“Do you want to hold her?” Ellie whispers, peering up at me with those beautiful wide eyes of hers.
I brush a tear from her cheek and shake my head. “You’re the one who pushed. I just watched. I think you deserve to hold her a little while longer.”
Ellie nods, not fighting me on the notion, which brings a smile to my face.
Still, I reach out to touch our daughter all the same, her little arms flailing about, like she came out of the womb ready to fight the world.
Her tiny hand finds my finger and closes around it, and I sense my heart turn its allegiance elsewhere.
In a moment, my life, my world, changes.
It’s with a sudden urgency I realize that I will protect this child at any cost.
CHAPTER 50
BLAISE
Nox and I walk until the sound of Ellie’s screams fades, lost to the howling wind and the storm brewing overhead.
Her screams might fade from my ears, but they ring in my head, scraping against my soul, reminding me of the lives I’ve somehow managed to crush into broken shards of lost dreams.
Dreams are like glass. They’re pretty when they’re still whole. So smooth and easy to the touch. But the problem with dreams is that when they shatter, they cut the skin, and even when you’ve swept them up, you keep finding bits of them pricking at your heels for months and years to come.
I’ve wrecked Evander and Ellie’s dreams, and try as I might, I can’t suture the glass back together. I simply don’t have the skill.
Nox and I find a cave in a nearby hill that we settle into, both acutely aware of the sun approaching the horizon.
We hardly speak, at least not more than exchanging logistics about where we’ll take shelter for the day.
By the time we find the cave, the protectiveness that rolled off Nox when he stepped between me and Evander has dissipated, soaking into the humid air.
When we settle into the cave, Nox takes the opposite side, leaning his back against the wall.
I lower myself to the ground, something about the feeling of sinking into the soft earth puncturing my sore heart.
We sit in silence for a long while, and for at least an hour all I can hear is the echoes of Ellie’s screams.
I wonder if the baby will scream. If the Fates will grant it the taste of fresh air.
I wonder how long it will be allowed to survive outside of the womb.
Where is my baby, where is my baby, where is my baby.
I wonder if it is a little boy or a little girl. What Evander and Ellie will name their child. If they already have.
I wonder if the baby is dead.
“Blaise,” Nox finally says. His voice buoys me from my spiraling thoughts, though I don’t know that I deserve that—a buoy. I think I probably deserve to sink, to bury myself in Evander and Ellie’s grief.
I lift my gaze to meet his. It’s a struggle even raising my chin. I feel as though an ocean hangs over my head. That my skull might pop from the pressure.
“I need you to tell me what happened while I was away. What exactly you did.”
The words do nothing to penetrate the numbness in my heart. I can’t even bring myself to be afraid. Afraid to tell Nox what I’ve done.
If he heard any portion of the conversation between me and Evander, he knows I’m to blame for the death of their child.
It’s not fear so much that I feel, but gratitude. I don’t deserve to have this last conversation with Nox. I don’t deserve to get to look at him one last time before he turns away from me in disgust. But, for some reason, the Fates have decided to grant me this mercy.
So I tell him. I tell him of Az’s plan, of the friendship I developed with Asha before I betrayed her. I tell him of the lies I wove and the people I treated as stepping stones on the path to my salvation.
At least, what I thought was my salvation.
It feels a whole lot more like damnation.
I must have gotten the two confused.
When I get to the portion about threatening the Old Magic with Asha’s death, of the unleashing of the Others, and how Ellie stepped in their way to keep them from attacking Amity, Nox’s already pale face drains of color.
I deserve that, too.
I leave out the part about the Old Magic’s curse, as I’m still not sure what it is.
Nox asks questions throughout, but they’re careful, devoid of anything that might betray his revulsion.
When I’m done, he leans his head back against the cave wall and runs his fingers through his hair. He grits his teeth like he’s in pain, then swallows.
“Blaise,” he says, and there’s no use in him hesitating, because I already know what he’s about to say. “I never wanted others to suffer for me.”
