“Do you regret it?” Evander finally asks.
“Regret what?”
“Putting the crown on my head?”
I snap my neck to stare at him. “Why? Are you planning on making me regret it?”
And then, blessedly, the smallest of laughs escapes my husband’s mouth. “That prospect is too terrifying to consider.”
Evander pulls me into him and kisses me as if our perfect little world hasn’t just shattered to pieces.
CHAPTER 76
PIPER
I probably should hate Blaise a tad more than I do.
I probably shouldn’t like her, either, but what can I do? Hate her for opening the Rip to bring back her kind-of-dead suitor?
That feels a little hypocritical, given I prefer others overlook the fact that I used to kidnap children for a living.
Besides, the girl is so clearly lost. And that’s a feeling I recognize. I know what it’s like to swim in an ocean of your own guilt, the hatred of others acting as waves crashing above your head. Your own self-talk—the current trying to pull you under.
So I decide not to feel too terrible about not hating Blaise. She’s told me her story now, and though I wasn’t born yesterday and know better than to assume she hasn’t omitted any important information, I believe what she has revealed is probably the truth.
No one paints their own actions in such a horrible light unless it’s true.
As we make our way through the forest, my heart longs for Marcus and Amity. I want nothing more than to go after them, to ensure they’re safe. But if things continue to go as Blaise fears they will, I’m not sure my family will ever find safety.
It feels like my soul is being rent in two, feels like I’m abandoning them.
But logic reminds me this is just a fear response. That the idea of searching them out only feels safer. If I ever want the people I love to find peace, Az has to be stopped.
I just have to pray Amity finds a way to keep Marcus alive.
“So, does it talk to you?” she asks, seemingly out of nowhere as we pace through the words.
“Does what talk to me?”
“Your magic.”
“My Gift?”
Blaise snorts. “I suppose, if that’s what you want to call it.”
I furrow my brow. “No. Is it supposed to?”
Blaise shrugs. “Asha’s does. Mine—the parasite, I mean—never did. Not while it was inside my head, at least. When it took over my body, then it talked. But I think that had more to do with it being cursed to only be active during the full moon.”
“Oh.” I consider whether I’ve ever heard any voices. “It hums to me sometimes, sings to me. But only when I’m really emotional.” I think back to the time I’d been intending to slip my blade between my ribs. I shudder, remembering the gentle tune that had carried me off to slumber before I could end my life.
“Good to know I wasn’t the only one with a creepy magic,” Blaise says when I relay the story.
I frown, Blaise’s words bothering me for some reason. “No. It’s not creepy. My Gift did it to save my life.”
Something like disappointment flashes over Blaise’s face, but she schools it quickly enough. “I wonder why yours doesn’t talk. Asha’s didn’t talk to her for years, until it deemed it necessary. Maybe yours can speak, it just chooses not to. Or maybe it’s cursed like the parasite was.”
Something wriggles inside my chest, like a hammer bumping over a set of chimes.
“Maybe,” I say, shrugging it off.
The thought, however, I can’t seem to shrug away.
It’s later that night, as we’re passing through a nearby village, that we hear the news. Rather, we witness it.
Smog bears down on our lungs as the ruins of this nameless village smolder in the evening breeze. What was clearly once a town center now appears as a path of rubble and destruction.
“What do you think happened here?” I ask Blaise, but she doesn’t appear to hear me.
Her ears twitch, and I remember her hearing is better than mine. What sounds like muffled voices coming from inside the few structures that are still standing are as clear to Blaise as if we occupied the same room.
“They were attacked,” she says. “The villagers say it was silver monsters.”
The words and their weight hang in the air between us.
The wind changes direction, slamming the stench of rotting flesh into our noses. I fight back a retch, but Blaise clamps a hand over her nose.
“Blood?” I ask.
