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The breeze blew soft and warm across the lake. It weaved through the Hideaway, carrying the bubbling laughter and easy conversation of a summer evening.
It was suffocating. Jill quietly excused herself from the small crowd that had gathered in the ale hall. She thought being around others would help diffuse the uneasiness she felt, but all it did was make it that much more noticeable.
As she walked across the main deck her eyes flickered towards Clive’s chambers, the door barely visible in the dusty twilight. Her chest tightened. Hours earlier she stood in that room as he told her he was to have his brand removed the next morning. The words echoed in her ears and sent ice through her veins. In the North, men would tattoo themselves with wyvern tail ink as a show of strength. The screams of those with unsteady hands were not easily forgotten.
The conversation hadn’t ended amicably. She begged him to reconsider; he refused to yield. She left before the tears gathering in her eyes could spill onto her cheeks. He hadn’t gone after her.
The lingering tension gnawed at her. She couldn’t leave things like this. What if that was the last time she saw him? If she never told him…
She shook her head, forcing the thought from her mind. There was still time to set things to rights.
A chill crept into the breeze as the sky faded to dusk. Jill shivered. She paused before Clive’s door and drew a breath to steady her heartbeat. This was Clive, after all. There was no need to be nervous.
The door opened as she raised her fist. She jumped. Clive stood across the threshold, his face frozen in wide-eyed surprise.
“…Jill?”
Warmth spread through her whenever he spoke her name. It was as a kind word, a soft touch, a sigh. Her shoulders relaxed a bit.
“It seems we’re of the same mind,” he said. A hint of a smile crossed his lips. “I was just going to find you.” He stepped aside to allow her entry, briefly resting his hand on her back as she passed through.
Clive’s chambers were cloaked in a heavy shroud of shadow. A few candles burned through the darkness, one of them illuminating a pile of missives scattered across his desk. A flush crept up Jill’s neck as she noticed one with her handwriting set off to the side.
Clive leaned against the edge of his desk, his eyes fixed on her as she shifted her weight. “I’m sorry for catching you off guard this morning.”
She tilted her head in acknowledgment. “I’m sure I didn’t react as you’d hoped.”
“Not exactly, no,” he said with a soft chuckle. “But I didn’t expect you to.”
She wasn’t sure if she was annoyed or relieved. Perhaps both. “Is that why you waited to tell me until the day before?”
“Not at all,” he responded quickly. “I’d only decided to do it yesterday.”
“Yesterday?” Her brow knit in confusion. “Surely you need more time to think this through? This is your life, Clive”.
“But it’s not just my life.” He pushed himself off the edge of his desk to stand fully upright. “My brand puts a target on our backs, and our work is dangerous enough as it is. It’s become too much of a risk.”
Heat rushed to Jill’s cheeks. “And this isn’t?”
“No, it’s not.” He held her gaze until she huffed and crossed her arms. “I can’t keep asking you to use your powers on my behalf.”
“For the last time, no one is asking me-”
“Tarja told me,” he interjected. “Yesterday after you left the infirmary. About the curse. It’s getting worse, isn’t it?”
She sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. “She shouldn’t have told you that.”
“She’s worried about you.” He stood silently, motionless save for his eyes tracing her movements as she slowly paced across the floor. His voice softened when he finally spoke. “Were you going to tell me?”
“I was, eventually, I just…” she shook her head. She was tired. Tired of being treated as if she were made of glass, tired of being looked as if she were already dead. He never understood; he couldn’t. To him it was just one more thing he couldn’t protect her from.
She froze. Her eyes narrowed in realization.
”Is that why you decided to remove your brand? Because of what Tarja told you?” Her nails dug into her palms. She knew full well what the consequences would be if she kept using her powers as she was. And for the first time in her life, it was she who could decide if it was worth the cost. Not Clive; not anyone.
Clive stood against the weight of her glare. “You’re not the only person allowed to make sacrifices, you know.”
“You’re going to lecture me about sacrifices?“ Jill scoffed. “You who would sooner cast yourself into Dzemekys than accept that people are willing to fight for you? Do you think I’m some — some delicate maiden to be locked in a cage while you save the world on your own?”
“What? No, no—I’m not lecturing you, Jill, I’m—look.” He closed the gap between them, close enough for her to feel the heat radiating from his body. “If you are to endure this curse,” he said, taking her hands in his, “then at least grant me this. I know it’s not without risk. But you’ve seen it; the hatred for Bearers is growing. We can’t continue as we are now.
