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“You remember her?”
“No. But I was told she had blue eyes.” He tilted his head and looked down into Lily’s green ones. “And red hair.”
“That explains it, then,” Lily said, smiling up at him. “That’s why you can’t lay off the redheads.”
Lily’s smile dissolved. She thought of Lillian, and her claim that she became a murderer to save Rowan’s people. Lily didn’t know the whole story yet, but she did know that no one can lie in mindspeak. Lillian believed she’d saved lives by killing. That was her truth. After over an hour of reading about genocide and about how people like Buffalo Bill were seen as heroes in their day, Lily wasn’t so sure what the words “murderer” and “hero” meant anymore. Would she kill a few to stop what had happened on the Trail of Tears? And if she wouldn’t—if she wasn’t willing to get her hands dirty in order to save thousands of innocent lives—would that make her a bigger monster than Lillian?
What’s the matter, Lily?
I thought of Lillian.
Don’t. Put her out of your mind entirely or you may accidentally reach out to her in mindspeak. You’re here, you’re safe, and you’re going to stay that way.
Lily held her breath, waiting for Rowan to ask if Lillian had tried to contact her, but he didn’t. He didn’t even suspect Lily was hiding something from him. She tightened her arms around him and vowed then and there to never to reach out to Lillian again, no matter how much she still craved answers.
As long as I’m with you, I don’t really care where I am, Rowan.
She felt his arms tighten around her briefly before he let her go and got up. “I’ll take you back to your room,” he said quietly, and gathered her up in his arms.
“Can’t we stay here?” Lily asked.
She met his eyes. The house was quiet. Everyone else was sleeping. Lily slid her hand over his shoulder, cupping the muscle in her palm, before she let her hand flare out and wander to his bare throat where his willstone softly glowed. She felt his pulse start thumping under her hand. He stood very still, and Lily could feel heat building in his body as he stared at her. He suddenly looked away.
“This isn’t a good idea,” he said, then started carrying her upstairs.
Lily caught a glimpse of her reflection in a dark window as Rowan carried her past it. A patchwork of angry red lines marred her white skin.
Rowan. My face—
Your face will be just as beautiful as it was before. I promise.
And how long will I be hideous?
Rowan put her in bed and pulled the covers over her. “Don’t say that again. That has nothing to do with—” He broke off and lowered his voice. “I’m not sleeping separately because I don’t want you, Lily. I’m sleeping separately because your skin is too fragile, and I need more than you can give me right now. I had a shock tonight, and I don’t trust myself to just go to sleep if you’re next to me.” He stared down at her, waiting. “Are we okay?” he asked, his voice rough.
“Yeah, we’re okay.” She reached up and ran her fingertips over his bottom lip. “But you owe me.”
Rowan laughed under his breath. “We’ll tally up the bill between us later. So start thinking about how you’re going to pay me back.”
He gave her a small kiss before leaving her to wrestle with her conscience. She wanted to contact Lillian even though she’d sworn to herself she’d never do it again. She wanted to know why. Why did Lillian kill the shaman? She’d learned so much from him, and Lily could feel that Lillian loved the old man. Did she let him rot in the oubliette to prevent some greater evil?
Lily shut her eyes and hoped that after she dropped off it would be Lillian who would reach out for her in the Mist. That way, Lily wouldn’t have to break her promise to herself. It was a tiny distinction, one that didn’t really absolve her, but Lily was too curious to care. She wanted to know Lillian’s story. She wanted to know what had happened on the cinder world.
Lily left her mind open and didn’t have to wait long for Lillian to join her, with a memory ready to be shared.
… I am running, even though I barely have enough strength to walk. My foot catches on something and I plow headlong into the frozen leaf litter. The dead trees haven’t borne leaves in many seasons, and those that cover the ground are rotten and won’t burn. I see my forearms in front of me. They are covered in scabby sores, like the rest of the walking dead in this poisonous world.
I’ve been in this cinder world too long, and even though I can heal myself, I can no longer keep up with the rate at which my body is deteriorating. I must get out of here, or I will be past the point of saving soon. I stagger to my feet and force myself to run faster. I can hear their eager shouts and taunting whistles behind me.
They’re coming. I can’t outrun them. I need to hide. I look over my shoulder at just the wrong time. I crash into someone’s chest, knocking myself to the ground and nearly knocking the breath from my own lungs.
“Got ya, pretty,” the man murmurs, a leer pulling up against his ulcerous gums. “What’s a little thing like you doing running ’round the woods anyway? Don’t you know the Woven can get ya? They’re just about the only things left alive, besides me.”
I scramble away from him as he guffaws lewdly. He grabs my bare ankle and yanks me back toward him. Fine. He chose his own death, then. Bare skin on bare skin is all I need. I begin to drain the charge right from his nerves, feeding myself on his life. His eyes widen as he drops to his knees, the muscles of his face twitching and twisting his face into an agonized grimace. Being drained is probably the most painful death there is, but this thing is not a man anymore. The only people left in this world are murderers and rapists. They are scavengers, like the Woven. Only the most vicious of the vicious survived, and like the Woven the only real defense I have against them is to suck the life out of them when either attacks me.
“Witch?” he groans, confused and in excruciating pain. “But all the witches died in their cities.”
He falls to the ground, convulsing. At least death comes relatively quickly this way.
