“I know, Corpsey. We need to go before there’s nothing left to return to.”
“No,” I bite out, gripping her chin between my fingers and wrenching her gaze away to the walls of the cavern. “Look.”
She does, and I watch the wonder light her expression from the inside out. Wonder I feel in my renewed ties to the island—in the tie of my heart to the universe itself.
Because the heart of the Letum—a heart that has been empty for as long as I’ve been alive—isfull.
Dreams of every kind dance along the cavern walls, their sparkle illuminating and warming the cave. They swim through the water and light through the air—dreams of a hopeful future, dreams of want and desire. Dreams of fear and anxiety. Of heartbreak and healing.
They are terrifying and beautiful and dark and decadent and bright. They are the deepest hopes of humanity and their most shameful desires.
They are the best and worst in all of us, and as I watch them overflow the heart of the island, I overflow with the same. Dread. Hope. Light. Dark.
Creation and death.
All the sacred things that make existence. The infinite dust in the seven stars I tattooed on Willa’s back, now made concrete.
The island was never meant to be the Aeternalis’. It was meant to belong to every heart that’s ever dreamed.
Silent tears pour down Willa’s cheeks as she takes in the dreams of the universe. The dreams she saved through her brokenness.
“Do you feel it?” she whispers. “The wards. They aren’t mine anymore.” She turns to me, joy and sorrow and everything inbetween etched in the lines of her expression. “They no longer belong just to the Darlings. They belong toeveryone.”
I reach for her, because reaching for her has always been the most natural thing in the world; because her hand in mine has always been a grounding force, even when the world as we know it upends.
“Do you know what this means, Niko?” Her voice is watery and jubilant, and I want to bottle up the sound and drink it. “It means anyone who feels desperate, anyone who needs hope…anyone who needs the light of a dream…they can find the island now.”
I know she is thinking of Celie; of the desperate little girl who’d lost all hope. Of Zenni, and the thousands of others lost. But I am thinking of Willa, of me, of Sam, of Marina—of all those who have found what they needed in the kingdom of death and dreams. And how blessed we are for it.
“Let’s go make sure there’s something left for them to come to, Darling.”
When Willa smiles, it is not bright nor hopeful. It is devastating; it is vengeful. And it is exactly why I love her. The island may belong to everyone now, but her fierce heart—the one made of claws and weapons—is what will safeguard it against any who would try to take as theirs again.
Her skin emanates starlight—deadly if one were to gaze upon its full power. Death slides over my wrists and skin, spirals in the air above my head. The pain is still there when I reach for my magic, but there is no bitterness as I welcome it to my skin. As I told Willa before, taking lives should hurt. But now that my body is no longer a wasted shell, now that I feel strong and rested, I am able to bear the weight of sacrifice.
“Should I be terrified of whatever idea is taking shape in that wicked mind of yours?”
Willa’s smile grows. “You said we’ll need my nightmares. I think it’s time we brought them to life.”
Chapter fifty-four
Magic rises to my touch, as if it has been lying in wait to heed my call. There is no shadow beneath it, no abiding hunger. As I dip into the pool behind my heart, there is only endless possibility spread before me. Unencumbered by darkness. By fears. By shame.
It takes less than a moment for the painting to come together in my mind, the colors and shades and lines appearing exactly as they should. It is crisp and detailed. There are no blurred edges, no errant lines.
Like it is not only the island’s magic that has been unlocked, but the limits of my own mind.
A moment later, Niko and I are standing in Caelum. The Pixie’s Hollow rises before us, the painted sign hangs askew on its hooks and the windows are dark, like the tavern mourns Chrys’ death as surely as we do.
The Strayed have driven our people to the edge of the harbor. The heat of the flames licking over the sea radiates at their backs, the mob of Everlasting Children crashing againstthem, thousands of deep. And still, the people of Letum—every creature of every sort—fight.
Pixies buzz over the fray, dipping down to slice at throats. Innkeepers and farmers and artists of Caelum push back against the Strayed, refusing to give another inch of their city. Dryads fight with sharpened branches, the nymphs beside them throwing rocks into the fray.
Sirens sing beyond the flaming waves, their lethal melodies drawing Strayed after Strayed toward the water. The moment they step from the docks, there are only flashes of iridescent scales, and throats torn open by fangs and talons.
At the center of the fight, I see Tiernan, a sword in one hand, an axe in the other. He swings the blades with fierce precision, protecting those around him as the Strayed press further. And I know Marina fights beside him by the wounds that spurt from an invisible hand, ruthless and lethal.
Eerie laughter peppers the air, childlike and hollow. And though it is as unsettling as ever, it no longer sinks beneath my skin.
