Page 95 of The War of Wings
“Tell me.”
His chin lowered with a slow nod, a dying man accepting the terms of his fate. “I didn’t feel him coming until he was already here. I don’t know why. But when I did, I ran out of the castle and started fighting. It was all okay, I was…in control,” he strained, letting a deep breath leave his nose. “Until I wasn’t. I turned my sword on a civilian Cal. I didn’t swing,” he added quickly, as if that made it better. “I decided the best thing I could do was get back to the castle and lock myself away, but I was caught in the shoulder by an Occulti on the way back. And that was when I noticed I felt better the more I bled. But if I hadn’t been wounded tonight…I’m not sure I would’ve been able to capture Malosym.”
I heard the words. They entered my brain. But they didn’t land. They didn’t stick. They simply rattled around, never making contact and their meaning never resonating with me. “What does that mean?” I finally asked, my voice too calm, too quiet.
He didn’t answer. Instead he simply continued to stare back at me, the muscles in his jaw feathering.
“What does that mean, Miles?” I demanded again, and this time the words broke from me louder. My breaths quickened,a cold sweat prickling against the back of my neck. “What do you mean you wouldn’t have been able to capture Malosym?”
His mouth fell open to respond but quickly snapped closed again. An insurmountable amount of pain shone from his dark eyes as he finally mustered up the strength to speak. “I wouldn’t have done it.”
And there it was. The truth.
It all came crashing into me. What this meant. That Miles was losing his battle. Malosym’s grip around Miles was tightening. That Petra was in even more danger than I thought.
I swallowed as hard as I could, doing everything to keep my voice even. “It’s time, isn’t it?”
He raised his bloodied arm, a cautious hope suddenly pulling up at his features. “No, I don’t think it is yet. Now that I found out this works, I can just–”
“So is that your plan?” I cut in, my voice far too harsh, far too loud. “Bleed yourself out until all the evil is gone?”
“Will you let me finish my fucking sentence?” he demanded. “This isn’t my fucking fault, Cal.”
My hands tore through my hair as I stared at him, my heart rate spiking as blood continued to roll down his arm and land on the floor. I managed to gain an ounce of control over myself before I spoke again. “I need to tell Petra.”
“No.” He shook his head violently, his features hardening again. “No, just…just give me more time.”
“More time to what? Lie? Bleed? Succumb to Malosym’s will?”
“More time to apologize!” he shouted back, eyes wild. His voice echoed off the stone walls, and I hoped to every fucking Saint it wouldn’t wake Petra. But then his words sunk in.
I narrowed my eyes on him. “Apologize?”
“To Cielle.”
The name hung heavy in the air, leaving behind a palpable weight as the echo quieted. “Have you spoken to her since you’ve seen her?”
“No,” he answered, staring at the floor. “I’ve been avoiding her. If I see her in the corridor, I turn the other way. I don’t… I don’t trust myself. Petra has her own powers, and she has you in case things…go wrong. But Cielle…” His jaw ground back and forth as he looked toward the closed terrace doors at the back of the room, the garden just visible through the panes inlaid in the wood.
A deep, shuddering breath entered my lungs as I studied him, watching the way his eyes locked on one spot outside the doors. “What?”
“She’s been out there each night since the ball,” he started. “Brings a book, sits on the bench, and reads. And I spend every spare moment I have just fucking sitting here during that time like some sort of madman, watching her and ducking out of the way anytime she turns in my direction.”
I wasn’t sure what to say in response. “I’m sorry,” was all I could manage.
“You’re my brother,” he started, the words short and rounded. “I love you, and you know that, just like you know I’m glad we found each other again. But I really fucking wish I’d followed Cielle instead of my own delusional idea of duty.”
Miles’ pain ripped through me as if it were my own. Denial was not in short supply, and I walked toward my brother, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “We can find some other way, Miles.”
“It’s not going to go away,” he said, his brows arched over dark, tired eyes. I thought maybe for a second that blue light was gone, but it was still there, unnoticeable to the average person unless they were looking for it. “You’re right. Bleeding isn’t the answer. I knew the truth from the first moment I realized what was happening. After I was struck earlier tonight, I felt hopeful for the first time, like maybe this was the solution. But just in the few hours since then, the feeling is already back. I can feel it growing again. I can keep it at bay long enough to say goodbye, but then I need you to keep your promise.”
The truth loomed over us, growing larger with each passing minute, impossible to ignore. I made that promise to him thinking I’d never have to keep it. My word felt like a gift I’d given to him at the time, one that cost me nothing but the incessant guilt of withholding the truth from Petra. I never thought the hammer would actually come down.
So I nodded. I swallowed back my hurt and my own stubbornness, and I said, “Okay.”
A steady breath left Miles’ nose. “Is Malosym still in the dungeon?”
“Yeah. Petra didn’t talk much when she came to bed.” The only words that had left her mouth were my name and a string of curses as she writhed against me. I had no idea how her interrogation of Malosym had gone.
