43
HARLOW
he ballroom is still being repaired after the rebel attack. Truthfully, IT prefer the impersonal opulence and wide-open space of the ballroom to the intimacy of the smaller dining room at the front of the house. This space is full of memories of a lifetime of tense family meals.
A sunstone chandelier scatters sparkling light over the room, rendering the cream beeswax candles in the floral centerpieces redundant. My parents don’t put them out there to be wasteful. They do it to flaunt that the city has plenty of resources. It’s a silly show for the people of the high houses my parents deem important. These same people are acutely aware of the struggles we face since they help us solve all of the city’s shortcomings with magic.
A quartet of musicians plays lively string music on the far side of the room, but the upbeat wedding music feels discordant with the more subdued celebration.
I can tell by the morose look on my father’s face that he thinks this dinner is a waste. He’s sitting at the head of the table, brooding over Rafe not showing up to the event.
Dinner and dessert have been served and all the plates cleared away, but still the guests linger. I’m stuck here until they decide to stop prodding me for information.
I try my best to seem interested in talking to the women of Lunameade’s high houses about my wedding feast and the traditions of Mountain Haven. I skipped over the sex ritual because even though it probably would have put
an end to the questioning, it wouldn’t be worth the scolding I’d receive from my parents later.
I turn my head, and a bright flash of light makes me wince. It’s not the glare of some ostentatious piece of jewelry. There’s a bright halo around all the lights in the room.
“No—” The word is part denial, part stubborn defiance.
I went into the Mountain Well. I refuse to believe it didn’t work. I refuse to accept that I can’t be fixed.
But my will is no match for the stubborn fear and frustration taking root in my brain.
There is no ache in my head, but the way the light pulses brighter is a sign that it’s time to go. It’s coming on fast, and I need to be faster.
Henry is across the room, speaking with Bryce and Carter by one of the windows. The other magical families keep a safe distance from him, but he’s clearly of interest to them. They circle close and nod at him, hoping to be invited into his conversation. They want to know why my parents pawned me off on him and what power he has.
It’s not a good idea for me to stay at the party if an attack is coming on, but I can’t exactly leave the only party celebrating my marriage without raising some questions that my parents surely don’t want asked. They have always treated these attacks like a point of personal failure—as if this is the tantrum of a child looking for attention and not a lifelong battle I’ve waged with my own body.
I lift my glass of wine slowly to my lips and search the room for Gaven.
My bodyguard is stationed by the dining room door next to Kellan’s. The two of them stand with their heads bent together in quiet conversation. I stare at Gaven, willing him to notice my distress, but his brow is pinched. His full concentration is on whatever Ames is saying.
I abandon him as an option and search the crowd for Kellan. There are not that many people here, but it still takes me a minute to spot him standing by the windows with Libby. He’s got her tucked in front of him as they look outside, whispering something in her ear. He places his hand on her stomach for a moment.
The movement is so subtle, but I know immediately why he was so panicked about her during the rebel attack and why he has Ames protecting her. My sister-in-law is pregnant again.
The revelation fills me with a mixture of joy and dread. With everything
I’ve just learned about the Drained, I’m worried about what the future of Lunameade looks like for them and this new baby. I’m also a little hurt that Kellan hasn’t told me yet.
The women around me all laugh, startling me back to whatever conversation I zoned out of.
“Are the parties really as wild as the stories say? Everything you’ve described so far sounds like standard fare,” says Ellery James.
She’s one of the younger daughters of East Hold and a legendary gossip.
Aidia can’t stand her, but we’ve always put up with her at parties because she and the rest of her family all have blessings from Vardek. While none of them are blessed with holy fire, they all have unique shielding abilities.
They’ve built their magic into the stone walls of East Hold and their gates have rarely been breached because of it.
They’ve been slowly working their way around the city walls for the past five years, trying to shore up every angle, but it’s slow work. That means, as annoying as she is, I have to play nice.
I force a smile. “It was hardly any different than a wedding here.” Lie.
“Just slightly different dances.” That, and the communion where I had to share my deep, dark secrets with my new husband.
“It was wild in the way any event with free-flowing alcohol is,” I say, imagining what their faces might look like if I told them about the sex ritual, and laugh.
The first lightning bolt of pain sears through my head, and my stomach heaves. It’s a fast attack. Normally, I have at least a few minutes after seeing the halos, but this is coming on in an almost supernatural rush.
I’ve always known that hope is not a thing for me, but it’s as if my condition sensed my desire to banish it—the hope Mountain Well gave me— and wanted to be sure to dash it as swiftly as possible.
I squeeze the stem of my glass to brace against the hurt. The women in the circle watch me with hawk-like assessment. They’re not looking for this.
They’re looking for any sign of what I’m not saying about my new husband and his customs.
This is not a good time to be under such scrutiny. Sweat breaks out on the small of my back and my body flashes hot, then cold. It feels like all my nerves are sending opposing sensations at once and my brain is overloaded.
