Wolf's-own: Weregild (10 page)

"Sweets?” Caidi's eyebrows shot up, and her clear hazel gaze sparkled. “Can we bring back some for Jacin and Joori?"

Bloody damn, she was cute as a bug. Samin had to really work at it to not go all melty inside. He throttled the,
Whatever you want
, that tried to blurt itself and molded it into, “If you're very good and listen to Shig and me while we're out and about,” instead, but he could tell by Shig's smirk that she had at least some idea of what he hadn't said.

Shig stood, all languid grace, and held out her hand to Caidi. “C'mon, we'll see if your cloaks are dry, and then I'll help you fix your hair."

Both Morin's and Caidi's gazes went to Shig's hair, faces pinching just the slightest bit in worry, before drifting back down to Joori, as though for help. Joori had his hand over his mouth, rubbing firmly like he had a hell of an itch, but Samin caught the slant of amusement he directed at Yori, and then the roll of Yori's eyes.

"No dye,” Yori told her sister firmly. “And no braids."

Shig flipped her off with a grin.

Its wings were dusky white, just this side of gray, translucent as they rammed against the glass of the lamp. Sparks of flame shone through them as they
thwip-thwip-thwipped
, beating their urgent rhythm—
thwip-thwip-thwip
,
thwip-thwip-thwip-thwip-thwip
—then a defeated plunge to the bedside cupboard before it flipped itself back into pathetic flight. Began to thrash itself to death against the glass that separated it from the lethal flame it craved.

Fly as you fall
, he whispered to it, his own voice strange inside his head, echoing and empty.
Even falling feels like flying.

He wanted to fly.

Jacin?
Are you awake?
A shift that set his head whirling and his stomach tumbling, and pain—
pain
—striating out through every nerve ending.
Jacin, can you hear me?

Something—no, someone—squeezed his hand. He wanted to do something, but he couldn't decide if he should squeeze back or shove the grip off him, so he didn't do either.

He shut his eyes. Drifted.

Has he woken up at all? Said anything?

He's... very sick, lad. The wounds are healing already, but the infection.... It's got into his blood.

So much blood, and none of it his own, and fuck, he
ached
.

Boiling skies of verdigris, bruised with violet. Cherry blossom petals coasted on a gust of warmth, spiraled above him in a whirl, like a miniature blizzard, then pattered down to settle over his face, his eyelids, his hair. Entombed in a sweet-soft shroud, and inside the silky miasma, it was silent. He thought he should be glad, but he only felt naked and terrified and alone.

He was freezing, but the petals stuck to the sweat coating his skin. They itched, and he wanted to shake them all off, scratch everywhere, but if he moved, the shadows flickered at the corners of his eyes, and he didn't want to see what was inside of them. There was hopelessness in there, way down in the shadowed depths, and something inside them whispered at him—
nothing, you're nothing
—and he didn't want to listen, and maybe if he didn't look, he wouldn't have to hear.

The cherry trees rustled—
thwip-thwip-thwip
—and shadows fluttered over his closed lids, and the sound made him sad, so fucking tragic, but he didn't know why. Something about wings and flames, and falling, falling, falling, tumbling down to start all over again, and even falling felt like flying for a little while until you burnt up your wings in your headlong plunge into the fire. Burning. Cleansing. Resting, finally
resting
, except there was something he hadn't finished; he wasn't done.

Hurts

Everything hurt, even his heart. Maybe if he took a knife, carved it out....

No. They'd taken his knives away. Defenseless.

He's in pain, Umeia.

I know.

He tried to open his eyes, but the petals weighed them down, so heavy, so he stopped trying.

I can't do much more, Mal
. Something cold and wet touched his brow, and he shivered, choked as something strong and bitter was poured down his throat.

Just keep it quiet for him. He shouldn't have to fight the fever and the damned Ancestors at the same time.

The Ancestors. Wasn't he supposed to be listening? Shake off the petals, and maybe the noise would block out the pain, but the silence was so seductive, so he kept still.

