Fire and Bone (Otherborn #1)(123)

“Are you all right?” I ask, sensing he’s conflicted about something. I don’t like seeing that shadow in his eyes.

He watches the forest ahead, staying silent until we’ve left the field of flowers behind and entered the trees. But when he speaks, his words aren’t what I expect.

“I was ten years old when my mother died,” he says so quietly I almost don’t hear him over the crunching of our steps in the underbrush. I’m unsure why he said it. But there’s a determined quality to his voice, as if he needs to speak the words, so I don’t ask questions. He continues. “They told me she’d fallen into the river and drowned. But later, after—a long time after—I asked the river for the truth and learned that it wasn’t an accident. She’d killed herself, placed rocks in her skirts and tied a stone to her ankle.”

My throat tightens in pain. “I’m so sorry,” I say, his childhood sorrow very real to me. He was a boy alone in a difficult world. I understand that life better than anyone.

“It was Astrid who taught me how to hear the river,” he says, pushing aside a branch and letting me duck under. “Later, after I understood what the water’s current was telling me, it was Astrid who helped me heal. At least for a little while.” He looks at me like he needs me to understand. “It’s why I forgave her so much all those years.”

I nod, unsure what to say.

There’s a weight on him as we walk, his body tense like he still feels the pain of the past in his skin. “My mother drowned herself because she was ashamed,” he says. His voice falters and his pace slows. He stares out at some distant point, a lost look in his eyes. “She was ashamed of how I was conceived.” He turns to me again. “I wasn’t born of an encounter made of love or lust, but of violence, Sage. My father, a god of virility who could have enticed most any woman, saw what he wanted in my mother and chose to take it from her by force.”

Chills rake over me. “Oh, God.”

“I was born of that sickness. It’s a part of me.”

Urgency fills me at the tormented sound of his voice. “Faelan . . . that’s not true.”

But he doesn’t seem to hear me. “After I learned the truth, I was overwhelmed by the lie my life had become. So I abandoned my House—I broke the vow I’d made at my Emergence. I couldn’t be loyal to a father who would be so vile. I couldn’t stay under my brother’s rule—I’d quickly realized that his nature was as debased as our father’s. And I was terrified I would become just like them.”

I can only shake my head, disgusted, words failing me.

He stares at the ground, like he’s ashamed. I want to touch him, to comfort him, but I know he’ll push me away.

So instead I say, “You’re nothing like that, Faelan.”

“I made sure I never would be,” he says, his voice tight. “In order to leave, there was a payment to be made. A demi doesn’t just break a vow on a whim. I had to give things up, to sacrifice. So I severed the link to my father, allowing for a majority of my power to return to the gods, keeping only my secondary gift and locking away my healing ability in my blood so that I wouldn’t have immortality anymore.” His brow pinches. “But I also forged a soul vow with the Cast to remain celibate, to sever that part of my life. And if I break my vow, I’ll be forced to return to my brother. It was the easiest choice in the world when I made it. Until . . .” He turns to me, searching my face. “I find myself regretting my choice now.”

His words settle in the air between us like a question.

The forest around us creaks, waiting.

“I find myself wishing for another man’s life when I’m near you,” he says. “I feel a hundred things for you that I can’t feel.”

I let his words sink in. And I understand, finally. He hasn’t been keeping his distance for the reasons I assumed. He’s been tormented, broken, in ways I could never imagine. He’s had to face more sorrow than I could ever carry. And yet he still sees me as I am, and cares about me, cares for me. It feels like it’s too much.

I move in front of him, unable to hold back from comforting him now. I want to take away that haunted look in his eyes. I want to say a million things, anything to help him carry the burden of those horrors, let him know that I’ll never think of him as a monster, that it doesn’t matter what he can give me; I’ll take it.

Instead I reach out and slide my fingers through his, then ask under my breath, “What about this? Is this against the rules?”

He studies me, his features softening. “No,” he says.

I could tell him that I feel sorrow for him, that I want to relieve him of his pain—but I’d rather just push the darkness back. I need him to understand that I don’t see him like his nightmare. Not even a little.

So I step closer. “Because this is nice,” I say, “standing with you in the trees.” He seems relieved at my words. The scent of his energy envelops me, fresh mint tingling in my throat like he’s seeking me out. I feel my power stir in response, but I hold it steady—easily, the control second nature now. And I let myself whisper, “I think I’d like to kiss you. Is that all right?”

He nods slowly, brushing his fingers over my jaw as the space between us shrinks. “You’re an amazing one, fiery Sage,” he says.