“Yes.”
His fist clenches. “Why?”
“Why? What do you mean why?”
“What have I done to deserve such unfaltering loyalty? What have I done to make your devotion make sense? I stole you. I’ve been rough with you. I’ve pushed and prodded, just like I always do. I hurt people. I lash out. Why does anyone forgive me? Why does anyone still bother to care about me? Don’t any of you know that Idon’tdeserve it?”
“Maybe we see something you’ve blinded yourself to.” I let my forehead rest against his. “Maybe we see more to you than you can. Or, maybe, it doesn’t matter what you think you deserve. Maybe loving you is meant to be enough.”
“Our soul bond muddies your sense. You are addicted to me. It’s unavoidable that you would think well of me. My attention in any respect ignites you.”
“I relish the addiction. I revel in the peace you bring me. For the first time in my life, Castor, I feel loved. However twisted that affection is or isn’t, I adore being set alight. Every day I’m here with you, building something beautiful together, I find myself feeling whole. I am safe to ask you for anything—even the things I know you’d rather not give. I am blessed to learn so much about what I can be under your guidance. I am growingfearless because of you.” I kiss his cheek. “I cannot recall ever being this happy before. You have set me free.”
“Yes,” he mutters, self-deprecating, “that’s why you’re regularly in a cage.”
I harden my tone. “We’re both in cages, Castor. I left mine last night and peeked in at yours, because I could, because I was curious. For whatever reasons, we’re both locked up. I suppose I’ve just come to learn that if my warden will let me out whenever I ask, I’m not actually imprisoned… If yours won’t do the same, which one of us needs to worry more about their cage?”
He stands, throws his dagger at the wall, and takes my elbow.
Struggling to keep up, I follow him as he drags me from the parlor, down into the belly of his magic study. There, he brings me to the door on the other side of it, weaves a key, and opens a large chamber full of…
Bodies.
Stone bodies.
Words sharp, he says, “I stuck them in here before I got you. I didn’t want you to see them and be scared. I used to keep them dappled about. Cruel reminders. Terrible warnings.”
Hundreds of people. Men, women…a handful of children.
Stone faces.
Stone…tears.
“These are the statues Pollux mentioned,” I whisper.
“Yes. An account of my crimes. Each of these people came to me of their own accord. They bumbled their way right into Faerie and begged for a release from the weight of life. They asked that my nothingness might consume them. I obliged.”
My attention catches on a small boy, delirious eyes wide above a crooked smile.
He continues, harsh, “Regular humans do not fare well here. The magic gets to them, infects them, drives them to insanity. Igave them the void. On the brink of Faerie turning them mad, I turned them to stone. And this is what has happened…as far as I knew until recently…to anyone who has met my eyes.”
“As far as you knew until recently?” I ask.
“Pollux claims to have seen my eyes once. I don’t remember him doing so, but it is not as though he can lie. And, as you know, he isn’t stone. So.” Castor sighs, leaning against the doorjamb. “There was also Pila. That’s two people I would not want to turn…who didn’t. This entire power of mine is apparently something I can control. I simply by no means trust myself with it. Until I canundo this—” He tosses his hand out toward the room. “—I will not take the chance that I may turn anyone I love into stone. But I have tried to undo it, to no avail. I spent all last night after returning from Cael’strying. I do not yet believe myself able, so that belief writes my reality. In that way, the cure remains in reach…yet too far to grasp.”
“Could my powers fix them?” I ask. “Could I use rebirth?”
“Probably,” he murmurs, “but unless I can fix it myself, I would maintain not to look at you, still, for fear I might lose you and the key to healing this in an instance of error. Death for you would not be an ending, but apparently this is not death. So it very well could be.”
Death for me wouldn’t…be death? I say, “Could you…explain that?”
“Explain what?”
“How could I die…but not die?”
His head tilts. “What do you mean?”
“I feel as though my question is self-sufficient?”
