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He takes a deep breath—I’m amazed he doesn’t gag on the stench—then, as he exhales, he says, “You still wear his brand. You never gave me permission to touch you, so my mark never settled on your skin.”
Okay. Maybe I’m too out of it to really function, but that makes even less sense to me. And I’m over it.
“What, unh… jeez, Nine, I’m freaking dying here. If you’re gonna fix me, do it. Otherwise, just let me die in peace.”
“You won’t die. I won’t allow it.”
Another moan. His magic water must’ve worn off. My stomach hurts so bad now, I want to cut my gut open, rip it out, and throw it into the depths of the sewer. Anything to make the pain stop.
“Honestly,” I grit through clenched teeth, “the way I’m feeling right now, I don’t think that’s gonna stop me. Stop stalling. Do it.”
“I won’t take another touch without you understanding why I must.”
Whoa.
Hang on.
Touch?
Who said anything about a touch?
I’m okay with removing my stomach to get rid of the pain. But to willingly accept his touch… suddenly, his insistence that I make the time to listen to him makes a ton more sense. Even as sick as I feel, my instinct is to crawl away from him.
“Touch?” I want to hurl again. It’s a miracle that I keep from sitting up and folding over. “Why would you even say that?”
Nine crouches down low, close enough that I can see his fancy black boots, the silk of his pants, the tail of his shadowy duster—but far enough away that I can dodge his touch if he reaches for me.
He gentles his voice as he begins to explain.
“There are two ways to erase what his peach has done. I can touch you, give you some of my strength while leeching the poison from you. Or, if you’d prefer, I can burn the poison and Rys’s brand away. It’s extreme, I know it is, but you shouldn’t risk the Light Fae being able to track you by following his mark. Touch magic or fire, it’s your choice. Either way, I’ll fight the peach’s charm and make it so that Rys won’t be able to follow you unless you call for him. That’s the best that I can do.”
I dare a glance up at Nine’s face just as his pale gaze flickers over to the flames dancing inside of Rys’s lantern. My stomach clenches and, this time, I can’t stop myself from lurching up, finally folding over, and gagging.
By the time this newest wave of unspeakable agony washes over me, I want to cry. And that’s nothing compared to how it feels to know that Rys marked me in a way that his touch is like a fancy fae GPS tracker or something.
How? Maybe it really is the peach getting to my head, but I don’t get it. The fae can’t lie, and Rys told me...
“That’s not how he found me,” I argue. “He… he told me he knew to follow the pockets—”
“That was true. What he didn’t add was that, from the moment you let him touch your skin, he could follow you across time itself. It’s part of a fae’s magic. Those touched by the fae can never escape the brand.”
Great. Just freaking great. Nine tells me this now?
Okay. Okay. He’s not really leaving me any choice. I guess I should be glad that he’s explaining this all to me so that I’m going into this with my eyes open. He didn’t have to do that—and it wouldn’t change anything anyway.
I’m not going to Faerie.
Nope.
“Let me just… okay. I let you touch me, I’m finally free of the Light Fae… but then you’ll know how to find me. Right?”
“Yes. Until the fire burns my brand away, or you give another precious touch away.”
“You keep saying, unh, fire.” I wipe my mouth with the back of my glove, then lean on my elbow again so that I can marvel at the leather that covers the ruined flesh. “Is that why…”
I can’t say it. Maybe I’m being ridiculous, maybe I’m too sick to even entertain my wild train of thought, but I can’t say it.
Nine understands. “Yes. It’s part of the Seelie’s light magic. When you refused Rys, he wouldn’t leave knowing that, after all this time, you still had my touch on your skin. He found a way to remove it.”
