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A cold wave crashed through me as I remembered the way Killian had looked at me that day. The disgust in his face as Damien told him what I’d done. But there was none of that now, as if I had imagined it entirely. Killian’s brow was furrowed with the weight of his worry for me; his hand hung in the air halfway between ourbodies, the beacon of a friend reaching out in the dark, ready to lead me to the light.
But I didn’t want to be led out of the depths of my shadows. The fire that had once filled my chest had gone out and not even Killian’s most desperate hopes could relight it. And with Damien able to access my mind, everyone was safer if I succumbed to my old vices.
Killian turned his hand so the pale palm faced upward. “Keera, please. Let me help you.”
Tears welled along his bottom lashes, but Killian stood strong. He gazed down at his hand and I knew there was nothing I could say to dissuade him. He would keep reaching out, just as Riven kept his light on. Just as Syrra stood watch over me. And Nikolai took my wine. No matter what I said, they would be within my reach the moment I needed them.
Unless I showed them I was beyond reaching.
I laced my fingers through Killian’s hand and stepped toward him. He smiled with relief as he looked down at our joined hands. I took another step and pushed Killian into the earth-packed wall behind him. Nikolai would have complained about the stains to his fine clothes, but Killian’s black cloak had seen worse.
His throat bobbed as my other hand slid up his thigh to his hip, trailing over the brown hilt of the dagger hanging there. “Keera, don’t,” Killian whispered, half in disbelief, half in a desperate plea.
I let my fingers linger over the hilt as I leaned closer to him, pinning him against the wall. It would be so easy to pierce the blade through his chest, but I couldn’t add Killian’s name to my list. I only carved the names of people I couldn’t save, the lives I had no choice but to take.
There was another way I could lose the goodwill of everyone; it wasn’t violent but just as devastating. I lifted the hand from his bladeand trailed it up Killian’s chest. His frame was so much smaller than Riven’s—he was more fragile than his Fae half-brother. I felt his heart hammer in his chest as my hand gripped his jaw and my forearm pressed into him.
He opened his mouth to say something, another plea, but I didn’t hear it. I leaned into him and pressed my lips to his. I waited for the revulsion. For Killian to push me away and yell at me for toying with him, but he didn’t.
Instead, his hands gripped my waist, wanting and hungry. He nipped at my lips, like they were wine and he was the one who had ransacked the kitchens looking for it. His bites were desperate and yearning, his breath filled my body with warmth, the burning kind that you only noticed after being too cold.
He pulled me tighter to his chest, flattening the smallest of spaces between our bodies, but that was still not enough for him. His hand trailed up my back, tangling in my braid as it found my neck and then my hair. Killian’s hand closed, tugging at my roots until I moaned.
The sound broke the spell over him. Killian’s hands froze on my head and waist. He released my lower lip from his teeth and a piercing pain shot down my spine. It was as if a thousand arrows had flown into my back, paralyzing me for just a moment but causing so much anguish that a breath felt like an eternity.
I saw the same pain pulse through Killian. His knees buckled against the wall and he choked as if a large force had punched the air from his guts. He looked up at me, sweaty and out of breath. “Be as self-destructive as you want, Keera. I still won’t leave you. And neither will Riven.”
Guilt stormed inside me. Even my magic had known I had taken this too far. Already sharp like knives, it threatened to strike if I reached out to Killian again.
I stepped back. I turned down the corridor and left Killian where he’d collapsed against the wall so he didn’t see the way my kiss-bruised lips quivered at the mention of Riven’s name. It didn’t matter if Killian remained by my side, my pain and my guilt would swallow me whole and everyone who stood too close.
I deliberately avoided looking at Riven’s burl as I crossed the tangled bridge of branches to my own. My shoulders already buckled under the weight of what I had done. I didn’t need to see the way the light shone from his bed, a beacon for me to find in any darkness.
I pulled off my clothes and doused myself in the shower. I didn’t care that I had already washed away the scent of the stables from my hair, I could still feel Killian’s touch on my skin. It ached like a fresh scar, a mark of my betrayal. I stood under the spout until the last of its warmth drained away.
The burning in my throat flared with every breath. Almost as unbearable as the wave of pain I had felt down in the kitchens. Whatever new power of mine had been awakened, I did not want to feel it again.
I rummaged through the piles of dirty clothes in my room, searching for the small bit of relief I had left.
I found it under a disheveled tunic that was now more brown than white. The thin gold tube that had only met the worst versions of me. I uncapped the mage pen and lifted my nightgown to bare my left leg.
Hildegard’s death had left a gaping hole too big for the tiny script I’d used along my arms and torso. I held the mage pen to my skin and retraced the lines the blade had already cut several times before. Carving her name into myself once was not enough. It had been mytaunts that had set Damien on the hunt, that had cost Hildegard her life. But it was not just her life that I’d taken, I’d taken the mentor of every Shade. The one person we all relied on, the one we looked to.
I watched my skin stitch itself back together, smooth except for the thick lines that marked the letters of Hildegard’s name. Whatever magic the mage pen’s blade was made with was enough to stifle my healing abilities just enough to scar. I traced the name once more with my finger before collapsing onto the bed.
My hand fell between the pillows and hit something hard. I turned and saw the notebook that Dynara had given me. I opened it to the front page. There was no note waiting for me. I bit my lip, using every ounce of my concentration to count the days. It was almost a fortnight since she had last made contact.
I stretched for the pen sitting next to the bed and wrote her a single line.
I hope you are still among the living. K.
Dynara’s message inked the page almost immediately.
I hope you are still among the living too. D.
I huffed into the notebook as I scrawled my next line.
If I weren’t, who would be writing this message?
