Bright Wicked 3: Infernal Dark (A Fantasy Romance)

by Everly Frost

  “I felt your nothing,” Nathaniel says, surprising me. “This morning while I lay in the arena.”

  I shiver, trying to forget the way I tried to save him, only to watch him lie still. “You stopped breathing.”

  “Just like you stopped breathing at the burn site on our first day,” he says, his gaze piercing mine. “And again when you were tied up this morning.” He takes a step toward me, the stone still gripped in his fist. “We’ve both stopped breathing, just like we both suffer the same wounds, but neither of us has died.”

  He wants to know how. I can see it in his eyes. Among all of the questions we already have, this might be the most confronting.

  “How can any living creature stop breathing and remain alive?” he asks.

  I take a step back. “I don’t know how it’s possible or why it happens.”

  “Maybe we’ll never know.” Nathaniel sidesteps to the table and places the box on it. “But I’m not afraid of this stone, and I don’t think you should be, either. I’ll show you why.”

  One by one, he removes his weapons from the harness resting around his torso and then the harness itself before he takes off his shirt, laying it neatly on the table beside his weapons.

  “I told you yesterday that I’ve carried this stone with me every day since my father died,” he says. “But I didn’t tell you that I carried it next to my heart. It gave me strength when I didn’t have any.”

  He opens the box.

  The glittering, crescent-shaped fragment of stone glints at us. It’s the same shape as both of our scars. The same shape as the jewel that Imatra dropped in my dream.

  The moment I see it, an abyss opens up in front of me, as if the box is the gateway to a deep, frozen void, but Nathaniel picks up the stone without any hesitation.

  He fits it to his thumb, showing me before he presses it across the location of his heart right below his new scar.

  I gasp when the stone fits to his skin, molding itself to the curve of his chest as if it’s part of his body. The rock conforms so completely that I can’t even see its edges.

  Light glows softly through his skin, a single ripple from the stone, the same golden light I saw shining from his chest when he defended me against the hunters yesterday. Then it vanishes and I can’t see where the stone rests anymore. It’s as if the rock has disappeared into his skin.

  I cast glances from side to side, peering at the location of his scar. “It’s stone. How does it do that?”

  “It changes consistency when I touch it,” he says, watching me carefully. “It turns from hard stone into soft material. It stuck to my hand the first time I held it. After that, I didn’t want to lose it. It was the last piece of my father, so I kept it close. A memory. My promise to honor his final words.”

  He peels the stone from his chest, leaning forward, meeting my eyes, his own so dark that it scares me. “I promised him I would give it back to you. I think this stone is a piece of your life. Will you take it?”

  My ears hum as he holds the rock out to me. The chasm inside me widens. The cold dark threatens to swallow me. It’s an irrational fear. Nathaniel kept this tiny piece of rock safe all these years by carrying it next to his heart. It’s the last connection with his father, but he’s willing to give it to me—to complete his promise.

  “Don’t be afraid of your past,” he murmurs, searching my eyes.

  I step away from him. “I want you to keep it.”

  “Aura—”

  “Just a bit longer. Please?”

  A crease appears in his forehead. He looks perplexed by my request, but he nods before he positions the rock back on his chest. He pulls his shirt and weapons back on.

  He holds out his hand to me with a smile that eases the tension between us. “Ready to hold my hand while I herd bubbles?”

  I return his smile, taking his hand as we head to the door. Outside, the path around Nathaniel’s hut is quiet and empty. The village itself is also calm and still. In the distance, I make out the humans gathered in the courtyard, practicing their drills.

  Directly in front of us on the porch, the glitter bulbs continue to spin gently and harmlessly in the air. They float toward us, bumping softly against Nathaniel’s bare arms, the weapons on his chest, and even his face. Each one contains light and dark, shapes that form and vanish, flashes of power and moments of emptiness.

  He closes his eyes for a moment. If each bulb contains a painful memory for him, then his humor about herding them is forced. A bravery I wish he didn’t feel he had to maintain in front of me.

