He glowers at me.
“Well, our next stop is probably a seainfestedwith merrow.” I dance around a log and the family of bunnies nestled inside it. “Don’t get too excited.”
“At this rate, I’ll gladly take the demons. I’ve expended more magic than should be necessary for a short isle visit. Disguising us. Paying those charlatans. Trying to smother your emotions.” He tilts his head to study me. “Are all merrow as volatile as you? You’re a hurricane with a tail.”
“Abeautifultail.” I lift my skirt completely unnecessarily and hop over a fallen beehive. Arion’s gaze drops to my bare legs.
I expect him to admonish them. To ask what his kind always wonders—why would merrow be granted human limbs? In truth, the conception of legs being strictly human is foolish. They do not make me any more human than my arms or elbows or chin.
A tail isn’t all that separatesusfromthem. Scales. Gills. The magic of the goddess in our veins. The heart of the sea in our chests. A swift ability to transform in the right climate. Just as he can swim in the ocean, I can survive on land.
But Arion doesn’t inquire about that.
As the Illuminated Library emerges from the dense orchard, gilded spire by gilded spire, he reaches out to stop me from continuing. His palm splays wide against my belly. The touch scorches through the gossamer and pearls, straight to my core. He doesn’t remove it though. And the cord—it knots, fastening us in swathes of silver.
His gaze narrows on mine. Darkening.
For some stupid reason, I lick my lips, and my stomach clenches. He still doesn’t remove that hand.
“The last time you were here,” he murmurs. “What happened?’
The cheerful light inside me dims once more. I twist away from his touch. “I told you. It wasn’t successful.”
“I deserve to know—”
“What? What do youdeserveto know, warlock?”
His teeth grit. Through the sheer white of shirt, it almost looks like the blackened veins along his chest are moving. It almost seems as if… as if ithurtshim. Indeed, exhaustion pummels my ribs as if in response. “Your emotions, mermaid. Try to control yourself.”
I inhale deeply before merrily saying, “I have told you everything pertinent. We get in. We fly out. Okay,husband?”
His wings beat a steady rhythm. Seemingly eager for the impending task. But Arion doesn’t appear quite as convinced. “I need to plan for all the variables in this equation. If it will require more magic, I need time to prepare. We can’t have another ordeal like that shoppe happen again.”
“You said we don’thavetime.”
“And we don’t.”
“So then pray to your precious god and take a leap of faith.”
“Zephyra,” he growls.
His frustration doesn’t stir the dryads, doesn’t wake the bumblebees from their hives, doesn’t even seem to leave his chest, as if he’s tethering not only my emotions, but his as well. I don’t know what he wants me to confess though, and I sure as shit don’t want to confess it tohim. I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t want to think about it. I don’t want tobe here. It’s been eight years. Eight horrible, brutal years without light, or hope, or… anyone. Anything. And the only reason I have to do this now—face my nightmares, confront my mistakes, drown in my regret—is because Arion arrested me. Because I fucked up a grave robbery. Because nothing in life has ever been easy and survival hasneverbeen guaranteed.
“Someone died.”
The two words shrivel into ash on my tongue, but I say them. I say them for the very first time without crying or screaming or thrashing. I say them even though they make me wish it had been me.
It should have been me.
“We were inches from freedom.” The confession spills from me, unbidden. “Inches from the water. But I had a thought. Just one stupid thought. I worried whether anyone would find out what we’d done. I worried we’d be arrested. Beaten. Separated. That’s all it took for the dryads to realize we had stolen from them. When they did, they didn’t go after me. They went after the one who was holding the book. They were just doing their job. It took seconds. Thirty. Maybe less. Once the dryads reclaimed the book, they didn’t even look at me. They didn’tcare. It was my fault. And—someone died.”
Thirty seconds to wreck everything.
Thirty seconds to ruin my life.
I try to ease my breathing, but my lungs ache. Mybodyaches. I’ve never had to tell this story before. I’ve had no one to tell it to.
My gaze clashes with Arion’s. Pent-up devastation roils inside me, obliterating everything in its wake, but the warlock simply wraps the cord around his hand. Not to pull me closer but to take them.Every damning feeling. Every ounce of my misery. He doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t react. He just waits, either for more information or for me to collapse in a pathetic heap, all while continuing to grasp that silvered cord.