“I don’t want you to be ‘locked in a cage’. I would never ask that of you; you must know that. What I want is to fight at your side just as you have done for me. I have to do this, Jill,” he said, his hands tightening around hers. “And I will. But I would much rather it be with your blessing.”
She scowled. There was truth in his words; that much she had to admit. Vitriol toward Bearers seemed to increase each time they ventured outside the Hideaway. The ruse of the noblewoman and her loyal bodyguard couldn’t last forever.
This was their reality. No matter how fast they ran forward, death would always be close behind. She knew it was only a matter of time before it caught up with her. She didn’t fear for herself; she had no right with so much blood on her hands. But Clive was different. He was good, no matter how much he thought otherwise. He deserved better.
Death didn’t care.
“So be it.“ She exhaled slowly, her shoulders sagging. “I’m sorry for what I said. I just…” the words caught in her throat.
“I know.”
He gently pulled her in, or perhaps it was she who allowed herself to fall. She slid her arms around his waist and rested her head on his shoulder, the linen of his shirt soft against her cheek. Without his armor his edges softened. The sharp tinge of blood and steel was gone, replaced by traces of warm earth and smoke that lingered on his skin. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply.
An ache spread through her chest, deeper and more profound than any crystal’s curse. She’d been here before. It was a gaze that lasted a second too long, a word spoken in unmasked tenderness, a touch just a little too familiar. A siren’s song of “what ifs” and “maybes” that called to her sweetly. In this moment it was all she could hear.
She sighed into him, filling the empty spaces between them. His arms tightened around her. She felt his heartbeat quicken, the steady rhythm of his breathing falter. Was this really so wrong? How could it be, when her body fit so perfectly against his? It would be so easy to stay. She wanted to stay.
But what she wanted didn’t matter.
She pulled away. His hands slid down her arms, fingertips brushing against hers as they parted. The air around her grew cold and sharp.
“I should be going,” she said, unsure whether it was Clive or herself to whom she spoke. “You should get some rest.”
She dared not look at his face. Whatever it conveyed—kindness, disappointment, sadness, affection—it would surely break her resolve. He was silent, for a mercy, as she turned and walked to the door.
“Goodnight, Clive.”
—
Jill paced back and forth outside Clive’s chambers. She’d made it halfway back to her quarters before turning around. Everything was wrong. It was wrong to stay. It was wrong to leave. Her hands trembled as she ran them through her hair.
She leaned against the handrail and dug her nails into the brittle wood. The words he spoke to her at Phoenix Gate rang in her ears.
You never were one to hide from the truth.
If only she knew what the truth was.
The only thing she knew was that if he died tomorrow, right and wrong and truth and lies wouldn’t matter. She would regret walking away for the rest of her life. Perhaps that was the only truth she needed.
It was enough.
Once more she stood before the threshold, her heart pounding in her chest. And once more, he opened the door just as she raised her hand to knock.
“…Clive?” Her voice fractured as she spoke his name.
He stared at her, curiosity writ across his brow. But there was something else in his eyes; something that made her breath catch in her chest.
“It seems we’re of the same mind,” he said, his eyes wide and glossy. “I was just coming to find you.”
She wasn’t sure who moved first. It didn’t matter. They stumbled inside, Jill steadying herself against the door as it closed behind her. He kissed her with an urgency that she eagerly matched. Heat bloomed on her skin where he pressed his lips against her jaw, her neck, her throat. She hastily unfastened the tie to her shirt and tugged it down over her shoulder, gasping as she felt his tongue against her collarbone.
His breath quickened, white hot against her neck as she probed under the hem of his shirt. Her hands ached to explore the angles of his body until they memorized every part.
“Tell me what you want of me,” he said, understanding the question in her touch. His eyes blazed even in the waning candlelight.
“Everything.”
He covered her hands with his and slid them up his sides. She pulled his shirt the rest of the way over his head and let it fall to the floor.
“There’ll be no going back from this,” he said, his hands encircling her waist. “I want you to be sure.”
“I’m sure.” There was no hesitation. She tugged at his belt loops to bring him closer. “Are you?”
He answered with a kiss, slow and deep. She ran her hands from his shoulders to his waist, learning the contours of his chest, feeling his heart racing. His skin burned beneath her palms.
