Alchemised, page 81
The only thing going well was Lila’s pregnancy. Lila was bored but healthy, healthier than Helena had seen her in years. The pregnancy showed no risk of miscarriage.
“Are you all right?” Lila asked. Helena had her hand on Lila’s stomach, her eyes closed, trying to separate Lila’s louder heartbeat from the baby’s in an attempt to tell if it felt healthy.
Foetal heartbeats were much faster, but it was confusing to sense two people simultaneously.
Helena opened her eyes, dry and burning from exhaustion.
“I’m fine,” she said, though she felt as if she were bleeding to death inside. She’d seen so little of Kaine, and now he was gone and she didn’t know when he’d return. Her days were spent waiting for people to die, no longer even trying to save them.
Lila looked sceptical. “You don’t look fine. You don’t look like you sleep at all. Pace said you were badly injured. Are you recovered? You know better than anyone how important full recovery is.”
Helena shook her head. “It’s not that. My shifts are longer now but they’re not hard. I need to go, I have—more work.”
Lila spoke as she started to stand. “You don’t say it, but you think I’m selfish, don’t you?”
Helena sighed, staring down at her hands. “You’ve been through a lot; I don’t blame you for wanting something. I just don’t understand why you want this right now. You should at least go to Novis where you’ll be safe.” She shrugged. “Maybe having the Principate’s heir would be enough to convince them to send some medical supplies.”
Lila had thus far refused to “come out of quarantine,” and was still pretending to be contagious with bog cough.
“I want to wait a little longer,” Lila said. “Just to be sure.”
* * *
Rhea and Titus were waiting in one of the private rooms. Helena had written to Rhea, telling her that there was a possible treatment opportunity that she wanted to discuss.
“What would it entail exactly?” Rhea asked, gripping Titus by the arm to keep him from wandering.
“It would be a series of procedures,” Helena said, rubbing her hands against her black habit, trying to get her palms dry. “It’s similar to what I tried earlier this year, but I know how to control the reaction now. If we worked slowly, with short procedures, followed by recovery periods, I think Titus will adapt to the process. And then I can attempt to heal him without causing the reaction he had last time.”
Rhea squeezed Titus’s hand, leaning towards Helena, her eyes bright. “So you’ve done this before?” Her voice trembled with eagerness.
Helena cleared her throat, wanting to temper expectations. “Not this exactly. But a related procedure. It’s not without risk, though. Are you familiar with mithridatism?”
Rhea shook her head.
Helena drew a deep breath. “It’s a method of developing immunity to poison through low dosage. The process of going deep enough to heal Titus will have—similarities; he’ll have a sort of immune response to my resonance, in the form of brain fevers. We’ll have to monitor them, keep them under control. If they’re too high, we’ll have to take longer breaks. The goal will be building up his tolerance for my resonance in the delicate parts of the brain.”
That was all mostly true, with only a few details omitted.
Rhea nodded. “Yes—yes—whatever you—”
The door opened before she could finish speaking and Luc entered, followed by Sebastian.
“Rhea, what are you doing?” Luc asked, his voice breathless.
Rhea looked startled by the intrusion. “Helena’s found a way to heal Titus.”
Luc looked at Helena, his eyes hard, bright, and feverish. “You can’t be serious.”
Helena started to answer, but it wasn’t a question and it wasn’t directed at her. He’d turned back to Rhea.
“You’re going to trust her after what she did to Soren?”
Helena flinched, her mind nearly pitching itself into that clawing wound inside her. She swallowed hard. “Luc, Soren died. I’m sorry I couldn’t save him, but this procedure for Titus could work. Think of how valuable it would be to get him back.”
Luc looked back at her again, a look of disgust in his eyes. “That’s what this is about to you? Value?” He looked at Titus, who’d grown restless from the tension in the room. “You look at what you did to him, and see a wasted military asset?”
“What? No. That’s not what I meant.”
He stared at her again, his eyes blistering as sunburn. “You lay as much as a finger on him, and I’ll—”
“She won’t,” Rhea said, breaking in. “Thank you, Helena—Healer Marino, I appreciate the offer, but I think we’ll pass.”
Luc gave a sharp nod and then turned on his heel, walking out without a backwards glance. Sebastian wavered, looking at Rhea and Titus, his expression conflicted before he turned, following Luc. When they were gone, Rhea’s face crumpled, and she gave an audible gasp before pressing her face in her hands.
