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The first darkness to grace the world, and the personification of true shadows from which the day and the aether were born.
I glanced at him, my smirk becoming a genuine smile. You've got kids?
Yes. And many descendants; my family is vast and spreads across all species and races. Most possess only a sliver of darkness, but there is one in whom darkness lives as strong as my own. Stronger, perhaps, for what it has endured.
You're talking in riddles, I pointed out, eyeing the two-storey house as we walked through a low-slung garden towards it. There was a vegetable patch on one side, rose bushes and other flowering plants on the other.
My heart twisted up tight and I stopped before I could reach the house, images overlapping. In one vision the house was burning, fire pouring through every room in a cruel flickering glow.
Remember, Busty said, his voice quieter, sadder. The dark wrapped around my shoulders like a hug, and a weight fell from me even as a lump swelled in my throat.
Oh, I murmured when he pulled me into an embrace, and I realised it wasn't the darkness hugging me but him. It felt like being held by my dad, the same care and protectiveness and worry, and my eyes stung.
My shadows are a comfort to you because Wane, your mate, inherited them from me. Both him and Harveil are descended from me, but the younger twin received my daughter's sunlight.
I blinked. I'd always thought Wane was the younger one.
Wait. Shit. He was making me remember, reminding me of a life I knew was full of pain and misery and torture. I didn't want to remember. But now he'd cracked the door open on my memories, they came pouring out until I couldn't look at the house without seeing it in flames.
This is mean, I said, my voice choked.
Erebus stroked my hair like I was a teenager sobbing because her first love had just broken up with her.3
They're waiting for you, Busty murmured, his shadows leeching all my bite and snarl until I wanted to sob. You can't stay here, Halwen. It was always temporary. It's time to go back.
Back to agony and crying and fighting for my life?
I've had enough, I told him. I'm so fucking tired, and life sucks. I'm staying dead.
Erebus moved back, his dark brow knotted and sympathy in his glossy black eyes. Life isn't made of only bad, and equally death isn't only good. There's suffering in death, and peace in living. But, he added pointedly, and I was already rolling my eyes, your mates don't have much peace right now. Should I show you them?
I turned away, a lump in my throat. The house drew my eye, as it always did, and a tight ache formed in my chest. My eyes burned. Please don't.
Oh, Halwen, he sighed, standing shoulder to shoulder with me now. It's okay to be afraid. Every mortal being is afraid. He glanced at me. Some immortal beings, too, though they'd deny it.
I swallowed hard, blinking a tear free. What happens if I go back? How long before someone else kills me, or—
Or kills one of my mates.
Oh gods, we were killed. Cassander Locke murdered us. Cronus murdered Wynvail. And Wane—Wane was tortured every day for a hundred years.
Show me what happened to Wane, I rasped, startling Erebus.
Halwen, no. Darkness surged against my shoulder, turning me away from the house, and it was so familiar that I couldn't breathe for a moment. These were Wane's shadows, the darkness I'd woken up wrapped in for ten years, the darkness that had shielded me, protected me, cared for me.
Show me.
It won't fix anything. It won't help you, Halwen. It will only make returning more painful.
I shrugged. Then I won't return. Problem solved.
But I was remembering more and more, remembering who I'd been in life, who I'd loved.
I remembered Kai stalking me when I snuck out of the safe house. He stopped me in the middle of the street with the night dark and close around us and presented me with the greatest gift I'd ever been given.
And Emlyn siting on the floor outside the bathroom for three hours when I miscarried for the second time, murmuring endless assurances that they still loved me, still wanted me, and this wasn't my fault.
Harvey almost melting a baking tray trying to make my favourite cake for my birthday, his chest covered in flour, batter all over his hands, and a look of pure and utter defeat on his face when he met my eyes. A lemon cake had sat, blackened, on the countertop. I'm so sorry, Sugarplum, I fucked up. I wanted everything to be perfect, but— I'd kissed him, so touched I'd almost cried.
