I watch as her laceration begins to heal from behind a sheen of hot tears.
Death is an end to everything, but there are new beginnings in an end.
I have spent my long life shielding everyone from what lies inside my heart, but for the first time, I truly wonder what would happen if I embraced it as Willa has.
If, perhaps, I could grow something beautiful in the ruin.
Chapter thirty-three
Ispend days trapped somewhere between dreams and waking, nightmares and reality.
Everything aches. My skin is too tight and my bones are too sharp and my heart—my heart flails against my ribs, each beat a desperate attempt to keep me alive, even as I wish for the opposite.
But no matter my magic, some wishes will never come true. The reprieve of death is never to be mine. So, I wallow in the horror of my nightmares, using their darkness as a weapon. I cannot die, but I can be punished. I lose myself in a sea of unconsciousness, conjuring image after image of my past. I relive every misery, drown in every sorrow.
And still, it is not enough, as no matter how deeply I dig into my magic, none of my fears become corporeal. None of them slice scalpels through my skin or dip my fingers into boiling water. None of them speak at all, disappearing into the night as quickly as they come.
A few times, a soft melody weaves through the nightmares. Notes of melancholy and sorrow, of hope and yearning, that chase away the horrors no matter how I tightly I try to hold them. Despite my resistance, the songs slide through my nightmares, a soothing balm to the constant burn of my rage and pain.
During one of these times, the soft cadence loosens my hold on a dream of Celie bleeding on the barn floor. My sister’s suffering slips from me, and without the pain to grasp onto, I fall into the alluring song. Instinctively, I reach for the melody—reach for theyearning.
And like a moth to a flame, I am drawn back to the land of living.
I blink up at the stars carved above me. Similar to those in the Lunaedon, but on a smaller scale, these constellations stretch along the curved ceiling of a cozy alcove. Onyx curtains drape down along the edges of a large bed, the gauzy fabric sparkling in the sunlight streaming through the bank of windows at the opposite side of the room.
Nausea churns in my stomach, and I don’t know whether it’s the rhythmic lilt of the ship, or if it’s my own guilt surging up my throat to strangle me. I only know that with the light of day comes the memories of everything I’ve done in the darkness.
Pan’s knowing grin. Zenni’s madness-emptied eyes. The bodies of so many innocent, prone and broken around me.
And Sam. Beautiful, kind, Sam, cut down by my hand. My friend, who had only been trying to protect me from my own rage, killed for it.
I lurch upward to escape the crushing weight of regret, but find sitting no better than laying beneath it. The sharp pain radiating from my stomach at the movement only serves as another poignant reminder of everything I’ve done.
I trail my fingers to where Adira stabbed me, hating the new skin I find.
I don’t want it. I don’t deserve it.
I should live the rest of eternity with the evidence of the hurt I’ve caused the people I love most.
My chest tightens. Suddenly, there isn’t enough air on this ship. There isn’t enough air in the whole goddamn universe. And while I choke on my sorrow and regret, my shadow embraces me in its darkness, feeding on my discontent.
It only feels this way when you deny what you are,it croons in my ear.We do not need to feel empty and powerless ever again. Feed us as you fed us in the Hollows. Gorge on the pain of others and you will never be forced feel your own.
Acute fear grips me as I kick off the blankets, and tumble from the bed in an ungraceful heap. I want to scream as my shadow follows, slinking to the floor behind me. Something about it is wrong—something aboutmeis wrong. For we hurt so many people and still, that same hunger balloons and scrapes inside me. It is not satiated with everything it took: it only wantsmore.
I search the room frantically for something to wear, settling for clutching one of the wrinkled silk sheets to my chest. I whirl toward the windows, and my shadow whirls with me. Panicked tears sting my eyes. Where can I go that will be far enough away? Where can I go there won’t be someone else for me to prey on?
I’m about to damn it all and take my chances with throwing myself blindly through the second star, when Niko drawls, “Good morning, Darling.”
I nearly jump out of my skin at the sound of his voice, whipping around to find him watching me from a shadowed corner. He tilts his head predatorily, his tongue darting out to swipe over his bottom lip in that arrogant manner of his as he steps into the light. He is clad only in his favorite pair of gray sweats, the intricately drawn ink over his chest and throat starkagainst his pale skin. A shiny new scar slices through one of the stories, a jagged slash that stretches from his ribs to the ‘V’ of his hips.
For an absurd moment, I forget the need to escape, unable to tear my eyes away from the scar. When had it happened? When was the exact moment Niko’s body became something unfamiliar to me?
His mouth draws up into a wicked smirk. “I’d ask if you had sweet dreams, but as I’ve been here murdering them for the past day and a half, I’m afraid the question would be rather disingenuous.”
I draw my eyes from his chest to his face, a rush of heat stinging my cheeks, as I suddenly understand the reason none of my nightmares had become corporeal. Niko must have remained by my side as I slept. For days on end.
I wrap the blanket tighter around my body. Though the wood planks are cold beneath my bare feet and the echo of the wound at my stomach still aches fiercely, I feel none of it. Nothing beyond the rush of blood in my ears and the rush of darkness in my chest, as my eyes fall on the guitar propped against the side of the bed.