Helena could find no words. She sat numb with shock as Rhea stood, not looking at Helena as she led Titus out.
Once she was alone, Helena pulled her gloves on and headed for the Alchemy Tower. When the lift opened, she was surprised when Sebastian stepped out alone, a weary expression on his face. He paused, resting a hand on her shoulder. “It was good of you to try.”
Helena couldn’t quite bring herself to look at him. She stared at his chest, at the suncrest on his armour.
“Why is he doing this?” she asked. “Everyone understands. Even if they think it was wrong, they understand. He won’t even try.”
Sebastian sighed. “You know why.”
She wasn’t sure that she did, but she nodded and stepped into the lift. There were three guards stationed outside Luc’s door, and they shook their heads when she approached.
She went to her own room and climbed out the window, walking carefully up and around the low slope. Luc’s hair gleamed golden in the setting sun. He was sitting hunched on his heels, twirling something in his fingers. He brought it up to his mouth, flames sparking in his fingertips as he inhaled.
His whole body seemed to come loose, and he sagged in on himself.
Watching, she was reminded of how soft his face used to be, the brightness of it. Now the war had chewed him down to the bone. He sat there, out of armour, so shrivelled he reminded her of an insect exoskeleton, like the shed dragonfly nymphs that clung to the water reeds. He was hollowed out.
Smoke curled from his lips as he slowly exhaled.
He was smoking opium.
She stared in horror at how casually he did so. As though it were an old habit.
He pulled the pipe from his mouth, catching sight of her. His expression hardened, growing more alert. “Go away.”
“No,” she said, and came closer.
He spun the pipe in his fingers again, his jaw rippling with anger. If he hit her again, she’d probably fall from the Tower and die.
She stood only a few steps away. “I couldn’t save him. Even if I’d killed myself trying, it wouldn’t have been enough. What is it you wish I’d done instead?”
Rather than answer, he shook like an autumn leaf on the verge of falling loose. He seemed to be trying to speak, but at the same time his hand was bringing the pipe back to his lips, fingers sparking a feeble flame. He inhaled so long that when he stopped, the pipe nearly tumbled from his fingers.
She feared he’d fall, and knelt to catch him, but he looked up, meeting her eyes, and he—he didn’t look angry anymore, he just looked exhausted.
“What happened to us, Hel?”
She stared at him, and her pathetic, starved heart leapt for a moment before she realised the obvious. This wasn’t Luc; this was the opium talking.
“A war.” She looked away from him to the ruined city before them. A view which had once been so beautiful.
“You used to believe in me,” he said, his voice faraway. “What did I do that made you stop?”
“I still believe in you, Luc,” she said. “But we have to win this war. We can’t make choices because we want a certain story to tell later. There’s too much at stake.”
“No,” he said. “This is how we win. This is how we’ve always won. My father, and grandfather, all the Principates going all the way back to Orion. They won by trusting that good would triumph over evil, and I will do the same.”
She looked at him in despair.
His index finger flicked against his thumb, ignition rings sparking, and again fire filled his palm, running along his fingers.
He cradled the flames like a kitten before his fingers closed around it, leaving only a tongue as he tucked the opium pipe between his lips and brought the flame close to the bowl again.
Her hand clenched into a fist, fighting a wince as she listened to him inhaling.
“What if it’s not that simple, though?” she said. “Everyone who wins says they were good, but they’re the ones who tell the story. They get to choose how we all remember it. What if it’s never that simple?”
He shook his head. “Orion became sun-blessed because he refused to break his faith.”
Helena exhaled, burying her face in her hands.
She heard his rings spark, and the pipe hissed as the opium vaporised.
“Luc—please, let me help you.” She tried to reach towards him.
He flinched away, rage suddenly flashing across his face. “Don’t—touch me.”
He was teetering dangerously close to that immense fall, as if the Abyss still called to him. She didn’t know how to draw him back anymore, what to say that he’d still hear.
“Do you remember what I promised you, Luc, that night you came out here?” she asked, her voice pleading.
He gave no response. His gaze had settled back into a dim stupor, the sunset limning his gaunt features as though gilding him.
“I promised I’d do anything for you.” She curled her fingers into a fist. “Maybe you didn’t realise how far I was willing to go.”
