“Figure it out.If it helps, I promise to never ask for tuna again.But I really think you need to?—”
The wraith closest to me swings an arm back and hurtles it towards my face.My eyes slam shut.My body is so hot sweat pours down my neck.The vibrations clatter my teeth and reverberate in my chest.Even though my lids are slammed shut, it’s bright enough my vision stings.My body stiffens, the searing heat courses through me.The smell of summer and rainbows and warm breezes drifts around me and then it morphs and all I smell is burning.
I expect the hit to come.But it doesn’t.
I wait.
Wait some more.
Still nothing.
I sneak a peek, peeling a lid open and gasp.
Where the wraiths were standing are two scorch marks forming a pattern like a firework explosion.In the centre of the scorch marks are two crumbled piles of blackened ash.
I glance behind me, where Mortem is trembling, his eyes startled wide, fur more static than I’ve ever seen it.
“Mortem…” I say, inching towards him but he backs up, and up.
“Hey, buddy, it’s just me.”
But he dives under the nearest bush carcass and howls.
13
Architecti
There is a beat lingering beneath my skin.It throbs over and over and over.A constant coiling coldness that grows ever tighter.
Such a strange contradiction to the warmth building in my chest.The longer I spend with Gellara, the more she burrows into my soul.As though every night she carves off pieces of herself and nestles them between my feathers.
An odd thing, love.
Such intensity for something so intangible.How is one supposed to grasp it to keep hold of it?
And therein lies the problem.
My coiling dread is a kraken slithering through my veins, reminding me that my sister will always take what I have.Destroy what I love.And ruin what I crave.
I need to push Gellara away.For her sake, the noblest thing I can do is give her up.
“You should leave,” I say.
She recoils, the cover crumpling under her balled fist.
“You need to go live your life.Go spend time lobbying to change the system for mortals.Arcadius accepted your paper.He’s willing to hear you out.You could fulfil your dreams.All I am going to do is stand in the way of that.I don’t want that for you.”
She pouts and then glowers at me.“You’re trying to control me the way you control your sister.What I choose to do isn’t up to you…”
“I’m trying to do the right thing.”I lean into the pillow, letting out a frustrated noise.
“Sometimes you have to let go,” she breathes, her hand skirting over my shoulders.
Is she right?Am I trying to control my sister?Perhaps that is my weakness.Perhaps I am not an angel at heart.I fell, after all.If it weren’t for my wings, I’d have convinced myself of my humanity by now.
It has been months.
No.That’s not right.It has been years.Decades.