“What blessing did his parents bestow on you?” Harriet Lavoy asks. My brother Frederick is married to her oldest sister, whose family runs Southeast
Hold. Her line is mostly blessed by Elvodeen, and they’re gifted healers.
I look to Gaven again, and a throbbing pain presses up behind my eyes.
He has his back to me this time. I should just excuse myself and say I need some fresh air.
“Asher and—” My vision is almost entirely burned out from bright light flashing like a warning that I’m only a few moments from losing my dinner and maybe even collapsing from the pain.
I am so frustrated with the burden of this body and its weakness. Why does it refuse to be healed? Is this the price I have to pay instead of madness?
I’m not sure the senseless anguish is better than actually losing my mind.
I try to focus on Harriet’s face, but my vision swims with light. “They asked Divine Asher, Divine Harvain, Divine Vardek, and —”
The pain is a void I’m falling into, and I can’t seem to form words.
“And Divine Kennymyra, of course.” Henry’s deep voice comes from somewhere behind me.
I turn toward him and almost fall over. Henry’s arm catches me around the waist. I stare into his dark blue eyes, willing my body to cooperate for just a few more minutes. The lightning aches shooting through my brain seem to increase in response.
“Hello, wife,” Henry whispers with mock affection. “Do you trust me?”
“Of course not.”
He chuckles as he tenderly brushes my cheek and kisses me.
Nothing in my life has ever muted the pain, but this does. The moment his lips brush mine, Henry transforms into an eclipse that can blot out the rest of the world.
It’s not just some quick affection. This is a kiss I feel everywhere—a benediction that cleanses me of everything that came before and turns me into someone new.
His hands thread through my hair, and I’m hyperaware of all the places our bodies touch, of the way we fit together perfectly. He tastes like whiskey and a subtle, tart hint of cherry. I want to pull away and drink something, anything, to chase him from my mouth. But he holds me there, his hands gently cupping my face.
I’m breathless when he pulls away and leans his forehead against mine.
“I’ll get you out.”
It’s only then that I realize he knows. He spotted my distress from across the room—perhaps I am not so well-mastered as I think.
I lick my lips and draw away, turning to face my parents, Able, and Kellan. Even Gaven, who has seen me kiss Henry once before, is shocked.
They’re all staring at us. The reality and the agony come crashing back at
once.
Henry kissed me in front of my family.
The shock on their faces is entirely unmasked. I sense them all holding their breath, waiting for Henry to collapse. But he just brushes a soft kiss to my temple and bends so his lips caress my ear as he says, “Just go with it and I’ll get you out of here.”
The urge to fight him is not as strong as the pain swiftly razing through my head. I need to leave. My stomach turns over violently, and I blow out a breath to avoid vomiting on the dining room floor.
“Divine forgive me, but I simply can’t help myself when she looks so lovely,” Henry says, offering me his best approximation of an indulgent smile.
His aura flashes across my visions in a purple haze that prods at me. He wants to try to heal me. It’s what everyone with a blessing from Elvodeen wants. Something to fix.
“Thank you so much for having this wonderful party for us, but I’m afraid we have to retire for the evening. After such a long day, we need to rest.”
The innuendo in the word is clear and exaggerated, but Henry doesn’t wait for a reply. I barely get off a wave to my still-stunned family before he’s ushering me out of the room with an arm around my waist.
I lean against him and let him guide me until we turn at the end of the hallway.
Gaven’s steady footsteps trail behind us. I can’t turn to look at him or I will collapse from dizziness.
It would be wise to wait until we’re in my room to argue, but I may be incapacitated by then. This attack is coming on faster than ever before.
“Bleeding woods, Henry. Why did you kiss me in front of them?”
I know why. It was a flex. He wanted them to know I’m powerless against him. He wanted to fluster me when I was already flustered. He wanted them to be worried.
He pulls me to a stop at the top of the stairs. “We needed a diversion.
Now, everyone thinks I’m just a newlywed who couldn’t wait to sneak off to bed with my wife, and your secret pain is safe. You said you couldn’t be
weak in front of your people, so I made you —”
“Sentimental,” I grumble.
“I made you desirable.”
He sweeps me up into his arms, ignoring my protest as he charges down the hall to my room.
I tuck my face into his neck to block the light from my eyes. At least now, if I throw up, it will be all over him.
A question tugs at the back of my mind. “How did you know? That I needed to get out?”
“You kept looking at Gaven. I just guessed, and then when I took your arm, I could sense it,” he says.
It feels like someone is driving a spike into my brain, and I momentarily black out from the throbbing. When I come to, we’re in my bedroom, and Henry is setting me back on my feet by my closet door.
He waits to see that I’m steady before he steps away. “What do I do?”
“I can do it myself. I don’t need you—” A wave of searing agony leaves me gasping for breath. I press my hands to my temples, trying to brace against it.
“Harlow.” His voice is firm. “Let me take your dress off so you can at least be comfortable.”
I lean against the wall and surrender. I can’t fight him and the hurt at the same time, no matter how I want to shove him out the door, to scratch and claw at him for insisting on seeing me weak.