“Don’t say that,” he said, suddenly alert again. “Don’t make it all my fault. I thought you could heal him.”
She closed her eyes. “Sometimes people die. You can’t save everyone. Neither of us can. Please let me try to heal Titus.”
“I can’t.” He stood, stumbled down onto the balcony of his room, and disappeared.
* * *
It had been over two weeks with no word when Helena’s ring finally burned again.
She ran out of Headquarters without a backwards glance.
When she reached the rooftop and saw Kaine already there, standing beside Amaris, her knees nearly gave out. He was in uniform, clean and polished, wearing a row of medals as if he’d just come from a ceremony.
“You’re back.” It was all she could manage to say, already reaching out for him when he was still steps away.
He pulled her into his arms. “Have you been all right?”
She managed a nod but then her head dropped against his chest, and she was so tired, her eyes closed, listening to his heart, legs threatening to give out. He’d come back. She couldn’t ask for more than that, but it had felt so long. As if every minute of his absence had cut into her.
“What’s wrong?” he finally asked.
Everything.
“Nothing,” she said. “I think I forgot to breathe after you left.”
He wrapped his arms around her shoulders again, but he was tense, his attention elsewhere. Dread seeped through her like blood in water.
She lifted her head. “What is it?”
He wasn’t looking at her; he was staring towards the blazing light of the Alchemy Tower. “I’m sure you realised: My trip was a diplomatic mission. We went to establish a formal alliance with Hevgoss, proprietary alchemical research in exchange for their mercenary forces.”
“We guessed it was that.”
“The new Hevgotian ambassador is—partial to my company. Keeping him entertained is my primary responsibility for the moment. Does Crowther have any outstanding orders?”
She shook her head. “No. We’ve been waiting to see what happened. He’ll want a report, but that’s all for now.”
His eyes narrowed. “There’s nothing?” There was a tension in his voice.
“Not yet. You just got back.”
Rather than look relieved, his eyes got that strained look that appeared when he was sure she was injured and he just didn’t know; he drew back, looking her over. “What happened?”
She furrowed her eyebrows, shaking her head. “Nothing.”
He didn’t believe her, she could tell. Panic was creeping across his features. She wished she’d come up with some errand for him; he was clearly certain that something must have happened to her for him to be given any reprieve. She sighed and caught his hand.
“After Althorne and Ilva died, I told Crowther that you were being overutilised, and I made him agree not to put so much on you.”
He scoffed. “And he just agreed to that?”
“No. I made a deal with him. Because of the obsidian and the Council being less stable, he’s vulnerable, he needs someone, and I told him that could be me, but only if I got to approve your orders from now on.”
Instead of looking relieved, he snatched his hand away from her.
“You did what?” He spat the question. “You thought that would help me? That is the last thing I want.”
A stab of exhausted, furious hurt cut through her. “Why? Is protection exclusively your right? Am I supposed to sit around while you win the war for me? Is that how you see this?” She gestured furiously between them.
“That was the deal,” he snapped.
“Well, I didn’t agree to that. Besides, I’m not doing anything dangerous. I’m not even allowed to go outside anymore.”
He stared at her, enraged.
“Kaine—don’t be like this.”
He didn’t budge. The space between them was ice-cold, as though all their ghosts surrounded them. They were both drenched in the dead.
The war was an abyss that took everything and was never satisfied. There was always more required. Another life. An additional measure of blood. Be better. Smarter. More ruthless. Quicker. More cunning. Accept a second portion of pain.
It was never enough.
Helena had nothing left to sacrifice. Everything remaining would cost too much to lose. Yet she was expected to be docile and cooperative, a comforting possession, and she was not.
She swallowed bitterly. “What did you expect me to do?”
“I don’t want you in this fucking war.” The rage in his voice was raw. “All I do is worry about what will happen to you if I fail to meet all requirements. If you get captured, you have no idea what they’ll—”
“I do know,” she snapped, cutting him off. “What do you think I do with all my time? I heal the people the Undying don’t manage to kill. Everyone—everyone from the lab near the East Port, I treated them—watched them die. They all died. I am so aware of the risks, I think sometimes that I will go mad from knowing them. Why do you think I fight so hard?”
Her voice splintered. She turned away, despair clawing through her. She’d told herself that it would all be better once he was back. That she’d breathe again.
