Page 84 of The Bones of Benevolence

He took a pained inhale as his hand reached above his head. “Don’t.”

Realization suddenly hit me. “Miles, forget the mask.”

He fumbled blindly in the dirt for the ram’s head that was just out of his reach. “Give me the mask,” he snarled.

“Why the hell does it matter so much? We need to get you to a healer!”

“He needs to get up,” Belin said, his voice now urgent. “Just give him the mask.”

“Get up,” I demanded furiously.

“Give me the mask.”

“Miles!Get up!”

Miles suddenly rolled to face Belin, his back to me, distressed breaths heaving through his body as blood poured from the wound and pooled in the dirt.

The Invisible King’s stare hit the Lieutenant’s face and he froze, eyes narrowing then flying wide. His mouth opened as he sucked in a silent gasp, his head beginning to shake.

“I…” Belin whispered with a choke, his chest rising and falling so quickly that I could tell he wasn’t getting enough air. He shot to his feet, his eyes cemented on the wounded man who lay before him.

Still crouched beside Miles, my attention turned to him, my own brow furrowed in confusion. Miles carefully pushed himself to sit as pained grunts escaped a tight jaw, arms resting on bent knees and his head hanging between shoulders that seemed to sag with defeat. I stared at the man, his black hair still curtained across his cheek, his face still obscured.

Belin backed up, his head shaking as he continued to stare. I reached forward, gently tucking Miles’ hair behind his ear. He didn’t resist me, his face still downcast as I squinted at his profile. “Miles, look at me.”

After an excruciating second he turned to face me, eyes as dark and deep as a midnight sky pinning me in place. Every feature was lined with pain, but his gaze was comfortable, almost familiar. I stared at the man, the strong jawline, the slight shadow of scruff smattered across it, the straight nose. He was handsome — more than that, Miles was beautiful. The angry scar peeked out from beneath his chin, his throat working beneath it. My mind scrambled, desperately grabbing for what was familiar about his face, what past life I’d known him in.

Miles’ eyes diverted away from me, back to the Invisible King. Belin spun to face us, and that’s when I saw it.

The cheekbones, the nose, their eyes — almost identical, except for the color. “Who are you?” I whispered, though I knew the answer already.

Miles’ eyes closed tightly as his brow furrowed, bottom lip tight between his teeth as Belin slowly approached, towering over us, his face marked with hurt and confusion. “Tobyas?”

“Hi, Cal.”

? ? ?

Miles’ arrow wound had slowed to a trickle while Belin stared at his brother in disbelief. Just like when he’d worn the mask, I couldn’t read the look on Miles’ face. So much of his own truth still lay hidden, buried by deception and the workings of an evil far greater than any of us could fathom. But the Lieutenant stayed quiet, letting his brother work through his own thoughts as he endlessly stared.

The Invisible King finally lowered himself to the ground, a gloved hand shakily reaching for the side of his brothers’ head, his eyes brimming with disbelief and something else, something warm.

“It’s you,” he breathed with a quivering smile. Some sort of tension broke then, some unseen glass bottle that shattered into millions of pieces and released years of longing and heartache and sorrow. “How?”

I’d been with Belin’s brother this entire time. I’d been with Tobyas, the little boy who’d died. The man who’d been a boy behind the mask, trying to decode the truth that followed him around for years. That’s why Miles’ touch had been uncomfortably familiar. That’s why I could never quite relax.

“The cliffs,” Miles started, his voice even raspier than normal, “I didn’t fall. I was shot, ironically enough, with an arrow.”

The cliffs. So what Belin had told me about his brother falling to his death had been true — or at least he thought it was.

“But how did you…Wheredid you–”

“I still don’t know who they were. And I didn’t know who they were working for until I put the pieces together,” he answered quietly. “Kauvras’ men. Or…” he stuttered, his face puzzled, “Maybe Castemont’s men. They meant to kill me, whoever they were, but when they pulled my body into the rowboat and saw I was still alive, they just…didn’t,” he explained with a shrug.

Belin’s head shook with disbelief, his molten gemstone eyes flashing with questions. “Why didn’t you try to find me?” he whispered.

“When I fell, I… I landed on one of the rocks in the harbor.” He pointed to the jagged scar that marred his throat. “Jolted me enough that I couldn’t remember anything from before the fall. I didn’t know who I was or where I’d come from.”

“I didn’t see a rowboat that day,” Belin said, and I could tell the day replayed in his mind over and over.

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