She moaned softly as he leaned into her, his body hardening against her hips. She took his wrist and guided his hand under her shirt. His fingers fanned over her ribs and stroked the curve of her breast, every touch sending a shower of sparks across her skin.
It was too much and not enough. Her body ignited in ways she never knew were possible. It made her greedy, consumed with a need that eclipsed all else. It made her forget.
The door whined against their combined weight. Jill wrapped her arms around Clive’s neck and jumped to hitch her legs around his waist. “I think the door has had enough.”
He laughed, and she couldn’t help but smile. “I think you’re right.”
He carried her to his bed and gently laid her down. The smell of him surrounded her, filling her lungs with rich, heady amber. He slid her shirt up and kissed the exposed skin of her navel, inching his way forward until his mouth found her breasts, searching until his tongue found the places that made her breath grow ragged. She sat up to cast her shirt off, shivering as the night air washed over her.
He pulled her onto his lap and ran a hand down the length of her spine—and froze.
“What is it?” she asked, flushed and breathless.
He circled behind her and swept her hair over her shoulder. His fingertips were feather-light as they moved over her skin, carefully tracing the lattice of scars across her back.
“They did this to you?”
Her stomach dropped. She’d forgotten about those scars. She didn’t even know they were there until Tarja told her when she’d first woken up at the hideaway.
“I’m sorry,” he said, taking her silence as confirmation. He wrapped an arm around her waist and kissed the nape of her neck.
Tears pricked behind her eyelids. Her back stung with the memory of that day, how she bit through her lip and stifled her cries as the lash tore through her skin. Her quiet satisfaction watching her captors cursed in anger when they realized she wouldn’t yield. They dragged her back to the handmaidens’ quarters, bloodied and raw, but alive.
The next day the Masters came for her, shouting orders in a language she didn’t recognize and pushing her forward when her legs buckled beneath her. They led her back to the post from the day before, the ground still stained with her blood. She braced herself. If she survived once she could survive again. And if she didn’t, well, perhaps that wouldn’t be so terrible. She was beginning to understand that there were worse things than death.
But another was brought forward. A young boy no older than Joshua had been. He trembled and sobbed as they bound his hands. She pleaded with them to spare him, promising subservience if they’d let him go. They reveled in her agony as his body slumped to the ground. This was her sin, they said. It was she who sealed his fate.
“Jill.”
She suddenly remembered herself, the dim outlines of the room coming into focus. Blood pounded in her ears and silent tears ran down her cheeks.
Clive’s hand was warm and heavy on her shoulder. “Are you all right?”
“I…I need to go.” She slipped her shirt on and made to leave, gritting her teeth to quell her rising emotions.
“Wait.” He grabbed her wrist. “Don’t leave. I’m sorry if I-”
“You did nothing wrong,” she said quickly. “I promise.”
“Then what?” He swept his thumb across her cheek, tears spilling over his hand. “Jill,” he pleaded softly.
How she wished he wouldn’t speak her name like that.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
She left without looking back.
—
Jill sat on the edge of her bed with her head in her hands. The world around her imploded, crashing down and dragging her to the bottom of the lake. She should never have gone back. Why had she gone back?
Weak, she thought to herself. She let the siren entrance her. She embraced it.
Selfish. The skin on the back of her neck burned where Clive kissed it. She dug her fingers against the spot, desperate to erase it. A part of her still wanted to go back to him, to let him hold her suffering if only for one night. She hated herself for it. Who held the suffering of the people who died because of her? What right did she have to such comfort when she had stolen it from so many?
And then there was Clive himself, left alone and bewildered. The thought that her recklessness had hurt him sent a wave of fresh tears dripping down her nose and onto the floor.
An aching heaviness swelled in her left arm. She instinctively reached for her wrist, feeling the hardened skin beneath her shirtsleeve. The pain was a welcome respite from the turbulence in her mind. But more than that, it was a promise. Someday her body would turn to dust and her burdens would crumble and scatter in the wind. Until then, she would give whatever power she had left and hope it might afford her salvation.
* * *
The surgery had gone well. Jill felt her entire body lighten when Tarja told her. She looked at the note in her hands. At first she had planned to leave it for Clive to read on his own; it had always been easier for her to put her thoughts in writing than speak them aloud. But she owed him more than that.
The infirmary was empty of patients. Tarja always moved them out when removing a brand—less distractions made for less of a risk. Jill was grateful. She’d rather this conversation not be overheard.