  He’s careful at first, then impatient, as he pushes the bulbs inside his hut.

  I bite my lip and hide my smile as he starts batting them inside, the tension in his shoulders easing and his smile becoming real, as if punching his painful memories is somehow cathartic.

  He gives me a wonky laugh when he steps on one and nearly loses his balance. All the time, he continues to hold my left hand with his left hand, which means I’m facing the empty path while he attempts to pivot on the spot so he doesn’t wrench me around.

  One of the bulbs floats past my right hand where my fingers peek out of the sling. I poke my forefinger at it to push it along, surprised when colors flash across its surface.

  For a second, a soft light dances through the bulb. A playful form, not quite humanoid or fae, skips across the surface, whispering softly. Darkness sprinkled with tiny lights surrounds the moving glow.

  I stare at it in surprise, but the image quickly fades as Nathaniel plucks the bulb from the air in front of me.

  Pushing it inside the hut, he gives me a victorious grin before he pulls the door closed.

  “Food,” he says. “I’m starving.”

  Just as we reach the bottom step, Mathilda appears on the path ahead of us, her violet dress swishing around her legs, her pelt flying as she races toward us.

  “Nathaniel!”

  He grips my hand tightly, a warning to stay where I am, as he positions himself slightly in front of me, his expression anything but welcoming. “What is it?”

  Mathilda draws to a stop several paces away, smart enough not to invade Nathaniel’s space. Her quick gaze passes across my sling, my clothing, and my loose hair before lingering on the still-healing cuts on my face—all of the bruises that must be visible now that the dirt and blood have washed off.

  Then her focus flickers across the empty porch behind us.

  She swallows visibly, as if she’s trying to overcome her pride. “I need your help.”

  Chapter 9

  Nathaniel gives Mathilda a dark look. “Helping you can wait. We need to eat.”

  He strides in the direction of the far path, aiming to steer a track around the witch while I follow closely. I’m comfortable letting him decide our actions right now.

  Mathilda steps up to him. “Please. I’ll have food brought to Christiana’s hut. This can’t wait.”

  Nathaniel is a wall of tension, the unforgiving line of his lips hardening so quickly that Mathilda steps away from him again. When I first encountered her yesterday, she was angry and full of vengeance, calling me a fae weapon, insisting that I should be killed. When Nathaniel defended me with full force, she appeared shocked, as if he rarely went against her wishes. Now she looks uncertain, as if she’s not sure where she stands.

  “Christiana’s hut?” His next questions are short and sharp. “Who needs help? You or her?”

  Mathilda chews her lip nervously. “Both of us.”

  I squeeze Nathaniel’s hand, urging him to look at me. I don’t feel comfortable voicing my thoughts in front of Mathilda, but I don’t want him to make decisions that alienate his people even more than he already has.

  He reads my face as if he hears my thoughts, the hard edges of his expression softening, but his glare increases as he turns back to Mathilda. “We will come with you, but if you or anyone in this camp tries to hurt Aura, I will end you.” He steps up to her as she backs away. “Even if I have to break my pr
omise to my father to do it. At some point, it will be time to stop keeping the light.”

  She pales. “I broke your trust. I should have protected your wife.”

  “Yes, you should have.”

  She gives him a stiff nod of agreement before she turns on her heel.

  Nathaniel murmurs to me as we stride after her. “Christiana’s hut is closest to the training ground. She wanted it that way. She was always the first to start training each day and the last to stop.” He sighs, some of the tension exhaling from his body. “Our mother’s legacy was hard for her to live up to.”

  “If Christiana wasn’t forced into this life, what would she have done?” I ask, suddenly wondering the same about myself. If I’d been given a true choice, would I have ended up right where I am?

  Nathaniel contemplates my question before he responds. “When we were young, she loved spending time in the greenhouse,” he says. “She liked to make things grow.”

  “Not a natural killer then,” I say.

  He nods. “She wasn’t always so tough.”

  I squeeze his hand. “You have to forgive her, Nathaniel.”