But all she felt was renewed terror, the feeling that everything was crumbling, and she couldn’t stop it until she was left living every second bracing herself, unable to enjoy even the moments they had.
“I’ll tell Crowther you’re back.” Her voice was empty. “And let you know what he wants.”
She wanted to vanish. She was so tired of everything, of begging him not to get caught, not to die, to come back to her. Of trying to convince herself that a promise meant anything in a war like this.
“Be careful,” she said.
He caught her by the arm. “Wait. Don’t go.”
She shook her head. “Kaine—I’m so tired—I don’t want to fight.”
“We won’t.” He was looking at her more closely now. “Come with me. You’re worked to death. They can spare you for a night. We won’t fight.”
She managed to nod. The flight was a dull haze; she barely felt the wind. She was half asleep when Amaris landed. Kaine carried her inside and laid her on the bed. She felt him pulling off her shoes, and then he sat on the edge of the mattress, his hand resting between her shoulders.
He was safe. He had come back.
She roused the instant his hand withdrew.
He paused. “I need to eat and wash.”
She caught his hand, gripping it so tight her nails bit into his skin. “I was afraid you’d die. You said you couldn’t leave without special arrangements, and you were gone so suddenly, I thought—you might not come back.” Her voice was thick. “You’re always in danger, and I can never ask you to stop.”
He ran his thumb across her knuckles. “You know I would if I could. I’d run with you and never look back.”
“I know—” Her voice broke. “Don’t die, Kaine. You can’t leave me behind.”
He sank back down beside her, and didn’t leave until she stopped crying and fell asleep.
When the bed dipped, she woke to find him on the far side of the mattress. His hair was damp and hung over his eyes. She shifted across the bed and into his arms, burying herself there, letting her eyes close as she traced her fingers across his skin. She would know him blind.
He caught her hand and rolled her under him.
He studied her, that ever-present grief visible in his eyes, until she lifted her head and kissed him.
His hand slid up to wrap around her throat, and his thumb nestled under her jaw. A gradual, deepening kiss. She laced her fingers through his silver-white hair.
She never thought she could know a person with such slow intimacy. She knew exactly how he would press his lips against the pulse-point of her throat, the way his body shifted when she was beneath him. The grip of his hands on her hips, his teeth grazing her inner thighs, and the heat of his tongue.
“Are you all right?” Lila asked. Helena had her hand on Lila’s stomach, her eyes closed, trying to separate Lila’s louder heartbeat from the baby’s in an attempt to tell if it felt healthy.
Foetal heartbeats were much faster, but it was confusing to sense two people simultaneously.
Helena opened her eyes, dry and burning from exhaustion.
“I’m fine,” she said, though she felt as if she were bleeding to death inside. She’d seen so little of Kaine, and now he was gone and she didn’t know when he’d return. Her days were spent waiting for people to die, no longer even trying to save them.
Lila looked sceptical. “You don’t look fine. You don’t look like you sleep at all. Pace said you were badly injured. Are you recovered? You know better than anyone how important full recovery is.”
Helena shook her head. “It’s not that. My shifts are longer now but they’re not hard. I need to go, I have—more work.”
Lila spoke as she started to stand. “You don’t say it, but you think I’m selfish, don’t you?”
Helena sighed, staring down at her hands. “You’ve been through a lot; I don’t blame you for wanting something. I just don’t understand why you want this right now. You should at least go to Novis where you’ll be safe.” She shrugged. “Maybe having the Principate’s heir would be enough to convince them to send some medical supplies.”
Lila had thus far refused to “come out of quarantine,” and was still pretending to be contagious with bog cough.
“I want to wait a little longer,” Lila said. “Just to be sure.”
* * *
Rhea and Titus were waiting in one of the private rooms. Helena had written to Rhea, telling her that there was a possible treatment opportunity that she wanted to discuss.
“What would it entail exactly?” Rhea asked, gripping Titus by the arm to keep him from wandering.
“It would be a series of procedures,” Helena said, rubbing her hands against her black habit, trying to get her palms dry. “It’s similar to what I tried earlier this year, but I know how to control the reaction now. If we worked slowly, with short procedures, followed by recovery periods, I think Titus will adapt to the process. And then I can attempt to heal him without causing the reaction he had last time.”
Rhea squeezed Titus’s hand, leaning towards Helena, her eyes bright. “So you’ve done this before?” Her voice trembled with eagerness.
