But I sealed those thoughts within me, promises burrowing down to my soul, and pictured chocolate brown eyes and a teasing smirk. Pictured Tolek beside me, godly blood splashedacross our faces, while Echnid breathed his last breaths at our feet.
“Yes,” I claimed with a savage smile and a sip from my chalice to stifle my dark desires. “We shall.”
“I’m sorry,”I whispered, as I stood beside my bed hours later and watched Malakai’s chest rise and fall. I didn’t allow myself to pass out or my subconscious to take me elsewhere when Echnid finally allowed me to leave. I had to stay with Malakai now.
“I’m so sorry.” I crawled atop the comforter.
He’d wavered in and out of consciousness when I’d come back from Tolek’s room. Shoving down my tears to wipe the sweat from Malakai’s brow, I repeated those two words over and over:I’m sorry. Now, he rolled his head toward me, eyes fluttering open.
“It’s okay, Phel.” Malakai grabbed my hand, holding it between us. It was like all those years we spent in our clearing back in Palerman, but it was twisted and warped beyond recognition.
We were.
The pressure upon our shoulders—the weight of the entire world—was so much graver than those two naive children ever thought possible.
“Why?” My voice cracked. I wanted to scream the word, but it was trapped. In my heart, in my chest, within these damn walls with a deranged god who was willing to torture his own subjects. “Why is it okay, Malakai?”
“Because,” he croaked, voice fading, “if I let him think he can do this to me, he’s distracted from whatever his next step is. From whoever else he might hurt.”
His muted green eyes slipped closed, his breathing heavy and labored even as he drifted into a restful sleep.
He’s distracted.
Malakai was keeping Tolek and Cypherion and Jezebel safe. He was keeping Mila safe. He was keeping every warrior beyond these walls safe because that’s what Malakai had always done for us, even if I hadn’t understood it. He shielded us, for better or for worse. Put himself in the line of torture time and again, never asking to be a hero but always stepping into the role he hated.
When would it end?
I looked over the scars slashing his body. The rough ax carved into his chest, the small line on his jaw. The thick marks curling around his shoulders from too many damn lashings. What Echnid made me do wouldn’t leave scars on the surface. It would leave the memory of the pain scorched into his mind and spirit forever.
For too long now, his defensive nature had meant so much pain for himself. He’d been the back that accepted the blow, curved around the rest of us.
And though that foggy voice still fought to consume my mind, there was no way a god who hurt his people like this had our best interests at heart.
“I’m going to get us out of here.” My gaze landed on the Bind inked on his chest, the star perfect and budding with our shared life.
Life…
My eyes flicked up to the star-strewn sky outside the windows, and a hopeful spark of an idea ignited.
“I’m going to get both of us out of here,” I swore.
Silent tears spilled down my cheeks as I prayed to no Angels or god for aid, only to whatever power laid in my spirit that the plan beginning to form was good enough.
“I have to figure things out, but I will do it before he makes me hurt you again. I’ll take care of you.” My tears fell onto Malakai’s skin as I leaned my head against his shoulder and his steady breathing filled the room. “I promise, Malakai. Until the stars stop shining.”
Chapter Fifteen
Santorina
Prickles dancedup my spine and at the tips of my fingers as if I was being stabbed by a thousand needles all at once. The sensation swept through my body every time I came near this door—something I’d been actively avoiding when not necessary. I sighed. This time, unfortunately, it was.
I stopped before the bronze-framed mirror at the end of the hall, potted plants twisting up beside it and pale mystlight cooling my features. The same dark hair was swept back from my face; the same lifted eyes looked back at me. When I raised a hand to touch the inch-long scar beneath my eye that I’d received in the catacombs, the reflection did, too.
It was me, but it wasn’t.
Because something had unleashed when the Warrior God and Angels had been freed. Something that allowed me to see every small scuff to the tiled floor in the dim corridor and make out every grumbled complaint behind the door. Something that caused that needle sensation up and down my spine, that pulled my nimble fingers toward the knives strapped to my waist.
I wiped my hands down my navy linen dress, adjusting my belt.
