by Lucy Smoke
“A war,” Titus quietly corrects. Tense shoulders abound. Concerned looks pass between Titus and Holden. Coen’s gaze, however, doesn’t stray. He keeps me locked in his sights, as if waiting for something.
I can’t tell them that I have a way to defeat Edwin. I can’t tell them that the Gods have given me exactly what they need. How many days do I have left with them? I wonder. One? Two? More?
Take as much time as you need, Obidian says.
I stand up, and to the guys, I say, “I’m going to find Booker. I’ll see you later.” I don’t give them a chance to reply as I hurry away.
To Obi, I say, all the time in the world would be too short if I were with them.
I feel their stares on me as I leave the room—the weight of two worried souls and one unreadable one. Out in the corridor, a wave of cold washes over me. I glance out across the open balconies, my gaze straying across the white-capped mountains. Snow flurries fall, dancing across my skin—the bridge of my nose—settling at my feet and disappearing against the gray stone floors.
It is natural to feel fear. Obidian’s voice carries through my head, the weight of thousands of souls. To die is to be human.
But I’m not human anymore, I reply.
Your heart will always be human, Nerys.
I finally crack a smile. The first one—it feels like—since this morning. You’re not going to let me die, though, I say. You promised. You’re the adult. You have to keep your promises.
Obidian chuckles. Adulthood has very little to do with actual age. You are more mature than you know.
Nah, maturity is for people like you—dragons like you, I correct myself. I’m good with the way I am.
What will you do until the time comes? he asks.
My smile grows. Down the corridor, a door opens and a familiar deep voice reaches me.
“—find the exit and entrance points. Barricades will not last long against enemy advances, we have to…” I tune out what Booker is saying to the man at his side. I watch him, his facial features—so similar to Luca’s and yet, so different. When he looks up and catches me watching him, he pauses. “Come find me later,” he says, “and we can discuss any more particulars.” Then he’s striding towards me, his gait purposeful and strong. “Nerys? Is everything okay?”
I look up at him as he approaches. Whatever happens to me in the Gods’ cave, I want to make the most of my time with the guys. Staring at Booker’s concerned face, I reach out and take his hand. “Want to do something childish?” I ask, hopeful.
He blinks, confused. “What?”
I tug on his hand. “Come with me,” I plead.
“Nerys, we have more important things to—”
“The most important thing right now is that you spend time with me,” I interrupt him.
“I do not think—” I don’t let him finish, choosing, instead, to pull him towards me, tugging him down the corridor, past the long feasting room and towards the stairwell that leads down into the snowy courtyard.
“Where’s Luca?” I ask.
“He’s with Amoni,” Booker says, watching me curiously. “Nerys, what is this about?”
I turn to him as he steps off the stairs and with the sun at my back and ice under my feet, I stretch onto my toes and kiss him. My mouth moves across his lips with a chaste peck, but when I lower back to my feet, the look on his face is stunned. I burst out laughing.
“You should see your face right now.”
“N-Nerys?” A blush slides across his face, pink and red coalescing across his pale flesh.
“Play with me, Booker.” I turn and dash across the nearly empty courtyard, grabbing up a handful of snow in one fist. Spinning, I laugh when I see he hasn’t moved a muscle. He remains standing at the base of the stairs, staring after me in complete and utter shock. I toss the snowball at him. It smacks into his chest. He looks down, blinking, before looking back up.
“Well,” a familiar voice says. Both of us look up into the balconies above. Luca hangs over the edge, a canine smile on his face. “What are we playing?” he asks.
“Divide and conquer,” I suggest. Luca winks at me, dropping down from the balcony into a crouch.
“First one to take him down wins?” Luca asks.
I shrug. “If you think you can handle him.”
“Now, wait just a—” Booker’s protest is quickly cut off by another snowball in the face.
“Two points for me,” I say.
“I shouldn’t fall behind then.” Luca picks up a handful of snow and starts patting.
Finally jerked out of his shock, Booker scowls and wipes the snow from his face and neck. “You will regret this,” he warns.
