Page 136 of Lore of the Wicked Wood
She didn’t know how long she sat in the dark, trapped in her own mind, repeating Atlas’s name to herself over and over, until after what seemed like an eternity, tiny glimmering bands of gold slipped through the binding swath of black and violet. Lifting her gaze to the seeming endless expanse of rippling magic, she watched as Atlas finally appeared.
Not so long ago, she’d seen him here before. He’d safeguarded her heart and gently entered her mind, saving her from the chaotic storm of her emotions. Except this time, her feelings were not volatile. They were melancholy and subdued, because this time, the repercussions of her actions belonged solely to her.
Atlas waded through the darkness the way one might move toward the shore after swimming once the tide started to turn. He was pristine, glowing as the wisps of gilded light moved around him, with him. His dark blond hair was tousled, mussed with loose and wavy curls. The shirt he wore was the color of cream and his pants were a dark emerald, the colors so bright, so brilliant against the gloom. An aura danced above him, his magic shimmering and beautiful, illuminating even brighter when his eyes landed on her and he smiled.
He held out his hand. “Come with me.”
She reached, then hesitated when his gaze flicked to the new tattoo marking her arm. “I did something awful.”
“It’s okay, I’m here now.” His eyes slid to her face and held. “I know what he’s doing to you. What he’s forcing you to do. I will not let him do it again.”
He. Kralv Oldrich.
“I did it on my own this time.” Her gaze fell. She couldn’t look at him, couldn’t bear to see the disgust he would harbor once he realized she’d killed someone of her own will. “I hid behind my magic for so long, but maybe it’s not my power that’s the problem. Maybe it’s me. I deserve to be alone.”
“So long as you are mine, you will never be alone.” Atlas stretched out his arm and the bond warmed. Hummed in a comforting melody. “I want you. All of you. The broken, the chaotic, the reckless, and damning. The beautiful, the audacious, the wild, and tempting. Beyond the skies and seas, Wildheart, I want you.”
Everinne nodded. Breathless. “Beyond the skies and seas.”
She clasped his hand, and the bond tugged fiercely, yanking her free from the gathering darkness. There was a crush of magic, of florals and spice, and then she toppled into his waiting arms.
Blinking, she found herself sitting in Atlas’s lap on his bed, his arms woven tightly around her, the frigid cold and pervading reek of the dungeon nothing but another painful memory. She must have been carried to his bedroom, deposited onto the bed like unwanted garbage by some guard employed by the kralv. But Atlas hadn’t rejected her, he hadn’t disowned her even though she’d shown him the truth of her power, even though she had no idea how to break herself free from the kralv’s hold. The longer she remained his puppet, the more harm she would cause, the more innocent lives would be lost.
Despite all the horrible things she’d done, Atlas hadn’t abandoned her.
Everinne wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her face in his chest. She breathed in the scent of him, the familiarity, the beckoning of her soul.
“You came,” she murmured softly.
Atlas’s grip did not lessen as he pressed a kiss to her cheek and whispered, “You called.”
Forty-One
Atlas kept Everinne close to him, never letting her out of his sight. After his father’s little stunt in the dungeon where he coerced her into torturing a mortal for information he already had, Atlas had no intentions of letting the kralv anywhere near her again.
So, he kept her gloved hand tucked safely in his as they trudged through the snow-laden streets of Starysa. The city reminded him of a tranquil winter wonderland, were it not for the fact that the air seemed charged with a strained edge of friction, as though every soul was simply holding their breath, waiting for the inevitable. Whatever that might be. Even the music pouring from the numerous parlors was muffled instead of jubilant and the patrons were mellow, their drunken laughter dulled and hitched, as no one was too keen on drawing unwanted attention to themselves. Most of the shops had already closed for the evening and while there were a number of taverns and lounges open, the windows were all dark and moody, the glowing lights from within barely an acknowledgment to the hour. Clumps of snow fell from the darkening skies, the thick layer of clouds blotting out the full moon so there was only a streaky haze of silver light.
The night was bitter, a damp kind of cold, and Atlas had received reports of waves in the Ladova Bay frosting over as they peaked and capped. Only the continuous flame of the Zemni Boheme offered a shred of warmth, but even that was fleeting, as they weren’t lingering in the city’s center. Tonight, they were heading into the Marzena.
Caedian and Veros walked in front of them, bundled in warming layers, their boots crunching lightly against the frozen ground. Caedian stalked with purpose, constantly on alert, his hand hovering above the hilt of his sword, while Veros strolled along beside him with his hands tucked into his pockets. Atlas couldn’t be sure, but he could’ve sworn Veros was whistling. The wind carried the faint sound back to him, the tune reminiscent of an old-world lullaby.
They rounded a corner where the cobblestones narrowed, becoming more uneven, where the faerie fire flickering in the curving lamp posts didn’t quite reach.
If the streets of Starysa were lacking in citizens before, they were absolutely desolate now. Not a soul wandered down the serpentine alley, because what they would meet at its end was nothing short of abysmal.
The entrance to the Marzena stood before them. It was a towering gate with rusted bars and sharpened stakes that reached into an arch, where the metal was twisted and mangled to mimic the shape of serpents ready to strike. Beyond it, there was nothing but a tunnel made of ancient stone that descended into a pit of darkness.
Atlas looked over at Everinne. “Are you sure about this?”
She nodded, suppressing a shiver. “Yes. It’s the only way.”
He tugged her knit, fur-lined hat over the small points of her ears, admiring the tiny dagger earrings that dangled there. “If you’re sure?”
“I’m sure.” Her cheeks and the tip of her nose were pink from the cold, and her wind-bitten lips curved into a smile. “Besides, Zoryana is more important than a blood pact with the Mystic Obscura.”
She wasn’t wrong, but at the same time, he didn’t know the kind of repercussions she would suffer if she was late for her performance. Or worse, if she failed to show completely.
Veros tossed a look over his shoulder as the gate creaked open, announcing their arrival to anyone who might be loitering nearby. He shared a look with Caedian, then nodded toward the gaping opening of the Marzena. “Are we doing this?”
