When you see the moon rise, he had said to me once, some might say there’s something more to it than coordinates in the sky.
I’d thought he was just mocking me then. But right here, I understood it.
I took my shoes off once I hit the sand, leaving them abandoned behind me. There was something grounding about feeling the damp sand against my toes. Atrius didn’t move as I approached. Didn’t look away from the sea.
A breeze blew, stealing stands of my hair and Atrius’s toward the sea. His nostrils flared. I took a step closer, which made his gaze snap to me.
“You shouldn’t be here.”
In his presence, a twinge of hunger rang out—subtle, and yet, I knew that whatever he was allowing me to sense was only a fraction of what he truly felt.
Atrius, I knew, was starving in a way that went far beyond physical hunger. I could feel that in him, vicious and yearning, making the hairs stand up on the back of my neck.
But I only said, “It’s where I want to be.”
I didn’t realize until the words left my mouth exactly how true they were.
His jaw tightened.
“You shouldn’t be near me.”
True, a voice whispered in the back of my head. But the danger wasn’t him. The danger was myself—or maybe something even bigger, the natural tension of oil and fire inching closer.
I didn’t dignify that with an answer this time. Instead, I took another step.
It was answer enough.
We stood there beside each other for a long, silent moment, acutely aware of each other’s presence and saying nothing. And yet, saying everything—because just standing here, next to each other, our shoulders inches away, felt thick with meaning.
“It was stupid of you to put yourself, bleeding, next to a bunch of injured vampires,” he said at last.
“You have a funny way of saying thank you.”
A beat. A glance. And then, more quietly, “Thank you. For helping them.”
“Thank you for saving my life.”
“I wasn’t sure if I had, at first.” The statement came with a strange chill, gone before I could feel it too closely.
Then he added, beneath his breath, “Too many, I couldn’t.”
His voice made me think of Erekkus’s screams. The kind of sound that followed a person for the rest of their life.
I said, “I looked, but I couldn’t find Erekkus.”
“He’s gone.”
“Gone?”
“He needed to be alone. I’m in no position to stop him.”
“How old was his little one?”
“Ten.”
An ache in my chest.
“Young.”
“And yet what kind of life did she have for those ten years? All of it spent…”
Atrius’s voice trailed off.
Then he whirled to me, eyes bright, mouth twisted into a sneer.
“You shouldn’t be here,” he said again.
But I just stopped closer again. Pressed my hand to the center of his chest, over his sweat-stained cotton shirt. Far beneath my touch, his curse writhed.
I didn’t want to give him sympathy. I barely even considered it. When Naro and I clawed our way to survival through the worst of the Pythora Wars, we lost so much. In the beginning, when our parents were killed, people used to say, I’m sorry. And then the years passed, and the bodies piled higher, and no one said they were sorry anymore. The loss was just another unfair part of life. No one needed platitudes. When my sister died, people gave us bread instead. It was much more useful.
I felt so alone then. Now, as an adult, I knew that the reason why people were distant was not because they didn’t feel our loss, but because they felt it too much. They had no room for more. I thought perhaps one day, I’d stop feeling it, too. Perhaps one day, it would fade. The Arachessen promised me it would.
It never did.
Maybe the Sightmother had lied to me. Maybe I was just never good enough to be an Arachessen. But the truth was the truth. Fifteen years had passed, and now here I was, as angry as ever. Angrier. And tonight, I felt Atrius’s loss just as strongly as my own.
And I just couldn’t anymore.
I. Just. Couldn’t.
“Why?” I said. “Do you think I’m afraid of this? Afraid of you? As if I don’t feel the darkest parts of you every night. As if I don’t recognize—”
“You recognize it because you feel it just as much.” His words were hard. All sharp-edged accusation. Strange, though, that such cruel words held such tender affection beneath them. Like he was challenging me to meet him at this most difficult terrain, somewhere that hurt, somewhere that was just as angry and broken as we were.