“He’s always been a heavy sleeper. Never heard me pace around in his room.” Zion inspected his chest, the area Dorrian had prodded and poked now swollen and reddened. At least it’d ceased bleeding.
Dorrian had warned him that the spot would be sore for a week after the procedure, that it might itch—badly—but Zion had only threatened he’d do it himself if he kept talking instead of proceeding.
“How long have you been watching him?” Tugging the oversized burgundy t-shirt over my head, I used the fabric to hide my smile. To this day, whenever he couldn’t rest, Zion would sit in the corner and watch the bed until rest’s tendrils dragged him back to sleep.
Zion tugged the neckline of my t-shirt to check the patch of my skin Dorrian had abused. “Since we moved in here.”
My eyebrows dipped. Ilasall had attempted to raze their compound a little over twelve years ago. But I’d thought their family houses still stood. Everyone here lived with their siblings and parents and kids and who I learned to be grandparents and great-grandparents. Housing was limited, with so many dwellings in an uninhabitable state.
Satisfied with his inspection, Zion adjusted my t-shirt, making sure the fabric stayed loose. “After the war, none of us wanted to live in houses that used to belong to our families. Walking past the vacant rooms…” he trailed off as Gedeon rolled over onto his stomach, unconsciously wrapping himself in the fluffy duvet he claimed to be too suffocating.
Shaking his head, Zion fished out a couple of wool blankets from the closet.
“I get it,” I said as I tiptoed toward the center of the bed—it’d become my spot.
As if I needed to be coddled in my sleep.
Sure, one soldier had sneaked into our central building and almost slit Gedeon’s throat, but the key word wasalmost.
And the training I’d put myself through over the last months had to count for something. When your days consisted of close combat sessions, group formations, battle strategy, and dirty fighting, you learned a thing or two.
Especially when one of your teachers was a sadist with a proclivity for flustering you. And then fucking you until you became a whimpering mess.
The mattress dipped under my knees and hands as I clambered onto the bed. “After Alora and I were separated”—more like, after I’d betrayed the only friend I’d loved—“I spent nights and nights staring at her bed in our dorm.” I scooched closer to Gedeon so Zion could nestle in beside me. “But the hole in my chest never closed up, not even years later.”
Sacrificing Alora to get the black wristband instead of taking my chances in Ilasall’s fertility testing had encased my heart in stone. All feelings had fled me the moment I’d broken my promise to her.
By forcing her to actually be screened for the ability to conceive children, I’d condemned her to becoming the property of a green-banded man. And all he’d done was turn her into a baby machine, use her to boost his career, and climb the ranks in his chosen governmental division, one of the six: Nutriment, Labor, Health, Education, Military, or Welfare.
Not a single establishment was owned by an individual in the city.
“You’re shivering.” Zion pulled me closer, careful not to aggravate the barely aching area above my chest. Tucking thetwo wool blankets boasting yellow and green squares around us, he kissed my nose, and I floated in the sensation.
It was eerily similar to how it’d felt whenever Alora would take my hand when we were younger.
It’s all going to be okay. We’ll be okay, I’d told her thirteen years ago.
And another thirteen years later, nothing had turned out to be okay. I’d been kidnapped and thrust onto the threshold of a brewing civil war, and Alora had died during childbirth, her corpse probably used as fertilizer, all because of my selfishness.
Some said that forgiveness was earned, not given, but the dead couldn’t speak.
So I had two choices: either push forward with the weight of my actions strangling me or move against the current and…forgive myself.
If only I knew what it meant.
I stroked Zion’s pectoral, right above the dangling bit of metal Dorrian had…inserted. “What’s it like to forgive?”
Zion caught my wrist, giving it a peck. “What do you mean?”
“I—” I swallowed. “I understand Alora’s death is my fault.” Before he could say anything, I rushed out, “No, please, let me speak.”
Except words refused to come to me.
Thud, the surge of my heart struck my ribs, like a soul knocking on the gates of the living realm.
Thump, the thunder of my pulse cracked the barrier.
Boom, the explosion rattled my bones, and someone from the other side shook me.
