“You’ll get it back. And their curse is… tied to you, in a way. To a Tidecaller. It all goes back to Tala, the one Tidecaller who survived the sacrifice and escaped the god’s punishment. So long as a Tidecaller existed in the world, Eclipse magic would endure. Not as Tidecaller magic, but as the Eclipse magic you know today. Except on rare occasions, of course.”
He studied Emory. “When Tala put a damper on her magic, it left her with only Healing power going forward. Which is why,every time a Tidecaller was born, they were born as a Healer. And this brush with death they needed to unlock their true power, to become a Tidecaller in full, was a Collapsing of sorts. An eradication of Tala’s damper. And every time a Tidecaller rose into their power, they heard the call of the doors. Not only because of Atheia’s pieces that called to their magic, but because of the Tidecaller souls that were waiting for them to release them. They’ve been waiting foryou, Emory.”
A million thoughts raced through Emory’s mind. “So that’s why you’re still here,” she said flatly. “Why you’ve stuck by me. Because you need me.”
“That’s not—”
“No, I get it. I made this bargain against your will. Of course you want me to end it. I want to end it too. I just thought—I don’t know. That maybe thisthingbetween us was more than that. More than us using each other to achieve something else, I mean.”
Fitting, she thought, that she should get a taste of her own medicine.
Sidraeus withdrew as if her tone had slapped him. “Is that what you still think of me, after all we’ve been through?” When she didn’t respond, he breathed, “Did he really break your trust so completely?”
Her gaze snapped to his. She knew who he spoke of. And he was right. Keiranhadbroken her ability to trust her feelings—to trust in her attraction to this deity before her who had done nothing but save her time and time again, only for her to still question his motives.
Sidraeus will never care for anyone but himself, and if he has made you believe otherwise, it’s only to get something from you.
Atheia’s taunting voice sounded in Emory’s ears, her warning so similar to the one Lizaveta had once given her about Keiran. The difference was, Emory hadn’t believed for a second that therewas any truth to Atheia’s words. But now… had she been fooled again?
Sidraeus’s nostrils flared angrily. “I can’t say I appreciate being lumped into the same vile category as that sorry excuse of a person,” he said, voice low and rough. His eyes went to her throat, as if he could see the imprint of Keiran’s fingers there. He sighed, meeting her eye with a gentler expression. “But I can’t fault you for how you feel, and I’m sorry that I’ve given you reason not to trust me in the past.” His tone turned almost pleading. “I promise you I’m here to make it right. And it kills me that you might not believe that.”
At her silence, he started to leave.
“Wait.” He turned to her, and the devastation on his face fractured any resolve she’d had. “I don’t want to do this alone.”
He was by her side in an instant, kneeling where she sat. His hand covered her own, resting on her lap. “You’re not alone.”
She realized that, other than their embrace after escaping the Institute, it was the first time he’d really touched her since he’d regained his true form. As if realizing the same thing, he made to take his hand away.
Instead, Emory pulled him close and kissed him.
Damn whatever resolve she’d had. Damn the doubts in her head that popped up whenever she thought of him. These doubts were not about him. They were born out of Keiran’s betrayal. But Sidraeus was not Keiran. He’d proven this to her time and time again. He’d taken swords for her. Had nearly died for her. Had suffered the sleepscape and the abyss and Atheia’s wrathfor her. And while she had mistrusted her own instincts where he was concerned, all of them had been proven right.
This thing between them, this attraction, this sense of belonging… She knew he felt it, too.
But perhaps she’d read him wrong, because the second their lips touched, he froze. Didn’t reciprocate the kiss.
Emory pulled away, cheeks burning with the sting of rejection. “I’m sorry,” she said. “This was a mistake.”
But then—his hand touching her cheek. Her name spoken like a prayer. His thumb ran over her bottom lip as his eyes peered into hers, and in the vulnerability etched on his face she could only see a boy, not a deity. As scared as she was to do the wrong thing, take the wrong step.
He tilted her chin up with the tip of his fingers, ever so gently, as if still scared to touch her. And when his lips met hers, they were light as a feather, as a breath of air against skin. It was unlike anything she would have expected of him. The deadly deity motivated by vengeance. The wry humor that had set her aflame. No. Here was someone who was as touch-starved as she was, as eager to be seen for all that he was, yet still so very scared to put his heart on the line. To give in.
Emory was done being careful with her heart and her trust. She wanted this. And after what she’d gone through, she needed to feel alive—needed to feelsomething.
She ran her hands through his thick curls, drawing him closer. His hands snaked over hers, pulling them from the back of his neck down to his heart, before breaking the kiss to look at her.
“We shouldn’t,” he said. The words lacked conviction.
“Why not?” she asked.
“I—” He swallowed visibly, gaze trailing down to her mouth. His eyes were molten when they flicked back to hers. “To be honest, I’m running out of reasons.”
“So am I.”
Emory pressed her lips against his hands, still cupping her own, and held his gaze as she did so. He made a sound deep in his throat, and then his mouth was on hers again, setting her aflame.
The kiss was slow, indulgent. Emory melted into him, breathing in the vetiver and blood-orange and cedarwood scent of him asher hands fisted in his shirt to tug him closer, wanting to feel him against her. Sidraeus’s hands were everywhere. They remained delicate as they gently cupped her face, the nape of her neck; as they found their way to her hips, the small of her back. He touched her like she was an ice sculpture that might melt away in his grasp, like she was crystal that might break and shatter into a million pieces.
