“He’s still alive.”
One by one, those three words struck her in the chest. “Does he still have power over you?”
“I don’t know.”
Another three blows and her mind descended into endlessly dark places. “What if—”
“I don’t have the answers, Emmery. I don’t know where he is. I don’t know if he’s coming to find me. All I know is living is a blur, like the moment between waking and dreaming. A haze. Everything is black and white and gray, and I can’t see past it. I can’t see anything clearly. Not until—” He took her hand. Blinked. Blinked again. “Until you touch me.”
The air knocked from her lungs. It all made sense: the mindless touches, reaches for her hand, the way he held her like a precious burden, were all because she temporarily cured the crown’s afflictions. And now she felt dried up, used, and her chest cinched tighter until tears blurred her eyes.
Dez tenderly cupped her cheek and as he brought her back to him, his gaze flicked over the gathering tears. But his touch no longer felt—
Gods, she didn’t know what she’d convinced herself it could be. His moves had always been calculated, always a use, and she was only here because he needed her.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, and he almost sounded like he truly cared. “Did I say something?”
She swiped the wetness with the back of her hand. “No. I’m just tired.”
“Emmery.” He tilted her chin up with a single finger. “Now that I’ve bared my soul to you, don’t pull away from me. At least tell me what you’re thinking.”
She gnawed on her cheek, bit down until she tasted blood, and when she finally translated her emotions to words, she said, “I’ve been used too. My entire life.” A deep sigh left her. “I’m tired, Dez.”
He dropped his finger from her chin and let his hands fall into his lap. “I suppose I’ve only contributed to that. Between the pactums and having you retrieved from beyond the gate—though it’s hardly the worst thing I’ve done. But you should know, I’ve never claimed to be anything other than what I am.”
He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I think the thorns broke me down and remade me. Tore away my insides and scraped me raw. They left me this empty, soullessthing.” He stared at her for a long moment and said, “I’m trying to be better. You make me want to be better. As I said all those months ago, I truly am sorry. Please believe me.”
They both sat with their choices. How this life had hurt them, how these circumstances shaped it, but how his pain and darkness cradled hers in a way that soothed the ache. And he’d crafted a damn good apology.
After an impossibly long silence, he asked, “Do you want to play with me?” The corners of his lips twitched. “You can be my other hand.”
Emmery smiled wistfully and nodded, ready to enjoy the last still moment before tonight. “Show me,” she said. Her throat worked with a swallow, and she hovered her fingers over the keys. “Where do I—”
Warmth imprinted in her skin as his gentle fingers placed hers on a few keys. He pressed down on her fingers and each note rang through her.
“Just like that. One, two, three. If you’re feeling fancy you can throw in a C-sharp.” Her furrowed brow only drew a breathy laugh from him. He tapped the higher key. “This one.”
She scrunched her nose and tried to get the rhythm down. “Like that?”
“Perfect.”
He reached across her to play a few keys before he returned to his side. Their notes melded, the symphony of music beautifully sad. She bared down, centered all her focus on those three fingers to keep the beat. While she didn’t attempt the fourth, herchest swelled with the music, and uncreased those smothered bits of her heart.
She glanced sidelong at Destonne to find him utterly still, blood streaming down his temples. “Tell me something,” she said, pulling her fingers from the keys, and peering up at his puzzled face. “Something no one knows about you. A secret only I can hold.”
“Haven’t you collected enough already?” His brow lifted. “What about Brennen? He knows far too much.”
“Aside from Brennen.” She bit back the urge to ask how he felt about Brennen’s choice. “And I never tire of your secrets.”
A wicked smirk claimed his lips. “Then I need one of yours in return.”
“You first.” So she had time to search for something interesting.
His smirk almost widened into a smile. “I have an eidetic memory, accompanied by synesthesia.”
At the confused furrow of Emmery’s brows, he said, “I remember everything, vividly, which has been good and bad, but my mind processes things differently. My senses are sort of … crossed. Music and certain sounds trigger me to see colours. When I was young my mum thought I was mad, but the healer assured her it’s normal. At least for me.” The smirk died with a tinge of hesitance, but he cleared his throat and said, “Now you. Tell me something fascinating, angel. I’m sure you’re full of all sorts of sinful secrets, especially with your scandalous taste in literature.”
Emmery snorted and said the first thing that popped into her mind. “I’m double jointed.” She caught her thumb and bent it back to touch her wrist.