Page 90 of A War of Ruin and Reckoning

His intense emotions spiraled Nova into the past. She relived that last night with Jace. He’d made love to her with trembling hands, long kisses, and slow, indulgent thrusts.

Maybe Leaf plucked the memory from her mind because he started to mimic the movements, almost as if they were second nature. He treated her like his world. Like she would float away if he stopped touching her, like she would float away if he let go.

“Never,” he said.

ChapterThirty-Nine

From the stone bench inside the secret garden, Willow stared at the dry fountain. President Nero—or Uncle Nero, as he preferred her to call him—encouraged her to spend time in the garden. He wanted her connected to the Well so she would be powerful enough to summon an army of the dead.

Besides him, Willow was the only one allowed down here now. The garden was in ruin. Weeds and invasive vines covered much of the stony architecture. Most animals had fled when Uncle Forrest cut the barbed netting during his escape a decade ago. They fixed the net but never replenished the animals.

In these lonely moments, when not even the voices in Willow’s head answered, she sometimes wished she’d left with Uncle Forrest that day. She’d stopped enjoying herself long ago but was not allowed to return to Elphyne.

“It’s to keep you safe,”her mother had once said during an earlier communication through the water. Willow remembered the bright red of her mother’s hair shining through the blue. She also remembered the pain in her father’s golden eyes when she begged to come home.

We can’t, he said, deep voice breaking. “You’ll understand one day.”

“But I want to come home!”

“We promise you’ll be home when you become an adult. Then we’ll make up for lost time,” he’d replied. “Now, have you been practicing setting traps like I showed you?”

“But what’s so dangerous out there?” she’d asked, ignoring his comment. “It’s worse in here.”

“You’re alive. You’re safe. That’s all that matters. Now, back to the hunting. Don’t forget the prayer of gratitude to the Well if you take your prey’s manabeeze.”

They never explained what was so dangerous out there, but even the voices in her head said she had to remain here until the right time. They kept her company with tales of dragons, and conquering demon knights and their queen. Her parents distracted her with education about Elphyne, saying she’d want to fit in when they reunited. Her father made her learn all the monsters’ names, their strengths, and their weaknesses. Her mother taught her to thieve, pickpocket, and use her wits to—how did she put it? Oh, yes. It was to “pull the wool over someone’s eyes.” But she also lectured about responsible use of power and more boring stuff about consequences.

Her father could shift into a wolf and catch his prey. Willow could only shift partly into a wolf—her ears became pointed, her canines elongated, and claws distended from her fingertips. She could smell, hear, and see a thousand times better. Her father said she was likely faster in this form, so she might even be able to catch prey with her hands. But any animal left after the net had broken was now dead from her practice sessions with Nero. For a while, she thought he’d stop if there were no test subjects, but then he’d brought in people.

She shuddered and blocked out the memory.

She’d tried to convince Aunty Rory to take her to Elphyne to practice combat skills, but she barely left this Tower. Willow desperately needed to speak with her parents again. The instant she hit puberty, changes in her biology became difficult to suppress. Not only was it embarrassing around humans, but she worried her safety here wasn’t as ironclad as her parents thought.

Willow touched her pointed fae ears, and her lower stomach tingled with desire. No human was like this—she’d asked once after drinking too much wine at a dinner party. They’d thought she was joking and laughed it off. Sensitive ears were only the beginning of her problems.

She turned eighteen in a few months. Plans were already underway to present her to Tower Society as a debutante. Some girls were given betrothal belts at earlier ages, but Willow’s marriage was political. All the men wanted to get closer to Nero by marrying his “niece.” Rory had never been available.

Once, Willow had asked her aunty why. Rory said her father had other plans for her. But when Willow pressed, Rory’s mind turned to mush. Nero had manipulated her mind so much that she forgot who she was.

Some days were good. Some were bad.

Those earlier days in the garden, training with Rory, were some of her happiest here. Her aunt was vibrant and full of life, even a little grumpy. Now, she was a ghost of herself. The sinking feeling that Willow had failed her aunt weighed her down… but she couldn’t remember why. It was as though that cloud in Rory’s head had leaked into Willow’s.

Nero manipulated her. She used to somehow fight off the effects after a stay in the garden, but sometimes it didn’t work. A frequent sense of déjà vu drove her nuts. A tear leaked from her eye, and she dashed it away.There’s no use thinking about it now. For her own sanity, she had to turn her mind to the immediate problems. The upcoming debutante ball and the list of suitors presenting a belt to her.

Her friend Alfie had turned eighteen last year and had just been promoted to an aeronautics captaincy. He did everything Nero asked and was the favorite.

She liked Alfie. She truly did. They’d been friends since she arrived in Crystal City. But Alfie didn’t make her stomach tingle like when her ears were touched. With a sigh, she stretched her neck and slid off the bench seat to practice her martial arts moves. But her attention span was short and with no one to push her, she plucked weeds from around the broken fountain until she heard a heavy metal door opening.

Willow lifted her nose and sniffed.Copper, jasmine, and lanolin oil.

Aunty Rory. She grinned and ran through the garden to the door, excited. It had been over a year since Rory had come down here. Willow’s jog slowed as she approached the door and saw Rory hadn’t entered the garden. She stood in the shadows of the doorway, her arms folded.

Fine lines had appeared at the corners of Rory’s dull eyes. Her caramel skin looked sallow and her usually beautiful lips were thin and downturned. Gray streaks had appeared in her dark hair. She used to spend hours wrangling her hair into braids or neat little dreadlocks clamped with copper beads. She also used to shave one side over her ear. But lately, she wore her hair scraped back into a bun at her nape. Little fuzzy bits escaped. The copper epaulets on her military uniform were tarnished, and a button was mismatched on the front.

She looked like she hadn’t slept for a week. Worry churned in Willow’s gut.

“What’s happened?” she asked.

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