In the Wake of the Ruined (The Siren Mage, #2)(45)

The water crashed against the hull below, rolling the ship up and down, and a gnarled silence grew between us. It looped and choked the way untended roots do, but I had no idea how to begin to unfurl it.

“Is Eftan…” I began, clumsily.

He looked away. Shook his head. “He’s fine.”

“I’m sorry. I lost control—”

“Imogen, he tried to kill you.” He adjusted himself on the netting, crossing his arms against the cool air. “Are you all right?” he finally asked, tentatively.

It was a simple question, but my throat clamped shut. The word no tried to escape from deep inside my chest. No, I was not all right, and I had not felt the true strain of everything that had happened until this very moment. I wanted to wrap my arms around Theodore and weep. I wanted to confess how horribly I missed him and tell him every monstrous thing I’d done. I wanted to believe he’d see past my offenses, still see me as worthy, and understand why.

Then I reminded myself it wouldn’t matter if he did.

The musicians started a waltz that warped around us through the dense air. He tilted his head at my silence. “Immy?”

“Please don’t call me that.”

His look turned stern, hurt.

“I’m…” I stared down at my bound hands. “I’m all right. I’m so tired.” I finally looked up into his eyes. “What is it you needed to say to me?”

His brows drew together. “I needed you to understand the circumstances of this… marriage.”

“I do.”

“You don’t.” He took a deep, livid breath. “I wrote you. The letter is still in the pocket of that dress. I made you a promise in it and it remains. If you still want me, whenever you might want me, I will cut myself open again—”

“Stop it.” I struck my bound hands against my knee. Theodore straightened, affronted, but I went on. “Your wife is on that deck, celebrating your marriage, waiting for you to join her in a Godsdamned waltz, and you’re here with me—”

“Keep your voice down, Imogen.” Theodore thrust a finger toward me. “You are the only blood-bound wife I have had or ever will have.”

My chest seized. “What do you—” My thoughts had muddled. “What are you saying?”

“I didn’t bind myself to Halla. I refused. I changed every contract and agreed to a sham of a marriage—”

“You agreed to give her a child!”

“You read the letter, didn’t you?” he asked in a broken whisper. “I told you that I would do terrible things to keep you and my people safe. The agreement to give Halla a child was the worst of them. There was nothing else she wanted, nothing I could bargain with. So I granted her request to prevent an imminent war, knowing full well that I would either delay my end of the agreement indefinitely or be unable to fulfill it and eventually pay for my lie.”

I let his words settle between the creaking of the ship and the slush of the waves. His choice had been selfish and dangerous and mindlessly romantic. He’d risked the trust of both Obelia and his council for something we could never have. For hope.

“I understand now,” I said, carefully. My heart crushed. “But Theodore, I severed our bond. I ended this because it never should have begun in the first place. My anger and hurt over us is misplaced.” My voice was entirely hollow. “I have no claim on you.”

“No claim…” The ship hit another series of steep waves, and it sent us rolling over the net, sliding nearer. “After everything, you have no claim on me?” His rancor seemed to burn away the mist. “I still feel you. Not your blood, not our bond, but something more… beguiling. More devastating. I don’t know what Godsdamned spell you cast, or how, but you left a mark on every part of me.” Something depthless tightened his eyes. “You are a spirit I cannot banish. A ghost that wails the word mine as you haunt me.” His hurt carved through me, straight to my bones. “If you never wish to return to me, then be merciful, and tell me now.”

I closed my eyes. “That’s not fair.”

His brows lowered into a resolute line. “Imogen,” he said, disregarding what was and was not fair. “Tell me if you still want me.”

My chest squeezed so tightly I thought it would crack. “Damn you—want has nothing to do with it.”

He gave a vitriolic laugh. “At this point, it has everything to do with it.”

I shook my head again, terrified that my resolve would melt in the face of this sort of logic. “But it shouldn’t. It was one night. What we shared was… it was…”

His hard look was gone now, replaced with a soft, heated challenge. He took the knot around my wrist and pulled me toward him, putting us near enough for me to feel the flutter of his angry breaths. “It was what?”

Our gazes held, and I was suddenly certain that what had grown and knotted between us was not something that could be gently unwoven. It would need to be sliced.

“It wasn’t wise.” I said it unkindly, my voice harsh.

That damned smirk began to tip his mouth. “Agreed. A good thing I didn’t do it for the wisdom.”

My temper slipped. “I know hardly anything about you,” I snapped. “Not your likes or dislikes. I do not know if you play an instrument! Or when your bloody birthday is. The risk you are suggesting we take is idiotic and in time this… pain… and anger… and our feelings for one another…” I stopped, trying to slow my thundering heart. “It will all fade.”