Page 22 of Of Songs and Silence

I squeeze my eyes shut and take another dreg from the bottle. I’m not sure if he’s talking about his grief for my parents, or for the family he lost when he was even younger than me, but right now, I’m not sure it matters.

I can’t imagine a world where this pain doesn’t last, where I forget them long enough to move on.

“You mean when we get our vengeance?”

He gives me a long, measuring look. “Is that why you’re here?”

I raise my eyebrows. “Isn’t that why we’re all here?”

“No. I wouldn’t risk any of this just to get back at her, no matter what she’s done. I’m here for the life I can have on the other side of it.” Einar glances significantly toward where Zaina is still in their cabin. “The one that’s only possible when Ulla is dead.”

Swallowing hard, I pass him the bottle once again.

“I’m not ready to think about that yet,” I admit.

It feels wrong, the idea of moving on with my day-to-day life when my brother is dead and my parents are dead.

Einar sighs, taking a drink. “No one ever is.”

* * *

When I slip backinto the cabin I share with Aika, she is in the middle of undressing.

Her fingers deftly work the top laces on her corset with a practiced ease, her dark eyes scanning me over her shoulder. For a moment, I’m transported to a different room, where I am the one undoing the laces, slowly stripping her bare and relishing each inch of skin as it’s unveiled before me.

I shake the thought away, leaning casually against the closed door.

“Funny how you don’t seem to need help with your corset now,” I say with all of the nonchalance I don’t feel.

Her hands pause in their work. It’s impossible to sneak up on her, so I know I haven’t surprised her, but perhaps my teasing tone has. Slowly, she turns to face me, her light skirts swaying with the movement. The moonlight catches on her ivory skin, highlighting her gentle curves and toned muscles. Her eyes meet mine, mischief mingling with something else. Something more vulnerable, almost like hope.

It hurts, like everything does these days. Still, I don’t look away, and neither does she.

“I could have sworn you had seen me undoing my corset before,” she says, arching an obsidian eyebrow before undoing her long braid. Her raven hair falls sleekly over her shoulders, concealing her body more than I care for.

“It must have slipped my mind.” The words come out devoid of the warmth I meant to inject in them.

“Right,” she says quietly, her voice less playful than before.

She turns back around then, trying to hide the defeat in the slump of her shoulders. Before I even register the steps it takes to get to her, I’m closing the gap between us, wrapping my arms around her and pulling her back against me.

“Or maybe I just wanted to touch you,” I say softly, emphasizing my words by running my fingers along the curve of her hips.

A small gasp escapes her, and she arches back into me.

“Maybe I just wanted you to touch me,” she whispers.

Sliding her hair over one shoulder, I place my lips on her neck, kissing her wildly thrumming pulse.

“I’ve missed you,” she breathes, leaning further into my touch.

“I know.”

There is nothing else to say. I know I’ve been absent. I know she’s been trying. I know that it took everything she had to break down her walls and let me on the other side, and how much it must have hurt her when I shut her out.

It’s easier to show her that I’m sorry than to say it, so I graze my teeth along her skin, biting down gently until she lets out a gasp.

Words have never been our strong suit. We use them more often to spar than communicate, but this—this is a language we speak fluently.

---