Unbound (The Griever's Mark series Book 3) (24 page)

Belos, watching us, says suggestively, “Don’t let me stop you.”

My blood surges through my veins. He will
not
degrade that. I stalk over to his bed, peripherally aware of the wind swirling in my wake. Belos gazes up at me, unconcerned.

I remind him, “You don’t need your tongue to point out a direction. If you’d like to keep it, I suggest you silence it.”

“You always were touchy about matters of sex.”

Air whips around me. I cannot listen to him anymore. I
have
to shut him up.

I rip the air from his lungs. He chokes, unable even to gasp. His face purples and his eyes bulge, and I revel in the sight. I
do
have power over him. And he has none over me.

Then I realize what I’m doing.

And I realize that I’m wrong: he does have power over me. He is controlling the way I feel. At every turn, he is controlling me.

I let go.

Belos gasps and falls like a ragdoll to the mattress. I didn’t even know I had lifted him up.

I spin away from the bed, trying to get my own lungs working, but they are tight, like a fist is closed around them. Astarti approaches me slowly. I meet her worried eyes. I still can’t breathe. I still can’t think. I silently beg her to help me.

She looks...relieved. She takes my hand and leads me into the hallway. Air starts slipping through the fist around my lungs, but it comes whistling, unwilling.

I want to hit something. I want to be hit. I need it to focus. I need to get everything back under control so I breathe again, so I can be myself again.

Astarti lays her hands over my clenched fists. When my fists start to loosen and my lungs start to work, she slides her hands up my arms, over my shoulders and up my neck until she’s cupping my jaw. It’s like she sweeps all the anger out of me, leaving calm in its wake. I don’t know how she does that. I wonder if it is some magic I don’t understand, but I think it’s just her.

I meet her eyes, which shine in the light of the bracketed sconce. I want to tell her that I’m frightened. I think I have been all my life.

I don’t know if this is what she sees in my eyes, but she says softly, “I know. I know.”

She lets me be weak for a moment, and that is all I need to be strong again.

Chapter 34

I KNOW I should sleep. We can’t guess what tomorrow will bring. At the least, it will be another long, tense day of travel. Logan is asleep only because he is utterly exhausted, but I can’t escape the feeling that someone should keep watch. Belos lies quietly, eyes closed, but I don’t know if he’s asleep. I sit on my pillow and lean against the wall. I keep the pack under my knees. If I do doze off, I can’t risk Belos prying into it.

This has been the strangest day of my life. I know what’s getting to Logan. It’s not just Belos’s comments. It’s the normal, everyday things we are being forced to do together. I don’t like it either. It’s not that I haven’t done such things with Belos before. I’ve eaten hundreds, thousands, of meals with him. I’ve seen him wash his face. I’ve even heard him urinating before. But this is different. Before, I would turn half my mind away from those sights and sounds, as Heborian’s servants do because he is king and ranked so far above them. Today, Belos is below me, and this bizarre inversion, which should feel good, only feels strange.

His personality, too, puts me ill at ease. He’s less erratic than before, not given to the fits of temper that I remember. His cruelty now is petty and small. I can’t help but wonder if this is because he is now only himself when before he was an amalgamation of all those he had Taken. Is this the real Belos?

Several times today, I’ve caught him looking dejected, listless, beaten. His sneering smile slides over it as soon as he feels my eyes on him, but he’s not as quick as he used to be. I wish Logan could see how broken Belos really is. Maybe he does see it. Maybe it haunts him that someone who is now so weak once held such power over him.

I feel Logan twitch in his sleep, and I lay a hand against his chest. I knew he would dream tonight. That is another reason I am awake. Logan wouldn’t like it if he knew I’m keeping watch over him, but I will follow my own will in this.

Logan quiets at my touch, relaxing into sleep again. I study his face in the low, warm light from the hearth. My mind paints memory over the sight, and I see again the fear in his eyes when he stood with me in the hallway. When I met him, I never saw fear in his eyes. Since then, I have seen it on occasion, slipping through the cracks, but this is the first time he has trusted me to see it fully. My throat tightens at the memory. I don’t know if I’m right to be breaking down these walls he’s built around himself. I don’t think such walls are good, and I don’t think they really protect him. They just let him keep suffering out of the sight of the rest of us. But as I pull his walls down a little at a time, I expose him. I am forcing him to face his pain and his fear. I worry: will he crumble when these walls are gone? What if they are the only thing holding him together?

No, I tell myself. He’s stronger than that—I know he is.

