Page 40 of The Spark that Ignites
“I know this is difficult for you,” he said, voice hoarse, pain and heartbreak speared in the words. “You don’t remember me, and I know everything about you. It’s unfair. But just know”—his throat worked—“it’s hard for me too.”
His admission sank into her and Emmery blinked, trying to process it. Trying to decide how she felt.
“I’m sorry.” It was all she could offer as guilt devoured her from the inside. He went through this each night like she suffered from some memory stealing sickness. The patience that must take ... why did he bother?
“Don’t be sorry. Being here with you is enough.” His stare caressed her lips, and it was almost like she couldfeelthat touch as their forms drifted, unravelling into the night, their souls returning to their cages of flesh and bone. “Emmery?”
Her heart fluttered, wings flapping against her ribcage like it wanted to spring free and find its home in his hands. And gods, the way he spoke her name was like those few measly letters strung together were the only ones that mattered. Like it only held meaning when he said it. “Yes, Shade?”
“Try to remember me.” A doleful plea. “Please.”
“I want to. There’s nothing I want more.” A sob rose in her throat, but she swallowed it down. “But I—I don’t know how.”
Because if she did, she would never leave.
Emmery wasn’t ready to give up this dream, yet the morning sun called her away, beckoning like a shrill bell, an inescapable hand gripping her wrist and yanking her into the light. But didn’t it know she favoured the darkness of his embrace?
“It’s alright,” he assured. Shade pulled her to his chest, and she let herself lean into his strength, trying to soak up any morsel of him she could hold inside her. To bottle this feeling. “I’ll remember for the both of us.”
Chapter Fourteen
The morning didn’t greet Emmery kindly and when sunlight struck, she groaned, smothering her face with her cloak. Good gods, even her eyes hurt. But really, she only had herself to blame.
Aera stirred beside her. The fox had kicked out in the night, stealing more of the bedroll than Emmery could spare. She let Aera take it though, fearing her injured wing hurt.
The pressure of the trial sat on Emmery’s shoulders as she dreamed up horrific scenarios, but she didn’t have a choice. Per the pactum, there was no way out.
“Good morning, sleepy head,” Vesper chimed, grinning and nudging her with his boot. When she responded with a nasty word, he toed the empty canteen beside her bed. “You know, if you hadn’t drank all that, you would probably be a little happier to see me.”
Great. She could look forward to his cheeriness each morning. Fucking morning people. “It’s too early. Go away.”
Emmery buried herself under the blanket, but it was the rustling of paper that seized her attention. She sprang up in her bedroll, her head swimming as she squinted against the morning light. Her stomach dropped when she saw the black binding and yellow wrinkled letters in his hand. She snatched them away. “Don’t go through my things.”
“What are those?” he asked, his brows creasing.
“They’re private.” Emmery clutched the letters to her chest, cradling them like sacred treasure. “And none of your business.”
Vesper gripped the back of his neck with guilt written all over his face, and unspoken words between them, like his throat overflowed with them.
Emmery’s cheeks flamed with exasperation and betrayal. “Did you ... did you read this?”
“No. Well, only one. I’m sorry—”
“Vesper.”
Emmery drew her knees to her chest, hugging herself for some semblance of comfort. He had no right to go through her things and violate her privacy like that. How much did he know now? And it was hurt that twisted her gut—that he read her intimate thoughts. The binding was one thing, a creative outlet that was only embarrassing, but the shame she spilled into those letters wasn’t something she wanted shared.Ever.
“Look—” The skin whitened around the grip on his neck. “If you ever want to talk about your sister—”
“Not even a little,” she snapped. Emmery carefully slid the binding and letters back into her pack and took a cleansing breath before adding, “Don’tevergo through my things again.”
Vesper nodded but clearly wasn’t satisfied with that answer. “When I lost Izzy ... things were bad.” He fiddled with the strap on his gloves. “And I felt a lot of guilt. I still do. For a long time, I thought it should be me, not her and I battled with that.” He speared a hand through his hair and sighed. “Is that why you’ve been drinking?”
Her rib cage squeezed the air from her lungs. How could he just ask her that? First, he went through her things and now this. Gods, did he think he was ashrink?
“My drinking is none of your concern,” she shot back. “In fact,noneof this is. Not my letters, not my drinking, and certainly not my sister.”
This was unfair and violating and all the sentiment she’d felt last night vanished in a wisp of smoke. Especially if he was goingto keep pushing her. What right did he have to do that? There was only so much she could bear or would expose and this ... wasn’t one of those things. It never would be.
