Page 117 of Of Rime and Ruin
The key stops turning.
Crushing rejection. Pain.
There’s a thud on the door, dull like a forehead sinking against wood.
Oh, no, no, no. What happened? Why did he stop turning the key? I wring my hands, twisting them in the silky fabric of my shift.
“Aethan.” A whispered plea.
“Are you all right, Sire?” Perrin says outside my door.
Aethan grunts again. “She’s not ready to see me.” His voice pierces like a knife, and I flinch. He must have heard my thoughts. Dread sinks cold and heavy into my bones as I sway on my feet.
No. I didn’t mean it. Don’t go.
“Pardon me, but what do you mean? Not ready? Sire, she’s been—”
“She’s. Not. Ready.”
A whip of leather. His cape? And then his footsteps storm down the hall. Growing softer with each step.
I rush to the door. My palms sting as I slap the wood with both hands. “Aethan!”
“Nahla,” Perrin groans from the other side. “I’m so sorry.”
“Shit!” I slap the door again. Slide to the floor. My body collapses in a heap. He was so close.
So fucking close.
Chapter forty-eight
Aethan
Wefallintoapattern: Lucas’s magic pierces my skull, the Beast ruins the spell, and I let it happen again and again. Searching, pulling, searing pain. As soon as the Beast awakens, it’s over. I lose control, the Beast fights back, and I’m left panting and sore. Each time we fail, Lucas glares at me, that disappointed scowl plastered on his face.
So fucking predictable.
My head throbs with an insatiable ache, right behind my eyes. No tincture can ease the pain.
When the session is over, I absorb into the darkness of my chambers, shying away from all sources of light. No candles. No fire. Just shadows.
It’s what I deserve. What I asked for—this is the price to pay for Nahla’s safety, and I will pay it, no matter the cost.
I let my magic consume me, leaking from my hands without direction. I fill my chamber with snow. Ice. It drips from the ceiling, crawls on the floor. I shiver in the dark.
At some point, my magic takes direction, and my hands carve and bend, forming soft shapes in the snow. A face. Button nose. Smooth, plump lips. Her hair tumbles past her waist, and I smooth her hips with care, tracing each perfect curve, until she stands before me in perfect replica. Her face is white, her eyes glassy and unseeing. Full of pain. Along her ribs, I carve three scars. There.
Even in ice, Nahla tortures me.
My chest aches with grief, heavy and cold.I deserve this. I’m a monster.
I touch her face, and she crumbles beneath my thumb.
***
Comeforme.
Her Voice reaches through the fog of my thoughts, hooking me like a lure. My spine straightens at her call. Scales rise on my neck, and my heart lurches into a desperate rhythm.