I shrug, reaching for more snow. “Prove it.”
And for the next hour or so, he does. After the first initial round of play, where Luca and I clobbered Booker with rounds of snowballs—mostly aimed for his face and chest—Luca switched sides. Screaming and flailing, I struggled as I tried to disengage myself from the traitor as he hauled me over to Booker and the all-work-and-no-play intelligent leader of our little troop proceeded to dump handfuls of snow into the neckline of my clothes.
“What the hell?” Holden’s voice freezes us where we stand, snow falling out of my neckline, a cold flush of exertion on all of our cheeks. Holden’s sharp brown gaze falls on me and he narrows his eyes. “You didn’t invite me?”
I realize my mistake immediately and this time, when I try to get away, they all attack. I scream and laugh so much and so hard it hurts my stomach and makes me cramp. But even when the snow is flying through the air and the cold, frozen flakes litter the strands of my hair, I am filled with a sense of love that I haven’t experienced before.
I always felt so alone before, even when I had Coen—I had felt like an outsider to most families. Now, though, I have my own. I fight back tears as the sky turns a bright color and men and women begin to fill the courtyard for training.
“Nerys,” Booker says, stopping me from throwing another snowball. “That’s enough. It’s time to work.”
I’m sad to see the end of our fun, carefree, break—a split second in time where I could just be with them—but I know he’s right. I let the snow fall from my fingertips, and when he holds out a hand, urging me to follow him, I take it—knowing there’s no escape from my fate now.
“Focus, Nerys.”
“I am fucking focusing,” I grit out. Sweat slicks down my spine, sliding between my shoulder blades, making the fabric of my shirt stick to my skin.
“Try again,” Booker urges. “Clear your mind, picture a globe of fire. Hold out your hand and project it in your palm.”
I do as he says, fixing my gaze on my empty palm and picturing a globe of burning fire there. Nothing. I can feel nothing but an incessant twitch in my left eye. I lower my arm with a growl of frustration. “This isn’t working!”
“You’re not trying hard enough,” Booker says.
“What else am I supposed to do?” I argue. “I mean, if you want fire—I could stick my hand in a torch! This whole ‘focus and clear your mind shit’ isn’t working.”
Booker sighs and steps up, his body moving past mine until he’s behind me. I start to turn and face him. “No,” he says, stopping me. I freeze as his hands land on my hips. “Now, let’s try this again.” He turns my body to face towards the sinking sun. “Raise your hand.” I grunt. “Nerys.”
“What if it doesn’t work?” I ask. “What if I’m just broken?”
What if I do as Ngame asks and it does nothing? What if I don’t have a chance in the Divine of any of this working?
It will, Obidian assures me. Now, do as he asks.
“Trust me,” Booker pleads.
I grunt and huff out a breath, sticking my arm out, palm up—as I’ve done a thousand times in the past hour.
“Okay,” Booker says, “this time, close your eyes.”
I tilt my head back, staring up at him. “How am I supposed to picture fire in my hand if I can
’t see my hand?”
“Just do it,” he urges. I raise a brow and when he doesn’t say anything more, I sigh and face forward once more, closing my eyes.
With my eyes closed, the rest of my senses sharpen. I can feel the weight of my own arm, heavier than it felt when my eyes were open, but I keep it up nonetheless. I can feel the heat of Booker at my back, his front pressing against my spine. My stomach tightens as one of his palms slides around my hip, his fingers spreading across my stomach. His mouth moves against my ear, warm breath blowing over my skin. I suppress a shiver. My breath quickens.
“Now, picture a ball of fire—something small at first. See it in your mind, let it grow, don’t try to capture it or contain it. Just let it remain behind your eyes.”
I picture that fire—so small, it’s just a flicker at first. I have to see it as a candle flame, burning bright and hot until the candle is too small. Then the candle disappears and it’s just the flame alone in the darkness.
“Now, grow it, Nerys. Let it spread. Let it fan out in your mind. Let it go.”