Helena cleared her throat, wanting to temper expectations. “Not this exactly. But a related procedure. It’s not without risk, though. Are you familiar with mithridatism?”
Rhea shook her head.
Helena drew a deep breath. “It’s a method of developing immunity to poison through low dosage. The process of going deep enough to heal Titus will have—similarities; he’ll have a sort of immune response to my resonance, in the form of brain fevers. We’ll have to monitor them, keep them under control. If they’re too high, we’ll have to take longer breaks. The goal will be building up his tolerance for my resonance in the delicate parts of the brain.”
That was all mostly true, with only a few details omitted.
Rhea nodded. “Yes—yes—whatever you—”
The door opened before she could finish speaking and Luc entered, followed by Sebastian.
“Rhea, what are you doing?” Luc asked, his voice breathless.
Rhea looked startled by the intrusion. “Helena’s found a way to heal Titus.”
Luc looked at Helena, his eyes hard, bright, and feverish. “You can’t be serious.”
Helena started to answer, but it wasn’t a question and it wasn’t directed at her. He’d turned back to Rhea.
“You’re going to trust her after what she did to Soren?”
Helena flinched, her mind nearly pitching itself into that clawing wound inside her. She swallowed hard. “Luc, Soren died. I’m sorry I couldn’t save him, but this procedure for Titus could work. Think of how valuable it would be to get him back.”
Luc looked back at her again, a look of disgust in his eyes. “That’s what this is about to you? Value?” He looked at Titus, who’d grown restless from the tension in the room. “You look at what you did to him, and see a wasted military asset?”
“What? No. That’s not what I meant.”
He stared at her again, his eyes blistering as sunburn. “You lay as much as a finger on him, and I’ll—”
“She won’t,” Rhea said, breaking in. “Thank you, Helena—Healer Marino, I appreciate the offer, but I think we’ll pass.”
Luc gave a sharp nod and then turned on his heel, walking out without a backwards glance. Sebastian wavered, looking at Rhea and Titus, his expression conflicted before he turned, following Luc. When they were gone, Rhea’s face crumpled, and she gave an audible gasp before pressing her face in her hands.
Helena could find no words. She sat numb with shock as Rhea stood, not looking at Helena as she led Titus out.
Once she was alone, Helena pulled her gloves on and headed for the Alchemy Tower. When the lift opened, she was surprised when Sebastian stepped out alone, a weary expression on his face. He paused, resting a hand on her shoulder. “It was good of you to try.”
Helena couldn’t quite bring herself to look at him. She stared at his chest, at the suncrest on his armour.
“Why is he doing this?” she asked. “Everyone understands. Even if they think it was wrong, they understand. He won’t even try.”
Sebastian sighed. “You know why.”
She wasn’t sure that she did, but she nodded and stepped into the lift. There were three guards stationed outside Luc’s door, and they shook their heads when she approached.
She went to her own room and climbed out the window, walking carefully up and around the low slope. Luc’s hair gleamed golden in the setting sun. He was sitting hunched on his heels, twirling something in his fingers. He brought it up to his mouth, flames sparking in his fingertips as he inhaled.
His whole body seemed to come loose, and he sagged in on himself.
Watching, she was reminded of how soft his face used to be, the brightness of it. Now the war had chewed him down to the bone. He sat there, out of armour, so shrivelled he reminded her of an insect exoskeleton, like the shed dragonfly nymphs that clung to the water reeds. He was hollowed out.
Smoke curled from his lips as he slowly exhaled.
He was smoking opium.
She stared in horror at how casually he did so. As though it were an old habit.
He pulled the pipe from his mouth, catching sight of her. His expression hardened, growing more alert. “Go away.”
“No,” she said, and came closer.
He spun the pipe in his fingers again, his jaw rippling with anger. If he hit her again, she’d probably fall from the Tower and die.
She stood only a few steps away. “I couldn’t save him. Even if I’d killed myself trying, it wouldn’t have been enough. What is it you wish I’d done instead?”
Rather than answer, he shook like an autumn leaf on the verge of falling loose. He seemed to be trying to speak, but at the same time his hand was bringing the pipe back to his lips, fingers sparking a feeble flame. He inhaled so long that when he stopped, the pipe nearly tumbled from his fingers.
