Page 90 of Angel in Absentia
“I was planning on killing her anyway when I was done with her. Part of our deal,” Ryson said.
“What deal?” she asked, horrified as she balanced him up.
“That I keep the burden of the heart so that I remember our purpose and dispatch the horrors they might one day become,” Ryson said, and she looked up at him as the portal swelled to its fullest point.
Ryson continued, “You’ve met your hero. Another reason that perhaps she hated you. Alina al Nevena was once Helina Hart.”
Clea had only just learned that fact and was tempted to confirm her next suspicion. If Alina was Helina Hart, then who was he?
Clea held tighter to him, looking forward to the portal as she swallowed dryly. At such a point she recognized that there were heavy truths behind Tenida’s story from Ruedom.
“I’ll heal you,” she said, “as soon as I get back and recover.” She offered the promise like a penance, determined to find another way to salvage them both. Ryson had just saved her people for the second time. “I’ll heal you,” she repeated again, and meant only that.
They stumbled through the portal, greeted by soldiers who helped peel them apart. When they confirmed that the job had been done, the Ashanas slain, several sprinted from the room as if eager to share the good news.
Clea and Ryson remained in the throne room, propped up against each other as he healed slowly. She watched his skinstitch back together, eager to speak to him when he seemed almost peaceful lying up against the throne.
Anyone who walked in was intent on leaving them be in the silence.
“So, that’s it?” she whispered, inspecting her own bruises and cuts, the one along her cheek still burning. “The Ashanas, all of the other kingdoms.”
“You’ve taken in the Virdain and Ruedain refugees,” Ryson whispered, eyes still closed. “No more cities, but one rather spectacular one, and no other enemies to tear it down.”
None but one.
Clea continued to watch him carefully. His eyes opened slowly, and he glanced down at her. She felt safe in his arms and yet was fully aware of the terror he could one day be for everyone else.
“You have an assassin’s eyes,” he whispered down to her, and her brows furrowed, hurt that perhaps he could see her line of thinking. Of course, he’d considered the possibility. The world of warfare and assassins was his, not hers.
“No, I’m afraid,” she whispered “Though at times, I wish I did. Perhaps we’d all be better off.”
He lifted a hand and grazed her face, careful not to touch the cut but moving as if tempted to. He kept it there as they looked at each other. She wondered then if he knew the debate she was struggling with, how it felt surreal for him to touch her, and how she’d felt only capable of returning his affections with the violence of her duty.
“There is absolutely nothing wrong with what you are,” he whispered, and she realized then that his previous comment had meant little but the opposite of what he believed. He often seemed keen to do that, to suss out the truth of her simply by having her object to a falsity he knew wasn’t true.
She huddled into his arms several minutes longer, and then he helped hoist her up when she nearly fell asleep. He took her back to her bed, still wounded himself, and too tired to bathe, she simply lay down to sleep.
“Get some rest,” he said, hunkering down next to the bed and leaning back against it.
“I’ll heal you tomorrow,” she promised, her fingers intertwined with his.
She no longer knew what that meant.
She could only think of Iris’s words:Not everything has to go according to plan.
Clea hoped dearly that Iris was right.
Chapter 27
Sacrifice
hen she awoke again, it was early morning. Ryson, to her surprise, had fallen asleep at the end of the bed. In the morning light, he looked peaceful, despite both of them still being coated in ash.
Clea sat up slowly, rubbing her face and surprised to find the tinge of a still lingering cut. She traced the line where Alina had wounded her, pleased to find it mostly healed, but still ridged beneath her fingertips. She replayed the events of the battle, eyes falling to Ryson as she remembered it all in detail.
Prince had called on an endless army of the dead. Ryson had dismantled one foe after the other, killing both Javelin and Alina in close sequence. She’d seen the manifestation of his soul and it had been a monstrous and powerful thing to behold.
She stared at him now, fingertips slipping from the cut on her face and landing against the fabric of the bed. She looked at his hand, still outstretched across the bed. She’d held it, their fingertips intertwined, and she’d made her promise again that she would heal him.
