“With magic, Arion. Through magic, all is possible.”
It wasn’t though. Itisn’t. Magic has limitations, and mortality is a prison from which I can’t escape. What was the point in sacrificing it all? What was the point of the torture and the battles and the death? I was meant to make Mortia a better place. I was going to make it safer.
“Arion?” a melodious voice pours through the tunnel, wrenching me from my thoughts.Zephyra.“Do you—do you trust him?” she asks. “Are you sure we should keep him around?”
“Now that you’ve tongue-fucked him, you want to throw him away?”
“That’s not fair. I was trying to help.”
No. It wasn’t fair. But I can’t breathe through the sudden onslaught of emotions. I can’t focus on anything through the regret. The fear that I’ve made a horrible mistake. The sight of black veins webbing over my chest sends a fresh wave of bile up my throat. When did this happen?
When did everything fall apart?
“Sorry,” I manage. Too rough. Too short. A shitty excuse for an apology.
Still, Zephyra laughs. “Be still, my heart. An apology from a warlock. What’s next? A sermon from a blowfish?”
“Funny.” I lean against the sharp wall at my back and rest my head against the stone. “Gavriall won’t kill us. He’s a gambling addict, but he was never a murderer. And he’s smart. He knows more than I do about Abysses. Though, I don’t know how loyal he’ll stay. He will always look after himself first.”And so will I, right? Isn’t that why I saved a merrow from the noose?
“Not wanting to die—I can understand that,” she admits.
“Me too.”
A familiar anxiety flashes through the silver cord. I take it in hand, running a thumb over the delicate surface. She exhales softly in response. The sound seems to echo off every wall.
Though it’s the first moment I’ve had alone in days, though I have no reason to do so except perhaps self-sabotage, I conjure a flicker of magic from the heat between my ribs. Picturing her scales, thebeads of salt water on each and every one, I imagine myself drying them. With a single blink, I manage to transform her tail into legs. I know it works when she gasps. Then she clears her throat.
“Thank you.”
“Gratitude from a mermaid?” I echo with a dry laugh. “Be still, my heart.”
Footsteps tread light and uncertain through the grotto, into the tunnel, where Zephyra peers inside. She’s exchanged her shredded skirts and broken bodice for Gavriall’s shirt. I must have dried that too. The buttons strain against her breasts and hips. The fabric too tight, too small. I glare at the ceiling before taking off my own shirt, drying it, and throwing it at her.
She catches it easily. “What’s this for?”
“You look uncomfortable.”
Her forehead creases with a soft, worried line. “I’m fine.”
“You’re not.” I hold up the cord. “I can feel it.”
Her fingers trail to the buttons, and she begins to undo them. When I shut my eyes tight, she laughs again. “It’s nothing you haven’t seen before, warlock.”
But she doesn’t understand. These past few days have broken me down. They have brokenme. I used to be in control of my emotions. I used to not feel a fucking thing. Now all I know is pain and exhaustion and incineration.
“Okay. I’m decent. You can look again.”
I open one eye to be certain, and she smiles wickedly at me. Perched atop an old crate, she crosses her legs, and my shirt rides up her thighs.Fuck me.She looks like a painting, all sinuous curves and golden skin, her eyes gleaming with mischief and something else—something secretive and dark. Her tongue flicks out to wet her lips, and I tense.
She is pure torture.
I distract myself by conjuring a loaf of bread, a wheel of cheese, two pears, and a bottle of strawberry wine. Simple food. Simple magic. We haven’t eaten a real meal since… gods,when? Her stomach rumbles at the sight. She hops off the crate to move closer, so I lay the spread atop a barrel.
“Goddess, that looks good.” She rips into the bread without invitation, moaning at the first bite. She collects any loose crumbs with her thumb before sucking them from the tip of her finger.Perhaps this wasn’t a good distraction.“How do you do that?” she asks after her next bite.
“The magic?”
She nods and steals the cheese from my hand, peeling away a layer of orange wax.