She closed the door softly behind her. Every move she made seemed impossibly loud, her hesitant footsteps and unsteady breathing amplified in the silence. She paused to collect herself, pressing her icy hands to her face to calm her burning skin.
Stop stalling, she willed herself, staring at the row of curtains that hid Clive from view. Just go.
He was busying himself with his shoes as she rounded the corner. A bandage covered the left side of his face, stark white against the warmth of his skin. She smiled despite herself; it was one thing to hear that he was alive, but another entirely to see it. She knocked lightly on the wall to announce her presence.
“You look well,” she said, the words a sigh of relief. “How are you feeling?”
He froze before turning to face her. “Jill,” he said, her name almost a question. “I…I feel fine, all things considered.” His voice trailed off as he spoke. He stared at her cautiously, as if she were a frightened animal that might bolt at the slightest movement.
“I’m glad to hear it.” She drew a breath. “Can I sit down?”
“Of course.” His posture relaxed.
The warm amber and smoke broke through the sharp antiseptic of the infirmary as she sat beside him. Her body stirred as she breathed it in. For a split second she was back in his bed, her fingers tangled in his hair. She curled her hands into fists to keep from reaching out for him.
“You must have questions,” she said slowly, reminding herself why she had come. She hoped her face didn’t look as red as it felt.
Clive shook his head. “I just want to make sure you’re all right.”
“I’m all right. I just didn’t expect to…react that way.” She exhaled slowly. “I don’t know what I was thinking last night, or what I wanted, or…anything, really.” The now all too familiar tightness crept into her throat. She lowered her eyes to her lap, trying to remember the words she’d written earlier. “It wasn’t very fair to you. I’m sorry.”
“It’s…not exactly as if I refused you,” Clive said somewhat sheepishly. “Or as if I wouldn’t have come knocking on your door if you hadn’t come to mine. There is nothing to apologize for.”
They sat in companionable silence, the curtain gently swaying in the afternoon breeze. It was as though a weight had been lifted. Ever since he brought up having his brand removed the air was thick and heavy between them, but now it had finally cleared.
“Jill,” he said, turning his body toward her, “you know you can talk to me, right? About what happened to you.”
“I know.” She sighed. “It’s fine, really. There’s no use in exhuming the past.”
“…If you’re sure.”
“I am. Thank you.” She sank into her shoulders. “I wouldn’t even know where to begin, truth be told.”
He covered her hands with his. “Then let me help you,” he said, leaning toward her. “As you did for me.”
“It’s not the same.” She pulled her hands away. “A lot happened in those thirteen years, Clive. More than you know. Things I did…and things I didn’t do.” She grasped her wrist, pressing her thumb into her petrified skin. “But it doesn’t matter now. We have more important things to attend to.”
“Whatever it is, you shouldn’t have to suffer through it alone.” His voice was gentle, yet it cut through her like sharpened steel. Again he tempted her with softness; with a place to rest her head, her heart, her soul. She pressed her lips into a thin line. She thought her resolve to be stronger than this.
“I don’t deserve such kindness,” she said, the words grounding her in reality.
“What? Jill, that’s…surely you don’t think that.” He wrapped a hand around her shoulder. “Tell me you don’t believe that to be true.”
She stared at him, creases forming between her brows. She didn’t expect him to agree, or even understand, but this hardly seemed a proportionate response.
“It’s not…it’s not what I think or believe, Clive, it just…is,” she tried to explain.
He reached around to grab her other shoulder, turning her to face him. “Who told you that?”
An ache pulsed through her chest that she didn’t quite understand. How could he be so sure that she was wrong?
Was she?
She pushed his hands from her shoulders and stood up. “Forget about what I said. Forget about last night. Forget about all of this,” she said, struggling to keep her voice even. She turned away and bit at a torn cuticle.
He lightly gripped her hand from where he sat. “Is that what you want?”
“Yes.” There was no other choice. There couldn’t be.
“Jill,” he said, barely more than a whisper. “Is this truly what you want?”
To want was a dangerous thing. It was messy and complicated and fickle. It made her forget herself.
“What I want doesn’t matter.”
She heard him release a breath behind her. He was disappointed in her answer, or perhaps he saw the truth in it as well.
“I’m glad you’re well, Clive,” she said. “I’ll see you later.”
—
When Jill returned to her quarters that night she noticed something on her pillow, a piece of paper catching in the moonlight. She lit a candle and held it to the light. A single line was written across the page:
You deserve all the kindness in the world.