“Fucking asshole,” I mutter, and Reiner chokes out a laugh.
“You can’t blame him, now, can you. He just lost the love of his life, or at least, that’s what he was forced to believe. Then you submerge him in information that not only is he a witch himself, but that you practically coaxed him into falling in love with you.”
Reiner holds my waist while watching Fynn, who’s down on the floor, his chest rising steadily, fast asleep, lost in strange dreams once more.
“I mean… When you put it like that,” I giggle.
“You have a way with words, the way you weave them like silk. He never stood a chance against you. Your beauty, your wit, everything about you attracts men.”
He lowers his head and whispers. “But you’remine.”
“I am.”
I kiss him deeply, disregarding the boy lying nearby, whose features are slightly twisted. I grin against Reiner’s lips, thinking that Fynn’s dreams must be unpleasant, just as he deserves.
I’m inclined to reach out to the Umbra, or to speak with Fynn’s twin sister, Harlot. I want to know how long it took her to recover from the curse's effects and for her blood to be pure, with white, pulsing magic running through her veins. I doubt Reiner will like the idea. I can sense that part of him is terrified the Umbra will try to kill us the next time he sees us for putting his mate in danger. All because my shadows kept whimpering to his, crying out for help to such an extent that neither of them could ignore it any longer. And then we tried to run, delivering them to ruin’s hands for fate to devour them. Even my own shadows raged against me at the betrayal I displayed to their true master. I feel my jaw tense at the memory, their judgment, and how I despised my powers in that very moment.
But it was the Umbra who stopped us, refusing to let us go, neither of us daring to gainsay the command. Reiner partly redeemed himself, apologizing to Emrys and telling him that if he had to die by his side, it was a worthy way to go. But me… I had no say in any of it; my powers fought, with or without my trying, their allegiance clear. It was a peculiar sense of helplessness, being in control of them, yet if I had decided differently, they wouldn’t have listened. It was humiliating.
Still, I need to know, and I wonder if I perhaps can tether to Harlot via my shadows, after seeing the same markings on her as the Umbra. Then again, I don’t even know how to connect with him, let alone her. In both instances, it’s always been my shadows who called out to him when I was in distress. I grimace.
Reiner taps playfully on my nose. “I see you’re making all sorts of scheming plans, care to let me in?”
“It’s nothing,” I murmur.
“Don’t do this, Caria. Don’t shut me out.”
He turns me in his arms, pulling me into the refuge of his chest, my back firmly pressed against him. He knows it’s easier for my thoughts to spill when I don’t have to meet his eyes. It isn’t distrust that silences me, but rather the mirror of facing things I’d rather leave unspoken.
“Talk to me, my love. I can tell your mind is occupied.”
I lean the back of my head against him and let out a deep sigh. “I just wanthimout of here… I hate having that bastard in our space, but it feels like the end is nowhere in sight. And the only ones who can tell us more about this process… are the Umbra and Fynn’s sister…” I pause, and I feel Reiner’s body stiffen.
He doesn’t like where I am going with this, but he doesn’t interrupt me.
“And… I was just thinking about whether there would be a way for me to create some sort of communication line between Harlot and me, I mean, she might be more receptive than Emrys…”
“Caria,” he softly growls.
“Never mind. Forget about it, I don’t even know how to do it. Besides, thinking about it brought me back to that day, about what happened, how it was the Umbra that controlled my powers, and… I must admit, I feel useless. Even now, with all of this.”
I gesture toward Fynn. “With him… It’s waiting on the unknown that’s maddening to me. The uncertainty, being near him. It’s repulsive.”
“I know, my love,” Reiner says, and kisses the top of my head. “I know,” he murmurs.
Fynn doesn’t stir in his sleep, his form void of any consciousness. I prefer him this way. The curse might seep out of his mind slowly, but I have no idea how dominant the White side that lingers inside him is. The last thing I need is for him to go berserk on me once more, with fucking white magic, because, regardless of whether the Aurum was cursed, it was still Light magic that he unleashed on me earlier. I still feel the scorching sensation that burned its way so easily through my skin; not even my blood magic was fast enough to heal the wounds he inflicted. I glance at the piece of Aurum that sits on the table next to the couch that I’ve kept Fynn on. It's a strange thing. It presents itself like a crystal, with its milky, almost glass-like material, but it’s not. It doesn’t glisten like other stones do; its surface is nearly dull. I don’t dare touch it with my bare hands. Reiner had put it there, wearing thick leather gloves, and that’s where it has been ever since.
It had appeared out of thin air, a white blinding light appeared above Fynn, and I had screamed so loudly, unsure what it was. Then, it had dropped on his chest, the small stone softly humming, and I realized it was Aurum. I felt it, smelled it, the scent similar to Fynn when I had first met him. We guessed that now the curse was lifted, the Aurum was no longer influenced by Dark magic. The darkness had evaporated, and it had split itself among all three of them; each had their own protection. That was the most logical theory. The only way to verify it was to either reach out to Harlot or their mother, Adira.
A week later, I gently wake up Fynn once more. It takes a few minutes before he’s accustomed to his new surroundings, and with a thick tongue, he speaks to me, still drunk on sleep.
“Caria? What did you do to me?”
I hear the tinge of confusion, but also the underlying rage. It won’t be long before his memories will come flooding back; it’sbeen like this from the moment I woke him up for the first time. A repeated cycle of misery and anger, not that I care. Fynn’s eyes snap to mine. I smirk at him.
“Guess the memories are returning?”
“You fucking bitch,” he whispers under his breath. “If you had left me alone, Jodelle might still be alive.”
