Skye gasped and unfurled, finally free. His glow roared back to life. I gasped as my air began to run out, the amulet around my neck cracked, and my body aching from hitting the rock.
His stunned, wide-eyed gaze of disbelief met mine as if he couldn’t believe any of this was happening. But the triumph turned to terror. My consciousness faded. The last thing I saw was Skye propelling himself toward me with a single, furious kick of his tail. His arms reaching for me as the blackness swallowed me whole.
13
I woke hurting.Every muscle screaming of overuse, and my lungs aching as if I’d breathed fire. But as I opened my eyes, hoping to find Skye, my apartment materialized around me, the light of midday streaming through the windows, and the sterile blandness of my bedroom leaving me with heartbreak.
For a long few minutes I dozed, too tired to move, too hurt to force myself up, occasionally opening my eyes to gaze at my ceiling, and then close them to remember the darkness of the water surrounding Skye and his terrified expression.
Was he free? I hoped so. The hollow emptiness in my chest ached as if being here, instead of with him, carved me wide open. Salt flavored my lips, making me think the battle was real. Yet I was alone. Maybe he’d been magically transported to his people?
I turned my head to gaze at the painting, searching for any sign of him, or hope he’d been freed from the curse.
My breath caught.
The storm was gone.
Gentle rolling waves lapped over the cove, exposing more of the tiny distant island, and coloring the sky overhead with a serene cerulean dotted with puffs of scattered clouds. Warmlight lit the sand a soft gold, like the perfect sunny day. It was peaceful, and perhaps even healed.
But Skye was nowhere to be seen. Had he escaped?
I stumbled out of bed, my legs unsteady, and moved closer to the painting, searching every brushstroke for a sign of him. The cake sat on the island, though the amulet and dagger had vanished. I stared at the gentle waves for what felt like hours, breathing hard, heart aching, until I caught the tiniest glimmer of green-blue light beneath the calm waves.
Skye?
He didn’t resurface, but I prayed he was safe. I collapsed on the bed, too tired to do more, and feeling a little feverish, perhaps from near-drowning or even lack of sleep. I sent a quick text to Xavier that I wasn’t feeling well and wouldn’t be in today, but as I lay back down in bed, I hoped that I’d return to the cove, to Skye, or at least get to kiss his lips one last time.
For four days I slept,but I didn’t dream of the cove. I dreamt of dark water and the terrifying silence after the light faded. Tears streamed down my face easily a dozen times as I sobbed myself to sleep, alone, miserable both inside and out. Every time I looked at the painting, it was unchanged. Serene.
But underneath lingered a sense that Skye remained within. Trapped by the painting itself while free from the binding magic? Since I couldn’t get back inside the cove, I wasn’t certain.
I returned to work because I had nothing else to do. The office across the Veil was its usual controlled chaos. Xavier acknowledged me with a glance and a simple, “Take it slow.” There were no questions about my absence, no mentions ofcurses or paintings. It was as if the entire ordeal had been a fever dream.
After staring lifelessly at emails for hours, unwilling to focus on work, I did the only thing I could think of. I pulled the heavy, leather-bound ledger of mating bonds from its shelf. I thought reading about other people’s happiness, other fated pairs who found their way to each other, might ease the loneliness. That had to be what we were, right? A mated pair?
Perhaps Skye didn’t feel the same. But my heart ached every time I thought of him, as if the distance gradually wore at its will to beat.
It was a mistake to read the log. Each entry cut fresh into my soul.
Recognized by scent across a crowded market…
Soul marks ignited at first touch…
A pull that could not be denied…
How would I start mine?
Gifted a cursed painting that sang a song straight into my soul.
I’d given my heart and shattered a curse, only to now exist in a loneliness worse than before I’d met him.
That night, and every night after, I went home and picked up a brush. I couldn’t go to the cove, but I could still send gifts into it. It was a pathetic ritual, a message in a bottle tossed into a silent sea. Was he there?
I painted a cluster of jasmine because Skye had once said he missed the smell of flowers. I painted a small, sturdy hut with a roof of woven palms to give him shelter from the sun. I added a little school of silver fish in the shallows, hoping they might be company, and a handful of gulls in the sky, as I knew he loved things from beyond the waves.
Each tiny addition appeared in the painting the next morning, perfect and still. But no matter how many details I added, the cove remained lifeless. I would fall asleep staring at the tranquil scene, my heart willing a familiar form to appear on the shore, but I only ever woke up in my own cold, quiet bed.
The painting was no longer a curse. It was a beautiful, perfect grave for my hopes.
