It was just too much.
I just wanted it tostop.
Alaryk’s breath evened out. His head slumped down onto my shoulder, his forehead pressed to the exposed skin there.
“All right,mariss,” he murmured.
And just like that, I felt the connection sever, making me shiver.
I was…my own again. My mind was my own. Alaryk wasgone.
“I can keep it controlled, for both of us,” he murmured. In assurance, I realized when I gazed at him wide-eyed.Relieved. “Until you decide what you want.”
“You’d do that?” I asked.
“Anything you ask,” he told me. “Because I know what I want. For the first time in my life, it’s a decisionIwant to make, not one that was chosen for me. But I realize that I’ve never given you the opportunity to decide the same for yourself.”
It was almost on instinct, me reaching out my magic toward him. But it was met by a cold wall, and I wondered if he could even feel it.
Oddly, it felt like a loss.
“Take the time you need,” he murmured. “I’ll be here when you decide. I promise.”
Chapter 40
AMAIA
My room at the hatchery was quiet, the single candle that was flickering on the table less bright than my pendant, which I’d worked up to a solid red glow.
I was lying in bed—which I’d kept on its frame instead of dragging the bedding to the ground—staring up at the ceiling.
I sighed, letting the silence sink deep. But it was better. I realized that it wasn’t a terrible thing to be alone here, alone in one’s own mind, alone in one’s own thoughts. The silence wasn’t quite so pressing, so threatening as it had once been.
I realized now that maybe I’d been afraid of the silence because I’d been afraid of my own thoughts. I’d been afraid to confront the fact that I’d come to Karak on false pretenses. My being here had been a lie from the very beginning. To my friends and to myself.
But now…I’d done the unspeakable. Syris had forgiven me. Moak and Ulin were coming around. Tarkosh had agreed to let me return to the hatchery at Alaryk’s request, though beyond asking me if I was recovered, we’d barely spoken. Ever since I’d come back a couple nights ago, she’d taken to locking the incubation and the nesting rooms. She was the only one with the master key. Not that I could blame her. Every time I heard her lock it, I felt my gut twist, mirroring the turn of her key.
I’d made a mess of everything. Nothing had gone right.
And yet…it wasn’t the end of the world. I was stillhere.
I was wading through the muck and aftermath of my decision, taking on the consequences in my own way.
Perhaps a part of me was punishing myself by staying away from Alaryk. The situation between us was too complicated to untangle. I didn’t trust him. He didn’t trust me. And yet he’d decided to choose me. To work through it. Together.
I hated that I was afraid to make that leap with him. Part of me was still hurt by what he’d done. The other part thought I didn’t deserve him. It was one big mess in my mind.
So what had I done?
I’d taken time. I’d returned to the hatchery, resuming my duties. Most of the time, I just ended up watching over the hatchlings in the courtyard, very aware that Tarkosh would come more frequently to check up on me.
I’d thought keeping myself busy would help me feel more normal after what had happened. But all it’d done was highlight howotherI truly was. How quickly I’d healed, how quickly I tried to smile at people who didn’t trust me anymore, how often I looked toward the sky, hoping my family would come that day.
The other unshakeable thing I couldn’t escape was how much I missed Alaryk.
Our relationship lookedotherto anyone looking in. How strange it must’ve appeared, how mismatched we were.
Then again, both Alaryk and I wereothertoo. We’d never quite fit in anywhere. Alaryk had used his ability to earn people’s respect, people’s fear, but he would always be the Hartan that people gossiped about. And me? I’d hidden my true self for so long that I didn’t know who I was anymore. I’d faked smiles in Dothik so people would like me, a shapeshifter who could make friends with anyone. I enjoyed being in people’s company, but I’dalways felt like I couldn’t be myself—not truly—because of what I was hiding.