The flame takes over, moving out like a wave. Spreading, just like Booker told me to let it. It runs in streaks, little strings and lines crisscrossing like a web.
“Can you see it?” he asks, his mouth so close. I bite my lip and nod. “Good,” he says, “now reach out, and grab a handful.”
I squeeze my eyes, tightening them though they’re already closed. Shakily, I reach out—sliding my mental fingertips through the fire I’ve created. I let the flames dance across my skin and pull them to me, letting them rest in the center of my palm. I can feel the warmth burning against my hand, but not scorching my flesh. It just rests there. I hear my breaths. In and out. Softly.
“Open your eyes, Nerys.”
I do and the same fire I saw in my mind greets me. It flickers and dances between my fingers. My lips part and I turn my hand, letting the flame go where it will. It doesn’t disperse like I thought it would. No. Instead, it sinks into my skin. I jump when it touches me, but it doesn’t hurt. It heats me from within, disappearing inside of me and leaving behind a glow.
“Wow…”
“I told you that you could do it,” Booker says, stepping away. “You just needed to trust yourself.”
I turn as he moves for the stairs across the courtyard. My back feels cold now that he’s gone. “I’ll see you in the morning for more training,” he calls over his shoulder. My eyes watch him leave, hating the distance spreading between us, wondering what I can do.
Booker, out of all of the guys, seems the most distant. But there’s something pulling me towards him. Something far stronger than my will to resist. I don’t want to resist. I sigh, though, and stare up at the darkening sky. My time is running out.
12
Guilt
“What was today about?” I finish wringing the remaining melted snow from my hair and flip the wet strands back before responding to Titus’ question.
“What do you mean?” I ask.
Holden strides across the room and perches himself on the end of my bed. Coen crosses his ankles from where he sits in the corner of the room—watching us all but remains silent. With the three of them in here, I feel as though I’m hyper-aware of where each of them are. When they move, I know. When they breathe, I feel it. When they stare, I can feel it down to my soul.
“You were acting strange today,” Holden points out. “Snowball fights? I mean, you’re snarky, Princess, but this is a strange time to want to mess around.”
“I mean, you had fun, though, right?”
Titus sighs and moves closer on the bed. With both him and Holden so close—their bodies next to mine, each on either side of me—and Coen watching, I feel my heart start to thrum faster. “It was fun,” Titus says, “but we’re preparing for a dangerous time.”
“I think that means it was all the more important,” I argue. “We needed today.”
Coen grunts from across the room before replying, “Did we need it, or did you?”
I glance up at him and my lips pinch down. My heart beats faster and I suck in a sharp breath. “Why not both?” I snap. “Maybe I just wanted to give you all something. Maybe I just wanted to spend time with you. Who knows what tomorrow will bring? You don’t. None of you know. What if something bad happens? All we’ve been doing for weeks is running and chasing and sneaking and—”
“Nerys, we don’t blame you,” Holden says. “If this is out of some sort of guilt—”
“It’s not,” I assure him. At least, I don’t think it is.
Holden leans forward and takes my hands in his, holding them, twining our fingers. “Everything is going to be okay,” he says. “We’ll make it through this, together.”
“Yeah,” I reply, “of course we will. I know that.”
“Do you?”
My shoulders stiffen at Coen’s rough question. I pull my hands from Holden’s grasp and turn towards Coen. He stares back at me, cracking his neck. “Holden, Titus—would you let Coen and I talk?” I turn my eyes back to Holden as I ask the question. He and Titus both glance between Coen and me. Holden backs off the bed, bumping Titus with his shoulder and gesturing towards the door. Titus continues to watch us, unmoving, as if he senses a boiling pot about to spill over and wants to stop it before it can happen.
Holden has to pull him from the room, and when the door closes behind them, I turn fully to face Coen. “You want to tell me what’s going on?”
Pressing his back against the wall hard, Coen lumbers up from his seated position. I stand, but he still towers over me. His gray eyes are clouded with an emotion I can’t name. “I want to ask the same of you,” he rumbles.
