Tiernan’s eyes flare in understanding. “You’re trying to get her close enough to death to steal the island out from under her.”
I nod, as more blood drips to the floor.Drip, drip, drip.
Such a beautiful crimson.
“Niko…” he whispers. “The pain of it will be…”
His words drift off at the shake of my head. I have no interest in discussing how it will feel to be chained to a dying world again, nor what it will mean for the children of the mainland who have just begun to heal.
It is an unforgivable choice, truly. But death has no need of forgiveness.
Tiernan pushes up his sleeves. “I’ll go get the carriage.”
I lay Willa down gently on the stone shore of the heart of the Letum. The will-o-wisps float carelessly around Skull Rock, their soft lights winking out over the dark water of the lake. My death slithers above my head, and a chill skates over my skin that has nothing to do with the cold of the cave, nor the ancient magic hanging heavy in the air. Rather, it is the memories embedded deep in the stone that ice over my veins and squeeze my lungs.
The moments after waking beside the Aeternalis’ corpse to find my death no longer lived behind my heart where I could hide it away. The physical pain of it had been unimaginable, but that was not what sprawled me out on my belly, unable todo anything but retch and cry. It was that there was no more pretending my heart was made of anything but desiccation and rot; no more pretending any life could exist alongside my death.
In this, I understand the pain of Willa’s shadow. She believes her darkness is on display for the world to see, and that no one is capable of loving it. And in my lifetime of failures, that is the worst of them—that I hadn’t loved her well enough for her to know that even her darkness is exquisite.
I trace the lines of her face, drinking in the slight pout of her lips and the little furrow between her brows. The longer I look at her, the softer the memories of everything before her become. Like in the glow of her vibrancy—in the light of the colors between us—the agony is now merely an echo. The remembrance of a wound rather than a fresh laceration.
Because every moment, no matter how terrible, culminated in my loving her. I used to bury my sentimentality beneath layers of determination, cover it in layers of rot so that it could not be touched. But as I gaze down at my queen, it is threaded into the fabric of my skin, the rush of my blood, the beat of my heart.
I will chain myself to this godforsaken island for the rest of eternity if it saves Willa from giving up one more piece of herself. I will damn the whole fucking universe to a slow death if it means she lives.
Villain or hero makes no difference. I am hers.
I slice my blade through the center of my palm and press it gently against Willa’s mutilated throat. Onyx blood leaks from the wound, and I brace for the accompanying wave of disgust. The sight of it—the rot of my sins made physical—has always turned my stomach. But tonight, I only study the way our blood mingles in the creases of my palm with morbid fascination. The scarlet of hers is so bright against the inky black of mine, a reminder of the vitality she stands to lose if I don’t act.
Death swirling above my head and determination around my heart, I kneel beside the heart of Letum and plunge my hand into the sacred waters.
The past and present collide as our blood swirls together, and for a moment, it isn’t Willa that lay bleeding behind me but the Aeternalis. I’d thought killing him would heal the pervasive wound of loneliness, but it had only served to pry it wider. I’d imagined dancing in his blood so many times—in making him hurt as he’d hurt me—but when I woke, my skin was crawling with the feel of it.
I’d been young and naïve, unschooled in the ancient lore of Somnya. I’d only wanted to wash away every bit of him—to erase the horror and filth of his memory.
So, I dipped my hands into the water. And my world had forever been changed.
Death sliced through my skin while the island’s magic embedded itself in my heart. My body, my soul, my entirebeing,were torn asunder and eventually, I’d passed out from the pain. When I awoke hours later, it was to find the agony had not passed.
It never would again.
This time, when I touch my hand to the water, I am prepared for the breadth of agony. And I choose it willingly. For her.
The moment my fingertip skims the surface, the will-o-wisps shoot from the vacant sockets of the skull and buzz frenetically into the air. The rock reverberates all around me, a deep, primal groan I feel in my blood. For a wild moment, I wonder if the entire cavern will collapse on top of me.
I suck in a breath of anticipation, for whether it is rock or magic, the weight will be bone-crushing. My eyes flicker shut as ancient magic thickens in the air, trying and failing to relax. Power is a heavy burden. It is the weight of iron manacles, leaden with lost innocence and broken dreams.
I fought against it before, strained and clawed and struggled for an inch of freedom. But now, I bow down to accept my fate.
It never comes.
The air stills, and the rock goes silent. The will-o-wisps float back down from where they scattered, settling once more into the empty sockets.
Desperation begins to unspool in the pit of my stomach, slimy and cold. I grab my sword and slice my palm open wider, through skin and sinew and tendon. Blood pools in my palm, spilling over my fingers into the water, but the island does not respond.
And I remain unchained.
Clutching my injured hand to my chest, I fall to my knees beside Willa’s still form with a roar of anguish. Pain tears through my chest—it claws at my ribs, scrapes at my lungs. My body bends beneath it, bowing my spine until my forehead presses against the cold rock. It is an agony that will never abate no matter what world I run to because it is not tied to any magic—only my own regret.
