Page 74 of Hunger & Harmony

Light glows from behind me, so bright that it breaks our fervor. I turn from the kiss for only a moment, before double-taking in his embrace.

Where my blood meets stone, where the necklace lies discarded in ruin . . .

Sancte Noctis repairs itself. Not from song, and not from hunger.

Pressure builds behind my eyes, and a dull sensation in my ribcage tugs me towards Niko. As I fall back into his arms, I hear it. Not him. Not anyone else.

An echo from the Vox Crown as it calls my name.

Resonant.

17

BITTER DEVOTION

Wasn’t the necklace left in the ruin?

My hand flies up to touch the guitar pick under the thin fabric of a gown. It hums against my sternum, and as I roll it between my fingers, the wounds on my palm are gone.

Resonant.

The Vox Crown whispers between the ringing in my ears. As I slowly pry my eyes open, it isn’t the main hall’s destruction greeting me. I don’t recognize the bedroom I lie in. It’s significantly large, and the mattress under me is soft.

When I attempt to get a better look, a crack of pain flattens me again. I hiss quietly, my head throbbing and entire body quivering in pain.

“Shit . . .” I whisper, feet writhing under heavy blankets as I roll back and forth.

With every long exhale, the ache dulls. It’s enough to try and form a coherent thought. I’m still not piecing together all that happened.

“I tried my best,” a voice murmurs from my right.

My eyes snap open, and I manage to force myself up. There, Selene sits in a velvet chair pulled up to the bedside. A warm glow from the adjacent fireplace cradles her bare face and neatly tucked hair.

Wait. The fire is burning orange, not blue. Wasn’t every other flame here distinctly cold?

She raises her hand to me.

“Here. For any lasting pain.”

I stare down at the vial in her palm. It reflects juniper, though dark as night, when I gingerly take it from her.

“Um . . .” I hold what I assume is medicine in my lap, giving her a grateful nod. “Thank you.”

Her only response is a wordless stare. Like she’s trying to crack a code, and the answer is in my expression. When I awkwardly glance back down at the small vial, she clears her throat.

“Apologies.”

“Don’t be,” I say before I mumble. “What’s . . .been going on?”

A flurry of emotions passes over her face. She settles on a neutral frown, and I wince when she speaks.

“I won’t bullshit you,” she says. “Your heart is good. Even when I knew something was different, I never sensed malice.”

I swallow hard.

“But . . .”

Am I bad?