She feared he’d fall, and knelt to catch him, but he looked up, meeting her eyes, and he—he didn’t look angry anymore, he just looked exhausted.
“What happened to us, Hel?”
She stared at him, and her pathetic, starved heart leapt for a moment before she realised the obvious. This wasn’t Luc; this was the opium talking.
“A war.” She looked away from him to the ruined city before them. A view which had once been so beautiful.
“You used to believe in me,” he said, his voice faraway. “What did I do that made you stop?”
“I still believe in you, Luc,” she said. “But we have to win this war. We can’t make choices because we want a certain story to tell later. There’s too much at stake.”
“No,” he said. “This is how we win. This is how we’ve always won. My father, and grandfather, all the Principates going all the way back to Orion. They won by trusting that good would triumph over evil, and I will do the same.”
She looked at him in despair.
His index finger flicked against his thumb, ignition rings sparking, and again fire filled his palm, running along his fingers.
He cradled the flames like a kitten before his fingers closed around it, leaving only a tongue as he tucked the opium pipe between his lips and brought the flame close to the bowl again.
Her hand clenched into a fist, fighting a wince as she listened to him inhaling.
“What if it’s not that simple, though?” she said. “Everyone who wins says they were good, but they’re the ones who tell the story. They get to choose how we all remember it. What if it’s never that simple?”
He shook his head. “Orion became sun-blessed because he refused to break his faith.”
Helena exhaled, burying her face in her hands.
She heard his rings spark, and the pipe hissed as the opium vaporised.
“Luc—please, let me help you.” She tried to reach towards him.
He flinched away, rage suddenly flashing across his face. “Don’t—touch me.”
He was teetering dangerously close to that immense fall, as if the Abyss still called to him. She didn’t know how to draw him back anymore, what to say that he’d still hear.
“Do you remember what I promised you, Luc, that night you came out here?” she asked, her voice pleading.
He gave no response. His gaze had settled back into a dim stupor, the sunset limning his gaunt features as though gilding him.
“I promised I’d do anything for you.” She curled her fingers into a fist. “Maybe you didn’t realise how far I was willing to go.”
“Don’t say that,” he said, suddenly alert again. “Don’t make it all my fault. I thought you could heal him.”
She closed her eyes. “Sometimes people die. You can’t save everyone. Neither of us can. Please let me try to heal Titus.”
“I can’t.” He stood, stumbled down onto the balcony of his room, and disappeared.
* * *
It had been over two weeks with no word when Helena’s ring finally burned again.
She ran out of Headquarters without a backwards glance.
When she reached the rooftop and saw Kaine already there, standing beside Amaris, her knees nearly gave out. He was in uniform, clean and polished, wearing a row of medals as if he’d just come from a ceremony.
“You’re back.” It was all she could manage to say, already reaching out for him when he was still steps away.
He pulled her into his arms. “Have you been all right?”
She managed a nod but then her head dropped against his chest, and she was so tired, her eyes closed, listening to his heart, legs threatening to give out. He’d come back. She couldn’t ask for more than that, but it had felt so long. As if every minute of his absence had cut into her.
“What’s wrong?” he finally asked.
Everything.
“Nothing,” she said. “I think I forgot to breathe after you left.”
He wrapped his arms around her shoulders again, but he was tense, his attention elsewhere. Dread seeped through her like blood in water.
She lifted her head. “What is it?”
He wasn’t looking at her; he was staring towards the blazing light of the Alchemy Tower. “I’m sure you realised: My trip was a diplomatic mission. We went to establish a formal alliance with Hevgoss, proprietary alchemical research in exchange for their mercenary forces.”
“We guessed it was that.”
“The new Hevgotian ambassador is—partial to my company. Keeping him entertained is my primary responsibility for the moment. Does Crowther have any outstanding orders?”
She shook her head. “No. We’ve been waiting to see what happened. He’ll want a report, but that’s all for now.”
His eyes narrowed. “There’s nothing?” There was a tension in his voice.
“Not yet. You just got back.”
Rather than look relieved, his eyes got that strained look that appeared when he was sure she was injured and he just didn’t know; he drew back, looking her over. “What happened?”
She furrowed her eyebrows, shaking her head. “Nothing.”
He didn’t believe her, she could tell. Panic was creeping across his features. She wished she’d come up with some errand for him; he was clearly certain that something must have happened to her for him to be given any reprieve. She sighed and caught his hand.
