She wished she could think of it in stark, black-and-white terms. Being able to point to herself as bad would be easier than this muddled gray area, not knowing if justice was wanting to save a man who didn’t deserve it or seeking revenge for an unrighteous death. Heroes and villains and the spaces between, a prism that changed reflections depending on the angle you turned it.
If she was truly good, maybe she could hold all the Kings’ souls without being taken over. Control their power, keep them contained. If she was truly bad, all of this was a lost cause anyway.
But Neve was somewhere between. Somewhere human. And it carried no certainty.
“I don’t know,” she said, closing her eyes. “I don’t know.”
After a moment, he put his hand on the ground between them, palm up. Neve slid her fingers between his. Magic buzzed where their skin met, but she didn’t let it go, and he didn’t let it in. No decisions had been made, not yet.
A low rumble, rattling the walls of their rib-and-rock cage. The tiny bones on the floor jumped and skittered.
“Neve,” Solmir murmured as the last of the shuddering faded, “let it be me.”
Her grip on his hand was white-knuckled. “Can you take it?”
They both knew what she meant, what lurked around the edges. Could he take in all the souls of the Kings without losing himself to them? Without becoming something terrible, something in their control, and making all of this for nothing?
Solmir’s fingers twitched in hers. “I can try,” he said finally. “For you, I can try.”
For her.
It should be a relief. But Neve’s throat ached. “You think I can be part of your death so easily?”
Silence. Then Solmir swore, long and harsh. He dropped her hand and stood, pacing away, scrubbing a hand through all that long hair. Blood streaked at his temple, turned it dark.
“I’d hoped it would be hard for you.” He turned, teeth bared, his eyes a cold blue glitter. “Damn me, Neverah, I hoped it wouldn’t be easy, and that, more than anything else I’ve done, means I’m absolutely the villain here. I deserve to be the vessel, and I deserve for you to kill me.”
She said nothing. There was nothing to say. Neve just sat there, knees clasped to her chest, heart a gaping maw.
Then she stood with a curse almost as impressive as his had been, reaching for him. He grabbed her arm, the sleeve of his coat a barrier between their skin, like he knew what she was thinking. “You’re not giving the power to me, Neverah, don’t you even think of it.”
“I’m not, you bastard.” It was a burning thing to admit, and it came out almost like a snarl. “Not every kiss has to be about magic.”
And his mouth was open with surprise when Neve’s crashed into it.
It was nowhere near gentle, nowhere near soft, this collision that felt as ordained as stars on the same path, combining into a sun or a burnt-out void. It was need, ravenous, distilled want that knew this was the only moment it would have.
His surprise lasted only a moment. “Damn me,” he muttered against her mouth, then his hands were in her hair, tugging her as close as he could.
She dragged her teeth against his lips, tasted copper; he growled deep in his throat and pressed closer, until her back collided with the rib bones that made the wall, his knee between her legs, running hot lightning to her core.
Solmir tasted like cold. Neve wasn’t sure how that was possible, but he tasted like cold, like the space between winter pine trees. It was fresh air; she wanted to gulp it down. One of his hands gripped the jut of her hip, raked her up his thigh so their chests pressed together; the other shoved his coat off her shoulders. He bared his teeth as he did it, even through their rough kiss, his hands rising to tangle in her hair and tilt back her head, mouth on her neck, tongue on her collarbone. Everything between them was sharp angles, even this.
Clothes were easy to discard, tattered and bloodied as they were. Solmir kicked away bones before he laid her back, lips on throat, clavicle, lower. Quick and desperate as this was, his arm beneath her head was gentle, muscle tensed to make her comfortable.
He broke away long enough to look up at her, blue eyes on brown in a gray void. The signs of souls. Neve had nothing to pray to, but she sent out an anguished hope anyway that he’d be strong enough to keep his right until the end. An end she still couldn’t think about.
“I love you.” Solmir said it like it made him angry, like he was throwing down a gauntlet, harsh against her throat. “Don’t you dare say it back.”