Graves knew what he must do now, and he was so godsdamned angry. And afraid of what he must endure. The last time had been the night everything had crumbled—when he forced himself through the agony of his wings’ emergence for the masquerade.
I need to remove my glamor,he uttered down the chasm.
No one responded for a moment, and in that moment, Graves pushed away from the wall, turning to stare at the room. The bed was low to the floor, cozy for a prison. Two fixtures made of gold were welded to the wall, the candles within burning as wax dripped down the sides. A few wooden crates were stacked near the bed, and he looked inside, finding an extra supply of candles, blankets, a few pillows, soaps for the small stone tub in the corner…
He would have to make do with the surplus of blankets as bandages—his healing would take care of the rest.
Are you certain?Vale finally asked.
Graves lifted a blanket, feeling the thinness of it between his gloved fingers. He was alone here. So why did he still wear them? He felt distant from his body. Detached.
I must endure it. Or else they may never believe that I am still untouched by the Umbra,Graves responded.For all the Fallen know, I could be a shapeshifter or using a glamor. I will not risk what we came here for.
Tharen’s voice echoed in his mind, subdued.You don’t have to. We can find another way.
It is the only way.Graves bundled the blanket to his face, breathing in the scent of dust, along with the faint oceanic traces that clung to it from being here—a fabric woven in his home. It was but a promise of what was to come on the islands.
The memory of his home made him sick with melancholy and deep shame.
Would they hate him?
Sometimes, Graves felt like he hated himself so desperately, there wasn’t room for anything else.
I’m sorry,Azgorath grumbled, too soft to be silent—Graves envied the demon in that way.
Don’t feel pity for me… Az. Graves added the demon’s sobriquet at the last moment, thinking of Luella as he did so.
If you wish to wait, we will find another way,Vale stated.
But Graves knew the King was merely lying. They all knew Graves must do this.
I will be fine. I heal fast. It will be nothing like what Luella went through.At first, it would—until Graves’s healing kicked in. It would be agony.
I have but one wish, Graves thought,ensure she does not hear my screams.
Graves’s bare fingers wrapped around the chain of his amulet as the golden candlelight flickered over his bare chest.
He clenched his jaw so desperately that he felt like his teeth might crack from the force of it.
He was stalling. Gods, he didn’t want to do this.
Graves was not ready.
Vale told him that Bastian would distract Luella in her mind. Distract her from the sound of Graves’s screams. Tharen instructed him to rest as much as he could while he healed.
As if he could do anything but rest here, within this room, with its still air and slowly dripping wax as the only passage of time.
Graves’s hand shook as he gripped the chain. For one heartbeat, he let himself pretend he was a youngling again—safe, with no one expecting him to be anything more than free, no one expecting him to bleed for them.
One harsh inhale to ground himself, and he jerked the amulet away from his neck, feeling the snap of the chain as it cut into the back of his neck, the links breaking away.
And the glamor was shattered.
Pure agony ripped through Graves as his body rearranged itself to accommodate his wings, muscles tearing as his flesh was rended in two.
It never got easier.
He fell to his knees, a pained, anguished scream ripping from deep within his chest as his wings shot out from behind him, unfurling with a snap that pulled the muscles of his back as they twitched, making another scream fall from his lips.