My lips tighten, and I swallow back my nerves. He can’t know. There’s no way he knows, I assure myself. “I want to know what’s going on with you,” I repeat. Then I find myself reaching out, grabbing onto the fabric of his shirt and looking up at him—up at the man who has been my rock for so long—and searching his face for a sign. “You’re different.”
“I was tortured, Nerys,” he growls. “I think I have a right to be different.”
I flinch, guilt tearing me up. He was tortured because of me and every time I’m reminded of it, I wish I could turn back the clock and change it. I wish I could have taken his place.
“Don’t,” he says, shaking his head.
“What?” I blink in confusion. “Don’t what?”
“I chose it, Nerys,” he says. “I’m angry about it, but I’m not angry at you. I’m angry at that fucking bastard—Edwin. I’m angry at myself. I can’t make my own mind mold back. I felt so weak in that room. There was a darkness that invaded me.” His hands come up on my shoulders. I step closer, wrapping my arms around his waist until I can feel the hard and strong beat of his heart against my cheek. “I feel like I let it happen. I couldn’t stop it.”
“You’re not all-powerful, Coen. No one but the Gods are.”
“But even then, they can’t stop this, can they?” he shoots back.
With my face pressed against his chest, I’m glad he can’t see my expression when I respond. “You never know,” I whisper. “They probably have a plan.”
“Well, it’d be nice if they could hurry it up.”
I squeeze him tight. “You know I want nothing more than for all of us to make it through this, don’t you?” I ask.
Coen’s hands glide down my back and I feel him release a breath of air as he sags into me. He doesn’t give me his full weight, I’m far too small to take it, but he does relax. “Sometimes, Ner, I’m scared you’re going to run off into the night and we’ll never see you again.”
I have to work to keep my body from reacting. It scares me how very close to the truth he actually is. Remorse for my future actions crawls up my throat and suffocates me. I turn my face, rubbing the bridge of my nose between his chest muscles. “I’ll always be with you,” I choke out. Even if I die, I’ll always remain—a piece of me, forever his.
Rather than of
fering a reply, Coen pulls back and looks down at me. A wide palm cups my cheek and leans down. I don’t resist. I don’t think about how wrong it is or how strange the tightening of our bonded connection feels in my chest, like I’m coming home. When Coen kisses me, I let the world fall away, and I beg it to devour the red-hot guilt burning inside me.
When I pull away and look up into his eyes, I realize, this is why I’m willing to do whatever it takes. “Nerys?” His brows furrow as scalding hot tears pour from my eyes. “Ner? What’s wrong?”
I shake my head, biting my lip. “Nothing,” I lie. Everything, I think. It doesn’t matter what Obidian promises, the fact of the matter is when I go up the mountain, when I submerge myself in the spring, I could die. But I’m willing to do it. If it means that Coen can keep living. I’m willing to do anything and everything for him and for the others—for Holden and Titus and Luca and Booker. They’ve given me so much, done so much for me. My heart aches for them, loves them implicitly.
My breath catches in my chest as the L word makes an appearance in my mind. More tears fall even as Coen stares into my eyes, wiping them away, trying to figure me out. I can feel him in the peripheral edges of my mind, but I know I’m too locked down right now for him to see my thoughts. These thoughts are my private gems, my personal treasures.
What I feel for these men could burn away a thousand stars. What I will do to ensure their survival would destroy even the deadliest of villains. And that’s exactly what I plan to do.
Tonight.
13
Desires for Us
I raise my hand, hesitating before I bite my lip and knock on the door in front of me. Seconds pass and I’m ready to just give up and leave when the door cracks and Booker slides into view. “Nerys?” He looks confused as he opens the door wider. “Did you need something?”
“I—uh—I wanted to...um…is this a bad time?” I stand awkwardly in the hallway, shifting from foot to foot, unsure of my welcome. I’ve decided. I’m leaving tonight. There have been too many times where I’ve almost wanted to tell them and I know I can’t have that. But before I go, I want to see Booker. It’s a contingency plan, perhaps—or really, I just want to see him.