Page 70 of The Deathless One
“Oh.”
“I will stay as long as I can.” He leaned closer, holding the back of her head and pressing their foreheads together. “But it won’t be long now.”
He could feel her slipping away. The sensation of her life, the force that tethered them together, was so weak it was almost a thread of silk. Still strong enough to hold her here, but not strong enough to keep her forever. Not when the weight of his realm tugged on the other end.
Elric stayed with her, just as he promised. He stayed until he could hear her breathing change. Until he knew that the gravesingers had called their wayward sister home, setting their inky hands on her shoulders and pulling her away from this realm. But he also knew where she would end up.
He knew, and he would find her.
Pressing his lips to her forehead, he let the warm touch linger on her skin. “I promise I will find you, nightmare. Don’t be afraid.”
“I’m not afraid.” He could hear the lie in her voice, though, even as she tried so very hard to be brave. “You’ll be there. I’m certain of it.”
A warmth bloomed in his chest. Perhaps she didn’t trust him enough to summon him, but she trusted him enough to die for him. That trust did something to him. He didn’t recognize the feeling in his chest, the strange wriggling sensation of hope and happiness that felt like a bright light had speared through his chest.
But he allowed his realm to pull him from her side, even though it shattered all the good in him to see her leaning against the wall. Alone. Dying in a gutter because he couldn’t be there with her.
She had to suffer yet again. To linger in that cold, feeling the end crawling toward her, because that wound was a slow death. She shouldn’t have to feel the ice gripping her heart or the way it would beat sluggishly for long moments before it just… stopped.
Anger burned in his chest, and it was rare that he felt like this. After all, he’d long ago given up on the righteous anger at how the witches were treated. But once upon a time, he’d pitied them for this very reason.
A witch was a reflection of her home. She held up a mirror to those who surrounded her, showing them the good and the bad that lived within them. They asked for a spell, and when it went awry, they blamed everyone but themselves.
He materialized in his realm on his hands and knees in a puddle ofshadow. Guilt and anxiety quickly settled in, wrenching through his form until he was gagging into the darkness. Black vomit purged itself from him, joining the rest of his power in this endless realm of night.
She was dying.
She was dying, and he wasn’t there.
How dare he fail her like this. How dare he let the only witch who had ever cared for him fall into death’s embrace.
It was a loss for her entire realm. The second time as it had been the first. She should never have to suffer like this. And it was his fault that she had.
But he couldn’t wallow in self-pity. There was still a chance he could help her, and he intended to do so. Elric staggered to his feet, breathing hard and trying his best to pull himself together. For her. For this realm. Because the two of them still had work to do.
He started off into the darkness, certain he would find her. He had the first time.
And he would a thousand times over.
The first time she died, Jessamine remembered waking up to no more pain. That had been part of why she had so readily agreed to do whatever he wanted her to do.
She remembered the fall so clearly. The pain in her throat and the blood that streamed into the air like her favorite red scarf for winter. And more than that, she remembered the pain in her heart at the loss of everyone she loved. Physical and emotional pain had wrapped up into one demon that clawed in her chest and tried to force its way out through the wound in her neck.
But in her faint memory of this dark, dreamless place, she hadn’t felt so awful. For a brief moment, she had been calm. Quiet. Serene. All she could remember was relief, and then his voice. A melody cajoling her to make a deal.
All the awful bits of life fell away in the Deathless One’s realm. All of it. She could let herself go. Let the pain of her life disappear in the moments that followed.
This time, she took the pain that came after death.
Waking with a gasp, she felt her heart thundering in her chest and an ache in her body so sharp she could barely breathe through it. There was a wound in her side that hadn’t healed in the slightest. It still hurt, so much so that she was blinded with pain. Her jaw ached. Loose teeth from the punch still wiggled when she rolled her tongue over the bleeding wound in her mouth.
They’d only had to stab her once. An embarrassingly small numberof times, and even the men seemed to know it. They’d punched her once. Stabbed her once. And then left her there to fend for herself.
The darkness around her undulated with anger. She could feel the rage in it. And this anger didn’t come from Elric. From the Deathless One. This anger was from a completely different being or creature, although it felt surprisingly familiar. She thought, perhaps, this anger stemmed from the source of his power. Because it had the same flavor of danger that he did when he was angry. But so, so much worse.
“Jessamine!” The call rang out through the darkness, and suddenly he was on his knees beside her again, falling into the liquid of this place and soaking the legs of his pants, which were far too fine to be kneeling in inky fluid. And yet, he didn’t seem to notice.
His arms scooped her up, drawing her into his lap as he ran his hands down her sides as though he was trying to find all the wounds on her.