Quiet. Beautiful. Just the sporadic
thwip-thwip-thwip
and the closing of a door, but the shadows hid the noise, he could see them out the corners of his eyes, even with them shut and covered by the petals.

Tired. So fucking tired.

I know, Fen. You're very sick.

Sick? Well, yes, he'd been that for a while, but....

No—tired
.

Fucking exhausted. Wasn't he finished yet?

Your brother wants to see you, Fen. Do you think you can keep your eyes open for a moment?

No
. He shook his head, a strange muffled fear in his gut.
The shadows will see me.

He curled himself in, shied from the murk at the edge of everything and coiled into a tight knot inside his own mind, all alone, desperation and relief all at once, because it was a
quiet
place, but it wasn't a
safe
place. Sharp and dangerous, feelings he didn't understand lashing out like whips, cutting him, and each blow crackled in his mind with a voice of its own, echoing in the silence and slipping away before he could put a name to it.

I got a new doll, Jacin, see? Her hair's like mine.

His eyes slid open, because he never could refuse her anything, but the scream that wanted to come only shoved out his throat in a thin whimper. Blood in her gold hair, streaming down into hazel eyes, so blank-empty, and he couldn't save her, and she kept
smiling
at him, a cold, dead thing.

I'm Wolf's creature too, Jacin. We're all made for sacrifice. Didn't you know?

Moth's wings beating at shadows behind her, frantic and useless, and his mother's eyes staring vacantly from Caidi's heart-shaped little face, then Shig, smirking—
Come along, pretty forfeit
—and Jacin shut his eyes tight.

You're not the only one who's had a shitty time of it, angry Ghost.

Jacin only clenched his teeth.
Why can't you ever shut up?

You still fear death
, Dani told him. Blue eyes flashed with lust and disdain, thick dying sunlight catching at caramel-colored hair and setting it aflame. Pine soap, smoke and sage, and light, musky sex—familiar, but not Dani, and did he really give a shit?

Jacin shook his head, pushed his body into Dani's. Begging. Shameless.
I don't. I can't.

What would be the point?

Liar.

No, I—

Failure.

Fuck you
, he growled, but Dani only laughed, so Jacin just let go, fell down into the darkness and pretended he was flying.

C'mon, Fen, open your eyes. Talk to me.

He frowned. How was he supposed to open his eyes when the petals weighted them shut? And anyway, talk about what? He didn't want to, he didn't have time... wasn't he supposed to be doing something?

I have to listen. They'll only say it once, and when you touch me I can't listen.

A soft rustle, a rough hand at his cheek, and then that pine-sex-sage smell was all over him, overwhelming the fragile scent of the cherry blossoms, and... did he mind? No, he didn't think so.

D'you want me to let go?

Did he?

... No

Of course not.

Too weak, too many emotions he couldn't not feel, even when he buried them deep and snarled them into silence, strangled them until he couldn't breathe, and still he couldn't make himself pull away from that touch.
Not... not perfect,
and tears burned behind his eyes.

Fuck, Fen.
Soft and sad, then gentle, callused fingers threading the sweaty tangles off his brow.
You're not supposed to be. It's what makes you beautiful.

Beautiful. Time lost, and yes, he was beautiful in the silence and the not-hours of blank, empty nothing. Warmth all along his back, and an arm curled over his ribs—like he was someone's lover—the steady rise and fall of another's chest against his back, the heated susurrus of warm breath just behind his ear, and it felt so fucking
good
he could've cried.

Was this what it felt like to die? Had he gone to the suns?

'
S not so bad.

He was falling, but it felt a little bit like flying, so he didn't mind.

A shift behind him, then beneath him, and his body rolled, limp and lifeless, and he waited for someone to light the pyre.

You're not dead.
Angry. Impatient.
You're just stubborn and broody, and you're pissing me off.
A long pause, still and silent, then, softer:
Fen. Please.

He opened his eyes, watched the moth thump itself against the glass—
thwip-thwip-thwip
—its wings like tattered lace around the edges now. The lamp was wicked lower, persuading the shadows from out of their corners, but the frantic bashing went on and on and on, so he shut his eyes again.

So fucking tragic. Such a waste.