“After Althorne and Ilva died, I told Crowther that you were being overutilised, and I made him agree not to put so much on you.”
He scoffed. “And he just agreed to that?”
“No. I made a deal with him. Because of the obsidian and the Council being less stable, he’s vulnerable, he needs someone, and I told him that could be me, but only if I got to approve your orders from now on.”
Instead of looking relieved, he snatched his hand away from her.
“You did what?” He spat the question. “You thought that would help me? That is the last thing I want.”
A stab of exhausted, furious hurt cut through her. “Why? Is protection exclusively your right? Am I supposed to sit around while you win the war for me? Is that how you see this?” She gestured furiously between them.
“That was the deal,” he snapped.
“Well, I didn’t agree to that. Besides, I’m not doing anything dangerous. I’m not even allowed to go outside anymore.”
He stared at her, enraged.
“Kaine—don’t be like this.”
He didn’t budge. The space between them was ice-cold, as though all their ghosts surrounded them. They were both drenched in the dead.
The war was an abyss that took everything and was never satisfied. There was always more required. Another life. An additional measure of blood. Be better. Smarter. More ruthless. Quicker. More cunning. Accept a second portion of pain.
It was never enough.
Helena had nothing left to sacrifice. Everything remaining would cost too much to lose. Yet she was expected to be docile and cooperative, a comforting possession, and she was not.
She swallowed bitterly. “What did you expect me to do?”
“I don’t want you in this fucking war.” The rage in his voice was raw. “All I do is worry about what will happen to you if I fail to meet all requirements. If you get captured, you have no idea what they’ll—”
“I do know,” she snapped, cutting him off. “What do you think I do with all my time? I heal the people the Undying don’t manage to kill. Everyone—everyone from the lab near the East Port, I treated them—watched them die. They all died. I am so aware of the risks, I think sometimes that I will go mad from knowing them. Why do you think I fight so hard?”
Her voice splintered. She turned away, despair clawing through her. She’d told herself that it would all be better once he was back. That she’d breathe again.
But all she felt was renewed terror, the feeling that everything was crumbling, and she couldn’t stop it until she was left living every second bracing herself, unable to enjoy even the moments they had.
“I’ll tell Crowther you’re back.” Her voice was empty. “And let you know what he wants.”
She wanted to vanish. She was so tired of everything, of begging him not to get caught, not to die, to come back to her. Of trying to convince herself that a promise meant anything in a war like this.
“Be careful,” she said.
He caught her by the arm. “Wait. Don’t go.”
She shook her head. “Kaine—I’m so tired—I don’t want to fight.”
“We won’t.” He was looking at her more closely now. “Come with me. You’re worked to death. They can spare you for a night. We won’t fight.”
She managed to nod. The flight was a dull haze; she barely felt the wind. She was half asleep when Amaris landed. Kaine carried her inside and laid her on the bed. She felt him pulling off her shoes, and then he sat on the edge of the mattress, his hand resting between her shoulders.
He was safe. He had come back.
She roused the instant his hand withdrew.
He paused. “I need to eat and wash.”
She caught his hand, gripping it so tight her nails bit into his skin. “I was afraid you’d die. You said you couldn’t leave without special arrangements, and you were gone so suddenly, I thought—you might not come back.” Her voice was thick. “You’re always in danger, and I can never ask you to stop.”
He ran his thumb across her knuckles. “You know I would if I could. I’d run with you and never look back.”
“I know—” Her voice broke. “Don’t die, Kaine. You can’t leave me behind.”
He sank back down beside her, and didn’t leave until she stopped crying and fell asleep.
When the bed dipped, she woke to find him on the far side of the mattress. His hair was damp and hung over his eyes. She shifted across the bed and into his arms, burying herself there, letting her eyes close as she traced her fingers across his skin. She would know him blind.
He caught her hand and rolled her under him.
He studied her, that ever-present grief visible in his eyes, until she lifted her head and kissed him.
His hand slid up to wrap around her throat, and his thumb nestled under her jaw. A gradual, deepening kiss. She laced her fingers through his silver-white hair.
She never thought she could know a person with such slow intimacy. She knew exactly how he would press his lips against the pulse-point of her throat, the way his body shifted when she was beneath him. The grip of his hands on her hips, his teeth grazing her inner thighs, and the heat of his tongue.
