Page 43 of A Broken Ember

“How has she not?” With that, he marched back the way we came, lapsing into silence.

I slipped into Anastasius’ room, Rohit excusing himself upon seeing his friend inside. The man was loyal, I would give him that. I could respect his devotion.

The scent of citrus and honey filled my nose. Home and him. I let out a satisfied sigh. The room was warm, flames casting shadows on the walls. Stas sat by the fire, his back to me. His shoulders were stone and his knuckles white around a glass of a honeyed drink. My heart ached seeing him distressed in a way it had no right to. I exhaled slowly.

“What’s wrong, my Prince?” I murmured, striding over to him. My hands went to those impossibly rigid shoulders, kneading them. At first, they stiffened under my touch before relaxing as he sighed and necked the remainder of his drink.

“Did Thana ever ask you to do something that you didn’t want to do, or found that you couldn’t?” Anastasius asked, turning toward me. His eyes were a cloudy gray, misty with unshed tears. The Ruptor snarled. Protect—an impossibility when my orders would break our hearts. Would the prince feel the pain of my betrayal? The sadness in his eyes told me he would, making my heart squeeze tighter. He sighed, shaking his head, apparently taking my silence as a no. I knelt before him, taking his free hand in mine. Pressed it to my lips.

“I was never strong enough to stand up to her like you do against your father. I still wear my chains, Anastasius.” I remembered the bones of the fledglings he had completed the Circles of. He was strong. Even the Ruptor appreciated the strength of that.

“Except when you left her,” he pointed out, making me wince internally. “That’s the difference. You got out. I never will. I will always be the prince of De Vita.” He snorted, but his words were like a dagger to my heart. He bore chains, too. They were different, but also the same. He was born with them, born into his role just as I was. What if I was the key to his freedom like he was to mine? Did I have the strength to deny him his freedom? My mouth opened and closed at a loss for words. “The prince of life, the clan whose dead never dies, cursed with the suffering. We claim to Save our enemies. Really, we destroy them.” My mind came up with the few defeated Circulus I had encountered. More had been taken over the sun turns, but I only saw a few, the rest presumably released from this world by Anastasius.

The prince’s eyes glistened with heavy tears. I sighed, looking away. This man wanted to be better for his clan. He wanted to heal, but my purpose was to destroy. Fuck. I ran my hands through my hair. He cupped my jaw, the touch burning like the fire beside us. “Eleos—” Guilt spiked in my gut.

“Don’t call me that,” I spat. “I’m not who you think I am.” I glared at him and pulled out of his reach. He nodded, moving to stoke the fire.

“They say you are the prince of darkness; they say you will break my heart, that you will destroy me. But you have brought more light into my life than anyone else in my entire life over these past few moon turns. You give me clarity.” He reached out for me again. A tear fell down my cheek. I hadn’t even felt them building. I growled and went to wipe away my weakness, but he caught my wrist. “Don’t. Don’t hide your pain. Pain isn’t weakness. Feeling isn't a weakness. It’s how we know what is worth fighting for, what we are strong for.” My heart tore in two. This felt like my trial.

“Anastasius…”

“No . . . Don’t. Don’t say it. Just be with me,” he begged, as I unconsciously grabbed his hand again. We balanced each other. But, deep down, we knew the truth. I was Circulus. Broken Circles didn’t change that. Odon saw it, Oriana saw it, everyone saw it.

Another tear slipped out and with it, my heart. I brought my lips to his, hovering within a breath away—a question. They were wet from our tears. Stas closed the distance between us, bringing us together softly. When his kiss became more demanding, I opened for him. He tasted delicious. I moaned. We stood together, my hand wrapping around the back of his neck as I deepened the kiss. His hands went to my waist, guiding me backwards—toward the bed. I paused. This was wrong. And while we had been intimate before, I couldn’t do this. Not before I broke his heart. To do so would be cruel.

“Stas . . . we can’t. I'm not good for you,” I whispered against his lips.

He groaned, biting his bottom lip sharply as he gripped my clothing.

“Anastasius,” I warned. I had to get away before this went any further, but my heart wasn't in it as I tried to gently push away.

“Stop fighting us; you have me,” he commanded, a flicker of worry crossing his face. He didn’t understand. I wanted him, but I couldn’t bear the thought of what I was sent here to do. I growled in frustration and ran my hands through my hair.