  He shakes his head in disagreement. “When I was lying in the arena, not breathing but somehow alive… I heard my people—the people I was fighting for—shouting for your blood. They wanted Cyrian to hurt you.”

  He suddenly grips my arm, his touch firm and determined as he pulls me to a stop. “I heard your screams when my sister tied you to that pole. If I could have moved my body in that moment, she would not still be walking this earth.”

  The blood drains from my face at the raw anger in his voice.

  “You don’t mean that.” I can’t be the source of conflict between him and his sister. I unwittingly placed myself in that position when I ended their mother’s life, but I won’t accept that I have to remain a trigger between them. “Yesterday, you nearly died trying to free her. She’s family, Nathaniel. You have to fight for her—”

  “To what end?” he asks. “If I give my sister her freedom—if I give my people their freedom—what will they do with it? Will they continue to spill blood out of vengeance?”

  “They won’t,” I say, not certain I’m speaking the truth or that I believe it.

  All I can believe is what Nathaniel once said to me. “You told me that humans are capable of both darkness and light. I’ve seen both in them. Your people may have been screaming for my blood, but Hagan tried to stop Cyrian from hurting me. The man I least expected to defend me was willing to accept his death on my behalf. Darkness can turn to light.” I will Nathaniel to believe me. “You can’t give up on your sister or your people.”

  Nathaniel’s palm brushes my cheek, a crease forming in his forehead. He doesn’t reject or embrace my statement. The weight of his thoughts settles around me as he remains silent, taking my hand as we resume walking along the path.

  Mathilda veers off the track ahead of us just as she promised, ducking into the kitchen and emerging swiftly with a small basket of freshly baked bread smothered in butter and slabs of cheese. Nathaniel and I inhale the food as we walk and the basket is empty within minutes. It’s just enough sustenance to take the edge off my hunger, but I’m dying for a hot meal.

  Walking toward Christiana’s hut means heading toward the courtyard, where the trainees are practicing their drills. They’re dueling with partners now, so that many of them face in our direction.

  Esther strides among them, shouting orders, her golden hair flowing past her shoulders. Yesterday, I thought she was beautiful. I still do, but there is an edge of fear in her posture now that wasn’t there before.

  Her beige clothing hugs her curves as she moves along the back row closest to us, her voice raised as she addresses the trainees. “We need to be prepared for a future where our lives are ruled by fae. They may control magic, but they derive their power from their environment. It takes them a few seconds to build enough power to strike. Those are the seconds that you can use to kill them.”

  My stomach sinks as I listen to her instructing the trainees how to end my people. I understand why she’s doing it. If Nathaniel dies in the final fight, then she needs to prepare the humans to fight for their survival. As Hagan said, Cyrian may be brutal, but he needs them. Imatra will eradicate them.

  The four teenagers I sat with at lunch yesterday—Emily, Tom, and the twins with red hair—are turned in my direction while Esther shouts. They weren’t present when I was tied up this morning. The last time they saw me, my hair was black and I wore Nathaniel’s golden mark across my face. Now I am mark-free and very obviously fae with my whiter-than-bone hair falling down my back.

  Emily’s shoulders sink as she looks my way. I can’t imagine the inner turmoil and confusion the teens must be feeling. Nathaniel, whom they love and look up to like an older brother, has made it clear he trusts me—a deadly fae with a murderous reputation—over his own people. I’m not sure how any of them can sort through that in their minds and find their way through the conflict it creates.

  Esther pauses when she sees Nathaniel and me, her gaze wary as she takes in my clothing, the sling around my arm, and my bruised face, the same cautious consideration that Mathilda gave me.

  But she doesn’t stop speaking. “Make no mistake: The fae can be killed. They bleed, die, and hurt just like we do. We will hunt them.”

  I understood the reason for her instructions before she saw me, but now it feels personal. Nathaniel tenses beside me and nearby Mathilda hovers at the bottom of the steps to Christiana’s hut. Mathilda’s eyes widen with alarm as she glances between Nathaniel and Esther.