It didn't stop—it never ended. An endless circle, the arc feeding into itself, eating itself, spiraling into infinity, because there was no such thing as a perfect circle.

You're losing it, lad
, Vonshi said softly.
Focus on the graze of ink on the paper

Careful brushstrokes, but he couldn't stop his hand from shaking, and it didn't matter, because he was losing himself in the ink drops, letting them suck him down into the pitch.

Hardly perfect, is it, Jacin-rei?

He tried not to weep, but the tears were searing his eyes, and they hurt, and no, it wasn't perfect.

Hardly
.

Nothing, you're nothing.

Yes
.
I know.

He'd always known. He'd never thought otherwise.

Another squeeze of his hand, and,
Fen, damn it, open your fucking eyes, stop being so bloody dramatic.

Rough, that voice, like fine liquor, and it brought the quiet with it, kept the shadows cowering in their corners, so he let himself hear it.

Can't
, he wanted to say, but the petals crept down his throat, wedged in his chest, sprouted and took root, and it hurt, but he couldn't cough and dislodge them. He wondered if a sapling would shoot from his mouth if he tried to talk, so he didn't, and the silence—inside and out—made him wonder again if he was dead.

Is that what you want?

Malick had him shoved up against the door of the baths, and his hands were running over Jacin's bare shoulders, hot and callus-rough, thumbs settling first in the dual grooves of his collarbones then sliding up to rest—no,
dig in
—at the pulse points at his throat. Jacin let his head fall back, arched his neck, surrender, and there was no surrender without peril, so he risked it all.

You want this, Fen, is that it?
The smile was flat, all teeth and contempt, and the gliding strokes of Malick's thumbs increased in pressure, cutting off air, and Jacin was mortified to realize it was making him hard. Hot breath gusted over his face as Malick dipped in, dragged his mouth up the line of Jacin's jaw, whispered,
Did you think I wouldn't give it to you if you asked me to?
He squeezed.

Jacin shook his head, shut his eyes, the shadows of moth's wings rippling through his lids—
thwip-thwip-thwip
in time to the flurry of his heart—so he opened them. Watched the petals settle in Malick's hair like snow, watched them reflect, white and empty, in the smoky tea of his eyes. The pressure knocked up, not just cutting off air this time but stealing it, Jacin's pulse thudding through the silence in his head.
No
. He pushed it out through the bracken in his throat.
No, I—

You like it when you're outnumbered, don't you? You
need
the risk. You love all the gorgeous possibility.

Jacin's eyes slid shut, and he couldn't stop them. He didn't understand, and he couldn't think—all the blood was blocked from his brain and pooling in his groin.
Possibility of what?
but when he opened his mouth to ask, petals and moths came fluttering out, and something warm and garlicky went in, and he didn't have the energy to choke, so he swallowed it.

Sorry, I know it's disgusting, but Umeia will kill me if I don't make you drink it all.

I don't do this out of cruelty, Jacin-rei.

No, of course he didn't, he was Beishin, and Beishin had saved him, saved his family, and was going to save the Jin, so Jacin let him pour the brew down his throat and made himself not throw it back up. Except Beishin was maijin, and didn't love him at all. He opened his eyes and stared into the deep-dark of Asai's, furious and humiliated when his vision blurred and hot tears ran like water down his cheeks.

Hate you
, he grated,
fucking hate you, I loved you, I would have done anything for you, how could you do this to me?
And yet
still
, he was reaching out, leaning in, desperate for everything that wasn't his—life and love that didn't hurt, and silence he didn't have to ask for—and he threw himself into Beishin's arms, begging,
Please,
please
, just... just say you love me, just once, lie, promise me, I'll believe it, I can't do this anymore, I can't—

Untouchable,
his father told him, shoving him away, and Asai only looked at him and smiled that shark's smile that made Jacin want to scream and weep and fuck him right into the ground, all at the same time.

Jacin-rei, cover yourself.

Jacin looked down, almost sobbed—naked, exposed, showing him everything, giving it all away so Beishin could use it to flay him, again and again and again, smash his face into his failures, make him look at them up close.