“For the first time in my life, I’m scared of who I am . . . The thought of losing you…” I stammered. This feeling, the vulnerability, it was like falling apart and coming together all at once . . . Circulus weren't permitted this weak feeling. “I don’t know what to do, Stas. You are my weakness.” I pushed down the impulse to Prune. “I think I love you,” I hissed, disgusted at myself, my frustration building. The admission horrified me. Ruptors didn’t love. We didn’t feel; to do so was to welcome weakness. My chest tightened until it was difficult to breathe. I desperately clutched the robes I wore, seeking to loosen them, to free myself of their constriction. I pulled at them as my breathing hiked. I couldn’t do this. Prune! My hands trembled so violently that my fingers refused to function. A pathetic noise tumbled from my lips. PRUNE! PROTECT! My mind roared so loud Anastasius could likely hear its demands. My vision blurred, the pounding in my ears so intense it made my head ache. This weakness within me, it had to be expunged. I couldn’t live like this. I couldn't.

I couldn’t see or hear anything but the chant within me: Prune and protect! Prune and protect! It had to stop. My hands went to the hilt of my dagger, unsheathing it from my side. The trembling only intensified, but the Ruptor screamed at me. I would Prune this weakness, this love, from myself. Then I would be strong. Safe. Protected. I let out a long, shaky breath. My vision cleared a little, revealing the man before me. His expression was filled with concern and his mouth moved, but I couldn’t hear anything over the demands of the Ruptor. Protect your weakness!

The weapon was heavy in my hands. Heavier than I remembered it being. Anastasius’ eyes widened as I lifted the weapon, bringing it to his throat. “I will not allow you to weaken me with love!” I growled, my voice hardly recognizable as mine.

Anastasius was speaking frantically now, but I didn’t care to hear. He was just trying to convince me to remain weak, to let myself fall into his clutches. I could not let him use me. The dagger pricked his throat, drawing blood, warm and soothing and painful. I winced at the sensation but brushed it off as a side effect of the Pruning of my weakness. This was the sound of freedom. I smiled, breathing in the strength I stole from him. Something wet marked my cheeks, falling from my eyes, but I ignored it. I was strong and loyal. Clotho would see. I was still her Ruptor. This was the end of De Vita. Their Circle would be complete now.

Anastasius pulled at my chest, struggling to get free, but I had him pinned. His eyes were wide, paler than I had ever seen them before. They were so beautiful. I blinked and growled, pressing my blade against him harder, but his lips were still moving, trying to speak to me. What was he saying? I swallowed, straining to hear his pleas. My heart thudded against my teeth.

“Claeg, find Eleos inside you. I know he's there. You give him so freely to others. Find him for yourself,” he sputtered.

“Eleos is weak,” I snarled. “Pruning you will free me from him.” I pressed him against the wall harder, the blade retreating from his neck only to be placed above his heart. The action tore me in two, but I didn’t relent, applying pressure that cracked me apart.

“Feeling doesn’t make you weak, Claeg. The pain and fear you are feeling now give you strength to know what is worth fighting for,” Anastasius rasped. I had heard those words before. I closed my eyes, taking a breath and letting their truth sink into me. The Ruptor was shouting distantly now but slowly becoming clear. Prune and protect, it cried. Perhaps I mistook the meaning. “We all have weaknesses, even your Ruptor. Without them, we wouldn’t be able to grow.” I blinked, my eyes heavy. “Perfection isn’t real, Claeg. But growth, the ability to learn and heal from our mistakes and weaknesses, that is.”

“Pruning leads to growth,” I growled, but my heart wasn’t fully in it.

“So does healing,” he countered, tears falling down his cheek. A matching set traced a path down my face. My grip on the blade loosened, my arms trembling again. When the weapon clattered to the ground, I couldn’t help the shuddering sobs that racked through my body. I let the tears come freely and collapsed into my lover’s arms.

Chapter 44: Anastasius

Claeg broke before me, utterly and completely. His cries struck my heart harder than any slice of the blade, so strong I swore I could feel his agony as if it were my own. Blood dripped from my throat and chest, but both wounds were superficial. They would heal. Just like Claeg would heal. I held my Selected tightly, refusing to let go until his sniffles subsided and he pushed gently away from me. Our eyes met, his red from tears.

“I’m so sorry,” Claeg murmured. The pain in his expression was palpable. A tear slipped free, but I didn’t brush it away. It was okay to feel hurt. Healthy, even. That I knew from experience. Pain was a guiding force. It allowed us to break, but also to heal.

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