  Nathaniel’s jaw clenches and the tension increases around us.

  “Don’t give up on them, huh?” He growls beneath his breath.

  I push hard at my own frustration, determined to keep my anger under control. If it weren’t for the Law, I could challenge Esther right now—one-handed and with no power—and demonstrate just how hard it is to kill a fae. I would make it clear that she shouldn’t be inciting any of the humans to seek a fight with a fae. But not only would I risk my own life if I hurt her, it would only make Nathaniel’s people hate and fear me more.

  Nathaniel could pulverize Esther and every single one of these trainees, but again, that would get us nowhere.

  I grip his hand as his frustration simmers.

  “Let it pass,” I say. “What happens at dawn will determine the future, not this.”

  The muscle ticks in his jaw, but he gives me a terse nod.

  Mathilda carefully makes her way up the steps, remaining in view as she steps inside.

  The hut is set out similarly to Nathaniel’s—a living area complete with kitchen on the right-hand side while two other rooms are situated on the left, both doors closed.

  Christiana sits at the kitchen table near the far right wall. She has changed out of her armor and wears—to my surprise—a simple dress. Her expression is a careful blank, but it’s hard to miss the red rims around her eyes. I consider her carefully, wondering how long she was crying.

  Hagan stands in the shadows behind her, leaning quietly against the far wall. He doesn’t make any move other than a quick assessment of my sling and facial bruising.

  A quick glance tells me that nobody else is present inside the hut.

  Mathilda tiptoes into the room ahead of us before she points. “That floated in here a few minutes ago.”

  A glitter bulb rests in the middle of the floor.

  Mathilda presses up against the wall beside the door, staying as far away from the bulb as possible.

  I consider it with surprise. I didn’t expect more bulbs to arrive.

  “We don’t know what to do,” Mathilda whispers, while Christiana remains silent and still, a tense form at the table. “Even the vibrations in the floor could set it off. My magic is useless now, but you walked through the bulbs without harm—”

  Nathaniel’s expression is hard, his question clipped as he cuts Mathilda off. “At whose feet did i
t land?”

  “M-Mine.” Mathilda falters. “It followed me inside. Why does that matter?”

  Nathaniel is suddenly a simmering tower of rage, plowing across the room toward her. His boots thud against the floor, causing vibrations that ripple dangerously through the bulb’s surface.

  Mathilda screams, staring in fear at the bulb. “Stop moving!”

  Nathaniel’s shout cracks around her. “What did you do?”

  She backs away from him, sliding along the wall, paler than pale. “What are you talking about?”

  I remain where I am, surprised by Nathaniel’s sudden anger, ready to step in if I need to.

  “These bulbs reveal our memories,” he says, pointing back at it. “They are moments of pain that we want to forget, but every single one of them leads to Aura.” He gives a harsh laugh. “That’s why there were a hundred of them outside my door. But you’ve never had anything to do with Aura. Or so I thought. So tell me—witch—what did you do?”

  “I…” Her eyes are wide, her lips pursed. She inhales. Exhales. Her speech becomes panicked and suddenly rapid. “It wasn’t my fault. I never told her to do it. I didn’t even think it was possible. It was just an idea. A stupid, silly, childish idea. I was sure she would forget all about it like she forgot about me. I wasn’t sure she’d done it until yesterday!”

  “What are you talking about?” Nathaniel’s voice lowers. “Who are you talking about?”

  Mathilda shakes her head, her eyes wild. “No. I can’t…”

  “You have to face your past, Mathilda.”

  “It wasn’t my fault,” she whispers. “I was young… She was my friend… I never dreamed…”

  Nathaniel’s expression remains hard. “The bulb will show us the truth. Aura can help you defuse the bulb, but only after you face your memories.”

  Christiana’s chair slowly swishes back as she rises. Her bare feet are quiet, her steps careful as she crosses the floor to take Mathilda’s hands.

  “We’ve all done things we regret,” she says, glancing at Nathaniel. “I will help you, Mathilda.”