He slides his lower jaw to one side. “But if you live, you’ll enforce the agreement.”
“My magic will. Why does that bother you? You knew that was the purpose of the spell!” I’m angry now. He agreed to this. He wanted this. We needed this.
“You should have warned me, Eloise. After everything, you should have known I would not want a sigil in my skin.”
I can’t stand the look in his eyes, like I’ve betrayed him. I try to close the space between us, but he holds up his hand. “No. You stay here. Rest. I need to think things through.”
“Damien—”
He shakes his head. I hold open my arms, desperately hopeful he’ll return to my embrace, but he siphons under the door before I can say another word. I can’t recall Damien ever denying me physical contact, and I wonder if he left simply to prove he can, that he’s still free, not beholden to me or anyone else.
Only after he’s gone do I face what I’ve done in full measure. I freed Damien from the curse that kept him from his home world. I removed the skull and crossbones tattoo on his chest, which was the Gowdie sigil, with magic I didn’t even understand yet. In doing so, I promised Damien, not in words but by actions, that he would be free. That my love was the equivalent of freedom. I enforced that promise when I freed him from Valeska.
It was an unspoken promise, a promise he returned when he freed me from King Entrydal. Placing those sigils on his skin would feel the same to him as him returning me to Entrydal’s rack. Even if it were temporary, even if it meant we might win the war, if I were chained there, even if no one beat me, the act of being cuffed to that arch, theact of being in that room, it would break me. It would open a wound that might never fully close again.
Damien agreed to the bargain. He didn’t agree to the sigil. And I have made a terrible mistake. Not only has my mate agreed to a magical vow with a group he never fully trusted, but he’s made himself vulnerable to my magic for the good of his people. He trustsme, and I overstepped that trust. And although what I’ve done isn’t permanent, and the damage I delivered wasn’t intentional, those sigils, to him, are betrayal.
Heart heavy, I sink into a hot bath and then climb into the big, cozy bed, thinking only that I desperately miss being tangled with Damien in that tiny maiden’s wagon.
The moon has set,and it’s the middle of the night when I hear Damien come in. One boot and then the other thumps on the floor as if from a great height. His sword rattles in its scabbard. He smells of sweat and an acrid, musky sweetness I can’t put my finger on.
“I know you can’t be drunk, so I assume you want to talk?” I ask, sitting up in bed.
“On the contrary, little bird,” he slurs. “As I’ve explained to you before, I can’t get drunk from your alcohol, but I can feel the effects of smoking feoral root.”
“What’s feoral root?”
He sighs. “Kind of mushroom.” He sits down on the edge of the bed.
“Well, they reek. How about a bath?”
“Tired,” he says.
“I’ll do the work.” I climbfrom the bed and take his hand, leading him into the bathroom, where I start the water and add some soap powder to make bubbles. He won’t look at me, but at least he’s not fleeing the room. He leans heavily against the wall.
“I’ve been thinking about what you said.”
“Oh?” He blinks slowly.
“You’re right. You and I have both survived the most horrific traumas, Damien. I realized earlier tonight that those sigils on your arms are as heavy to you as the manacles would be if you returned me to Entrydal’s rack.”
He growls low and turns his face away. “I would never do such a thing.”
“No, you wouldn’t.”
He says nothing, just stares at me, his expression impassive. I turn off the water and rise, reaching for him. But he pulls away. “I wasn’t sure you’d survive that night.” His stare turns vacant, and I wonder if it’s the feoral root or the memory that distracts him from the now. “There was so much blood. You’d lost more than any human could and still survive, and although you were a vampire, you were just so fragile. I took you to Catarina. Dimhollow was the only place that was safe, and she the only one who could heal you.
“At first, she wouldn’t let you in. Nevina had made you swallow that fucking tracker. Catarina gave you a potion to rid you of it. We had to give it to you, or you couldn’t enter the village. But I could see it in the witch’s eyes that she knew it might kill you. You drank it and then vomited more blood, blood you didn’t have to lose. You did survive, but only barely. I would never put you through any of that again, Eloise. Never.”
“Damien, I’m sorry. I should have dug deeper into thespell and warned you of the effects. I should have known that this would be traumatic for you. That it would hurt you. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I’m sorry.” I reach out, and he almost falls over avoiding my touch. “I’m sorry,” I squeak, my voice breaking this time and my eyes filling with tears. “I’ll break the bond if you want me to. We will lose the alliance and Jaqual will never trust us again, but I’ll do it if you ask me to.”
His eyes are so cold. So impersonal. He’s looking at me, but he might as well be staring at the wall. I have broken something between us. Unintentional as it may have been, the damage is done.
I fall on my knees and sob into my hands. “I’m sorry.”
Minutes pass, me weeping in silence. Has he left the room? I’m afraid to look.
The relief is immediate when his warm, rough hand lands on my shoulder. His other one peels my hands from my face. For a long while, we just stare at each other, eye to eye, nose to nose. My tears fall, and I can’t even wipe them away with his hold on my wrists.