But it’s hard on him to do this, to let me help, to admit to himself that he needs help. He sees, now, how Belos manipulated him into believing warped truths. It is another way Belos has wielded power over him. However, recognizing Belos’s lies doesn’t mean Logan is past them. He needs what we do not have: time and peace to sort through all this, to heal. Instead, he must fight this battle within himself even while he faces other, equally difficult conflicts.

And what about me? What do I need?

It’s a strange question to ask myself in the middle of the night in this room with my lover and my pseudo-father-turned-enemy. I know what I want, at least in a vague sense. I want time with Logan. I want time to figure out what I want, I suppose. At the same time, that terrifies me because I have no idea what I want beyond Logan. Without the constant pressure of things that must be done, fights that must be fought, what will I do with myself? I have never imagined a life not shaped by necessity. How would I shape my life by choice?

Frankly, I doubt there will be a chance to find out. I have betrayed Heborian. Perhaps I have betrayed everyone. Part of me believes there will be no coming back from this.

Logan makes a low sound. I stroke his hair, hoping he’ll settle. Sweat breaks out on his face, and a line wedges between his brows. His body tightens, muscles etching with strain as his limbs start to twitch. I hate this. I dream, too, but it’s not like this. He needs rest,
real
rest, but his mind will not give it to him.

I shake his shoulder to wake him before it gets worse. He gasps awake. I keep my hand on him, though I expect him to tear away from me.

He doesn’t. He rolls onto his side, pressing his face against my hip. One arm is trapped beneath his body, but his other comes across my legs. His fingers dig into my thigh like he’s holding on for his life. I press my hand to his head, clasping him to me, hoping he stays.

Slowly, his body relaxes, and he falls asleep again. Relief washes through me. And hope. He has never turned to me like this, not without me practically forcing him. He has never fallen asleep again so quickly. I stroke his hair, more for my own sake than his, struggling to keep my fingers light so I don’t wake him.

I feel eyes on me.

I turn my head to find Belos watching. The light shines on his open eyes. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t smirk or sneer. He doesn’t look like he feels anything at all.

I hate him for witnessing this. I hate that he gets to taint my joy in this small improvement. I hate that he gets to see Logan’s suffering, much of which he caused.

I close my eyes, forcing my awareness away from Belos and into the feeling of Logan lying against me. I will make that my reality. I have him. He has me. The rest of the world can just go away.

Chapter 35

EVEN BEFORE THE sun rises, merchants and farmers are setting up their stalls in the town square. With Logan and Belos behind me, I follow the scent of meat pies to one of the carts.

“They’re not hot yet,” explains the ruddy-faced baker. “Half an hour.”

I have no interest in lingering. “I’ll take them as they are. Six, if you please.” From the corner of my eye, I assure myself that Belos cannot look over my shoulder before I dig some coins from the pack.

“Suit yourself.” The baker shrugs and plucks half a dozen pies from the baking stone set over a low fire.

Belos inquires, “What are you so protective of in that pack?”

“My privacy.”

“You may be a good liar, Astarti, but your lover is not. He bristled like a cat at the question.”

I don’t allow myself to look at either of them. Protesting will only give Belos the chance to read both of us for clues.

When the baker hands me the first two pies, I shove them at Belos. Tempting as it may be to let him starve, that wouldn’t serve our purpose. Besides, I do
not
want to have to Heal him again. I pass the next two pies to Logan and keep the others for myself.

We sit on the steps of the inn to eat. Though the meat is cooked, the pies are cold in the middle. Logan watches me from the corner of his eye, as he has been doing all morning. When I stifle a yawn, he frowns. Ah. So that’s what this is about. I probably do look tired.

Belos picks up on the tension, though one would think his swollen nose hurts too much for him to think about anything but that. He’s tougher than I’ve given him credit for.

He says, “I hope you can stay awake today, Astarti. After that long night.”

I give him a humorless smile. “You know I am well used to sleepless nights.”

Logan demands, “What does he mean, ‘long night’?”

Before I can answer, Belos says with mock surprise, “You didn’t realize she was keeping watch over you?”

Logan turns a thunderous look on me. “Is that true?”

I try to silently communicate that we shouldn’t argue in front of Belos. It’s what he wants to see. Either Logan reads this in my face, or he comes to the same conclusion on his own. He turns to Belos.

“Your tongue, remember? An unnecessary detail.”

Belos clamps his lips shut with mocking emphasis, his eyes dancing with delight the whole time. Logan looks resolutely away from him.

I can’t eat all of my second pie, so I give it to Logan. He inhales it so quickly that I offer, “I’ll get you another if you’re still hungry.”

“No. I’d rather get moving.”

We make our way to the edge of town. I take Logan’s hand. Belos holds out his own, laughing silently when Logan scowls. Logan grabs him by the arm and takes us into the wind.