His fingers deftly work the buttons at the back of my dress, and a moment later, he slides the green silk from my body and unhooks my bra with practiced hands. It’s irritating that I’m in such agony and still manage to feel the faint spike of jealousy that he’s had enough practice to be good at removing women’s clothing.
His warmth disappears as he steps into the closet to hang up the dress. He returns a moment later, his finger brushing gently over the scarred skin at the bottom of my spine, before sliding a soft robe up my arms. My skin is too sensitive. Even the gentle touch and soft material set my nerves on edge.
“I already sent for drinks with lots of ice. What else do you need?” he
whispers.
“For you to leave,” I snap.
This is too much. Even half-blind with pain, I don’t want him to see this vulnerability. My stomach roils. I’m going to throw up. I need him out now.
I walk into the washroom, and he follows.
“Henry, seriously, leave—” The exertion of snapping at him makes my stomach heave.
Henry is behind me in a second, holding my hair back as I vomit into the toilet. The pain in my head peaks with each heave, until finally my stomach is empty, and it dulls to just a searing ache.
Sometimes, it feels like there’s a storm swirling in my head. Other times, it feels like my mind is nauseous. But this is the worst variety of attack because it’s just stark pain.
“They think I have some sort of fire magic,” I rasp.
Henry frowns. “What do you mean?”
“The staff. They think that’s why I ask for ice.”
He sits down next to me and offers me a cool washcloth. “Why do you hide it?”
“Did you not see the way everyone in that room studies us? You know how it is in the Haven. Strength above all. It’s the same here. They’re constantly looking for a pressure point to push. Information is power the same way magic is. We don’t share what power anyone in the family has except for my father and Able because it keeps people guessing. They’re less likely to try something if they don’t know what to prepare for.”
There’s a knock at my bedroom door, and Henry leaves me leaning against the bathroom wall.
He returns a moment later with a pillow, a blanket, and a tray. He sets the ice, water, and lemonade on the tufted seat in the corner and places the pillow and blanket on the floor behind me.
“The door is locked. I have some water for you if you think your stomach can handle it.”
He starts to hand the glass to me, but must think better of it, and continues to hold it steady so it doesn’t slip from my trembling hands. Then, he gives me a toothbrush and lets me brush my teeth.
Gently, he lays me back on the pillow and blanket he’s placed on the bathroom floor. He leaves the washroom and returns a moment later with a pillowcase.
I watch through half-closed eyes as he shrugs out of his vest, removes his tie, and undoes the top few buttons of his shirt. Then he scoops handfuls of ice into the pillowcase and places it on my forehead.
The relief is mild but instant. Something about the cold always helps—or
at least distracts me from the pain.
“I don’t need to be coddled,” I grumble.
But I do. I’m weak and I’m tired and the pain is so blinding that all I want is to be held and soothed, and that makes me more angry.
He clicks his tongue. “Such a prickly little wife.”
My eyes are still closed, but I can hear the teasing in his tone. He’s not treating me differently. I could not take it if he were soft now.
The room is quiet except for the sound of my ragged breathing. As the agony crests again, I’m struck with surprising grief. I was foolish to wish for it, but I wanted so badly to be delivered from this pain, and I’m bereft at that loss of hope. I wanted the Mountain Well to work.
This is why I have forced myself to be practical for so long. I’ve spent years sculpting myself into someone who can survive in the harshest conditions, but being robbed of the dream of living pain-free cuts to the core of me.
“I really thought your well was going to work.” I’m mortified by the tears streaming from my eyes.
Henry wipes my cheek. “So did I. I’m sorry it didn’t.”
For years, I’ve resented that everyone treated my condition like it was some personal failure of mine—as if there was always more I should be doing to try to banish it. I changed my diet and sleep habits. I lost track of how many healers I visited in Lunameade. Every one of them had a different diagnosis, a more unique and certain-to-work solution.
“Nothing works.” I have lived my entire life braced for the ebbs and flows of this ache. And now I know I can’t solve it.
“I just wanted it to fix me,” I whisper. The lump in my throat is so large, it hurts, and I’m so close to losing it in front of him.
“You don’t need to be fixed, Harlow.” His voice is so soft. Even though I know he’s just trying to build trust with me so he can use me for whatever his family wants to use me for, I want to believe him. I want it to be real, if only for now.
“Come here,” Henry says, gently taking the pillowcase of ice from my chilled hand.
I blink my eyes open and frown at him. “No.”
“It doesn’t have to mean anything.”
I don’t want to take his comfort. I want to punch him for seeing me in such a state, but I let him gather me against his chest and hold the ice to my
head.
It doesn’t fix the pain, but the steady rhythm of his heart does add a sort of focal point for it. I sense his magic gently flowing through me, and while I know it won’t do anything to ease the anguish, it does help my muscles relax between the most intense moments of it.
It feels good to be held—to relax and pretend his comfort is a simple thing I could reach for like a habit.
This is the most dangerous kind of fantasy—the kind that doesn’t become less compelling even when you know it’s manipulation. If I’m not careful, I might stop loathing my husband.
