just as sweet along my tongue.
“Come,” I tell her softly, stretching my fingers wide against my thigh to keep from taking her hand. “This is a conversation that requires tea.”
Adira’s brow furrows curiously, but she follows me inside the house without further question. I duck into her kitchen to fill the kettle, while she curls up on the couch. I set the water on and bend to pull her favorite mug from the cabinet next to the stove. Feet tucked beneath her, Adira watches with an odd expression. It is soft, and somewhat fearful, like I’ve somehow stripped her bare from all the way over here. My magic unfurls toward her, eager to decode the meaning of that look, but I ball it in my chest and focus on the comforting routine of the task at hand.
A few minutes later, I set two cups of tea on the table beside the couch and lower myself down beside her. Adira takes a delicate sip and I do the same, wishing suddenly it was something stronger than tea—something to slake the heat of anxiety climbing my throat. Perhaps the feeling isn’t simply the lingering effects of Willa’s despair—perhaps it’s my own simmering silently beneath the surface.
I’ve never been very good at sorting through what’s mine and what belongs to someone else, the emotions always tangledtogether. But as I examine this one, it feels innate—an intimate fear, filled with things that might be mine.
“So,” Adira begins, gazing at me over the rim of her mug. “He found a way through the closed wards after all. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. If anyone is stubborn enough to twist the fabric of reality to fit his own desires, it’s Niko.”
I open my mouth to respond, but Adira continues, “This only proves I was right about him, you know.”
“What do you mean?”
“He doesn’t know how to live without his pain. I’ve told you for years, no matter how much of it you try to shoulder for him, he will always seek out more.”
I level a breath, her words digging beneath my skin, threatening to dredge up two centuries worth of arguments between us. Instead, I reply flatly, “It isn’t Niko who’s returned.”
Though the words are soft and measured, Addy rocks back like I’ve physically struck her. Her eyes go wide, the storm gray simmering in the manner that means she’s losing her grip on her magic. A moment later, my thoughts filter into hers, spiraling through the wild depths of her mind.
I know the moment she understands what has happened. There is a pulsing, breathless change in the air around her. Her shock is sharp zap against my skin, an electric purple that bursts behind my eyes. It tastes of static; of smoke.
My magic unspools from behind my heart in warm, thick tendrils—drawn to her fear, her despair. I hold my breath and pull it back, stuffing it down into my chest even as it licks restlessly up my ribs. My power has always been enamored by the broken things—drawn to the sharp edges and deep wounds—but Addy is different, because it isn’t only the magic wanting to soothe her hurts.
It’s my own soul-deep need. Her pain causes mine, and it has nothing to do with the supernatural, and everything to do with the fact my heart still beats only for her.
But Adira wants neither my heart, nor my magic, so I keep them both to myself.
“Peter is back?” Her eyes are wide and pleading, like she’s waiting for me to tell her the things she read in my mind are wrong. “It can’t be, Sam.”
Her voice is no longer raspy and warm, but brittle. Her hands are frozen around her mug, fingertips white from how firmly they press into the ceramic. “How can he be back?”
She shakes her head, having already read my suspicions of how all of this came to be in my thoughts. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—I shouldn’t have intruded like that. I lost control.”