*     *     *

Logan doesn’t stop until we’ve crossed over the narrow strip of Heradyn and the broad channel of ocean that lies between it and Rune. I settle into my body on a rocky bluff that looks down to a strip of beach. Dozens of people move up and down the muddy beach, many wading out in the surf. They seem to be looking for something.

I wonder aloud, “What’s going on down there?”

Logan squints down at the moving figures. “Clamming?” he guesses, then shakes his head. “No, the tide’s wrong.”

I rub my arms for warmth. “It’s so cold. Even for Rune.”

Logan mutters, “Something’s not right.” He casts a suspicious look at Belos, who shrugs.

I admit, “Something did feel different. In the wind.”

Logan nods.

I narrow my eyes at the beach below. A man washes something off in the ocean then holds it up. It’s about the size of a fist and gleams red-orange in the sunlight.

Logan says, “I’ll go look. Stay here.”

He vanishes, and the rush of air pulls my hair after him.

Not one to miss an opportunity, Belos sidles closer to me. “What is it about him? Is it because he’s handsome? Or is it his pain you like?”

I wheel on him. “Do not speak to me.”

Once, I would have felt too much awe to treat him with such scorn. Perhaps as much has changed in me as in him. I can’t pinpoint a moment, but I’m not afraid anymore. I’m not even angry, not for myself at least. Strange. I feel like I should be. But Belos seems so...small to me now. He’s like a child casting stones.

He looks away. Is he jealous of Logan?

Suddenly, I have to know something, and I have only a moment while Logan is gone. I pin Belos with a stare. “Why did you pretend to be me? When you had Logan.”

“He told you about that?” Belos sounds genuinely surprised.

“Why did you do it?”

“Because I knew it would hurt him. I knew it would make him more ashamed than anything else I could do to him.
That
is power, Astarti. The ability to make others ashamed. It breaks them.”

A shiver works through me because he’s right: that is power. Cruel, selfish, without purpose. But it is power.

Belos wraps his arms around himself against the chill. “Why do you think I harass him so much? He gives in to it. It hurts him. How can you love someone so weak?”

“That’s not weakness.”

He raises a sardonic eyebrow. “He’s vulnerable. That is weakness.”

I know I shouldn’t play this game with Belos, but I can’t help arguing, “He could kill you, you know. I’m a little surprised he hasn’t yet.”

Belos makes a dismissive gesture. “That doesn’t make him strong.”

“It does. That he’s able to resist? That takes strength. You would see that if you understood what his life has been.”

“But I do. I’ve
lived
in his mind. Do you know what makes him weak? He will not embrace what he could be. He restrains himself out of fear—”

“I would call it compassion and decency.”

“I don’t care what you call it. To restrain oneself is weakness, a weakness born of fear. You can only be strong by seizing everything you can in yourself and from others.”

“If you call that strength, I will gladly accept weakness, both in myself and others.”

“You always were soft.”

That doesn’t hurt me, but my next question might. I want it to expose Belos, but it could expose me as well. I take a resolving breath. “Why did you ever love me?” He stiffens, and I insist, “You did. You can deny it if you like, but I know the truth.”

He looks at me, suspicion in his eyes. “Why do you ask that?”

“I’m curious.”

“Liar.”

I try again, honestly this time. If I accept the truth, it cannot hurt me, no matter what Belos makes of it. “It felt good that you loved me, in your own way. But looking back, I don’t understand it. My life could have been worse—I realize that. Why wasn’t it?”

Belos looks away. For the first time ever, I have made him uncomfortable.

“You’ve lost everything. Your Seven, your power. At this point, what does it cost you to tell me?”

He says in a strained voice, “It costs me the only thing I have left.”

“Why? Because you’re ashamed that you ever cared for someone?”

He says nothing. I’m not sure I’ve hit on the truth until he turns away. I’ve been guessing, gambling, pretending to be certain where I was not. For once, I have beaten him. For once, something in him is laid bare. He did love me. It was a selfish love—a terrible thing, really—but it makes me see him, just for this moment, as a person. A cruel, selfish, weak, unforgivable one, but a person nonetheless. It is a strange sensation. The world resettles itself around this idea.

The breeze swirls around me, and Logan shapes himself from the wind. He frowns at Belos, who is still looking away and gives me a questioning look. I make a face that I hope says,
It’s complicated
.

Logan nods down to the beach. “Amber. It seems to have washed up on shore recently. Too much at once to be natural.”

“The Old Ones?” I venture.

“I would assume. They’re nearby. I can feel their energy. It’s in the air, in the earth, in the water.”

“Can you sense Kronos yet?”

His jaw tightens. “No. But let me guess: north?”

Belos has recovered his smirk. “Of course.”