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“Us avoiding death isn’t causing this to happen, Grey,” Noel said sternly. “I’d bet my ass these fucks would’ve done the exact same thing even if we were all corralled inside the Grand Capital the day we set our eyes on that piece of shit obelisk.”
“How can you be sure?”
“Because they destroy what they can’t control,” he said, that green hue darkening. “Macharomancers have helped build our fortresses, so they want them to pay. And then there’s us: the ones they want to hunt because we don’t lay down and die—we fight. We fight, and they hope to break us to dash the hopes of everyone else in this plane who considers standing up against them. The hydromancers were an example. They’re making the macharomancers an example. They’re trying to make us an example too.”
Grey squeezed his eyes shut, his body trembling and forcing him to slowly slide to the floor—straight on top of the bags. He nested his arms over his knees and buried his face. “I don’t have the will to fight anymore, I…” Warm tears stuck to his sleeves.
A hand cupped his elbow, and he tensed. “We’re so close to the end, Grey. I’ll carry you the rest of the way if you can bring yourself to give them one last thing. Just one painting, and I do everything in my power to let you finally rest.”
His chest heaved as a violent sob broke free. He rubbed his forehead against his sleeve. “You shouldn’t have to?—”
Noel’s fingers pressed a little harder. “I want to. You’re my friend—one of the few friends I have, and I treat my friends like a second family.” He shifted, rustling some of the canvas fabric around them before his voice dropped to a gentle whisper. “You remember when we first met?”
Grey forced himself to take in steady breaths while he crawled back in time to the panic he’d felt leaping from the frying pan and into a possible fire—from the Hunt to a macharomancer he didn’t know. He lifted his head and sniffed, waiting for Noel to continue. He shuffled even closer, making Grey’s heart flutter wildly in his chest.
“You told me I at least had a fighting chance. So I’m going to fight for us both, so we both have a chance.”
“I can’t ask you to?—”
“You’re not asking,” Noel breathed. “I’m telling you.” His other palm crested Grey’s arm, so close to an embrace.
He had to resist the urge to throw himself against Noel and melt into him. But he sat still, fighting the want to surrender—surrender to rest, to Noel, to death, to Reign. Grey pinched the sleeve of his hoodie to somewhat conceal his glove and swiped at his eyes.
“What do you say?” Noel asked. “Can you sacrifice one painting for these monsters before we walk away?”
Grey hesitated, warring with himself between relying too much on Noel as a potential burden or selfishly taking that offer because he so very badly wanted to stay. To stay protected and cared for in a way that warmed his heart and cradled his soul. He started to nod, his chest tightening at the sight of Noel’s face softening.
“We’ll get through this. I’ll make sure of it.”
44
GREY
Breakfast weighed heavy in Grey’s stomach after devouring more than he’d been able to bring himself to do in days. Noel had kept pushing fresh cooked meat and crusty baked bread onto his half-broken plate until Cy stopped him with a warning that he was going to make him sick.
It was like he’d fallen into a strange new reality when they cleaned up and grabbed their things to leave, especially when Cy locked the door with a spare iron-laced lock and key. “There’s not really anywhere else nearby we’ll be able to get to, outside of macharomancer towns. Considering how much time we might spend out there, I don’t want to take our chances. Hunkering down here for another night shouldn’t hurt.”
He stared back at the shack like they’d deemed it a second home, bringing a strange sense of peace that he’d laid eyes on where he would be returning to sleep. Supplies clinked together in his bag as he hopped on behind Noel and clung to him, breathing in the lingering scent of campfire smoke woven into the denim. Grey pressed his face against it, savoring the warmth on his skin from how long the fabric had soaked in the morning sunlight.
Engines revved, and they sped down the unmarked path, weaving through brush behind Cy. Every smooth turn and downward tilt made Grey’s stomach flip until they reached a valley. Trees lined their view, obscuring portions of the clearing just beyond. Grey hopped off the second they stopped and jogged forward into the light piercing through the shadowy depths of the forest.
God, it looked like it’d been pulled straight from a dream. Splashes of color dotted the entirety of the meadow, greedily collecting the midday rays. Blooming riots of oranges, purples, blues, and pinks tickled that child locked within him, especially the moment he caught sight of the clover patches zigzagging through. And right in the center of it all sat a pond, smooth as a mirror with lily pads and stones staggered around the shallow rim.
“Whoa,” Noel breathed, his shoulder brushing Grey’s.
Grey tensed and reached into his bag when Noel glanced over, signaling he likely felt that sudden, nervous discomfort. He dug through his supplies as he started to dip into the grass, Noel shifting to survey the area before he decided to sit down next to him. Grey’s heart jumped straight into his throat.
He wasn’t going to watch the whole time, was he? Heat started to creep up the back of his neck as he recalled the good parts of his dream from the other night—the pieces that made him so jumpy now since they appeared to manifest right in front of him. What if the dream was a premonition? What if Noel was going to kiss him? What if Reign would show up because of that?
The questions continued to pester him until Cy tapped Noel’s shoulder. “You have the map, right? Mind if we chart out the ruins for tomorrow?”
Noel’s fumbled reply allowed Grey to breathe a little easier, knowing now that he was distracted. He tugged off his gloves and quickly pulled his tin of charcoal out, immediately dirtying his hands with it to obscure the lingering, magic-worn stains.
Gentle, light lines of sooty black crossed the canvas in his starting outline. Every piece had its designated place, much like how he had his. He tried to shake that thought away as he retrieved his brushes and began messing with his pigments. Each color Grey brought to life gave him hesitation before touching it to the cloth. That small fear gripped his heart that he was a single stroke or dot away from failure—denial—destruction.
But flowers bloomed along the untouched white and vibrant green he loved so much, likening it to Noel’s eyes. The blue had knotted his stomach until it reached that light, powdery hue since another face came to mind and taunted the recesses of his thoughts as if this little fragment of his soul poured out onto the canvas would never be enough. That he’d be doomed to surrender to them in the end. He supposed that’s why he couldn’t help but paint in a woman by the mirror-like pond, flowers dotting her hair. A nameless, faceless person that might as well be one of fair folk at a distance.
The colors started to fit together seamlessly, blending like an old, blurred photograph taken before the Wild Hunt had destroyed such blasphemous, man-made creations.
