After all the agony Evie had gone through at that gravestone, I was desperate to find her and show her I'd lived.
Then came a traitorous thought . . . maybe she should think I'm dead.
Was this the new viewpoint Matthew had promised? When I'd told him to take me to her, he'd said, if you make it. He hadn't been talking about my recovery. He'd been talking about my chances of never reaching her--by my own choosing.
Fifty-fifty, which way I'd go.
Fighting for breath, I said, "Can she be happy with Dominija?"
"Can anyone be happy A.F.?"
I rubbed my hand over my forehead. "Is she with her grandmother?"
"Tredici gave the Tarasova to her."
So Evie had reunited with her last living relative--what she'd wanted most. The two had been delivered from the Ash, tucked away in a place with food and heat and luxuries.
Safe at last.
No, no, what the hell are you thinking, Jack? A life without Evie wasn't worth living. You really believe you can go on without her? I tried to look at this coldly: she was critical to my survival; survival was everything A.F.
Not to feel her with my every step? J'tombe en botte. I fall to ruin.
And no one could love her more than I did--no one. She'd known what she wanted, and she'd chosen me. I was her intended husband. I would put the choice to her again.
Which would mean opening up all her wounds. My gut twisted. In that vision, more than her smile had been broken. What if my return from the dead pushed her over the edge for good?
Besides, she hadn't chosen me only for me. She'd chosen the future I'd offered her. Now I couldn't offer her a goddamned thing. I thought of my empty pack, of starting all over again.
I had nothing.
Nothing.
I was right back to where I'd been before the Flash, slowly strangling to death 'cause I wasn't good enough for her.
Matthew watched my eyes, as if he knew exactly what was going on in my muddled thoughts.
I'd believed she would be better off going with Dominija before I'd lost everything. Now I knew . . . if I truly loved my girl, I'd let her go.
She would never be Evangeline Deveaux. We'd never see the bayou come back to life. It wouldn't always be Evie and Jack. My eyes blurred, but nothing was wrong with my vision.
I loved that fille more than my own life; this just proved it.
"I'm not goan to kill you right now, no," I told Matthew, my voice thick. "But only 'cause you're goan to swear never to tell her I survived." I swallowed. "As far as Evie's concerned, I'm buried under that rock."
Coo-yon nodded, then reached into his pack, pulling out . . . that cell phone and the tape player! Evie's pictures, her voice. How'd he get those . . . ? Didn't matter. The kid was giving me another crutch, right when I needed it most.
God, peekon. Noble, for the record, cuts like a blade to the heart. . . .
40
The Empress
Day 453 A.F.
The rain tapered off for my grandmother's funeral.
Despite her breakdown and murderous message, Gran was a Tarasova, and the other Arcana demonstrated their respect. All creatures were silent that day. The surface of the water was glass. Aric wore a dark suit. He'd cut lilies from the nursery to place on her grave.
We buried her beneath an oak I grew on the southwest side of the property.
She would forever face Haven.
If the sun ever returned, it would set for her each dusk.
I only wished I could have buried Jack beside her, so he could always see his beloved home. . . .
41
Day 455 A.F.
What's going on with him? I wondered as I headed to a window overlooking the training yard.
Since the funeral, Aric hadn't invited me to move into his bedroom. We'd slept on the study couch, with me wrapped in his arms.
Yes, he liked his sanctuaries, and yes, he'd been furious when I'd trespassed in his bedroom before. But I thought he'd also liked sleeping in a bed with me.
Or sleeping with me in general. He'd made no overtures to have sex.
I watched him riding Thanatos through the rain, pushing them in a grueling session. Even that tank of a warhorse looked like he wanted to tap out.
My Endless Knight was training as if possessed, as if he might blow from tension. He was no more satisfied with our current situation than I was.
Had he decided to give me time to grieve? Maybe he thought any move on his part would spook me. Or he simply didn't know enough about relationships in general.
We'd slept together; now what? It wasn't as if either of us had a lot of experience.
But I'd signed on with him. I'd accepted him as my husband. We both had needs that were not being met. So I decided to make it really easy for him.
His rough hands on my breasts. My palms gliding over his chest and lower.
I nuzzled his runes and licked the skin. As I had in my dream, I followed the slashing marks down.
He realized my intention, and a gust of breath left his lips. Eyes aglow, he threaded his fingers through my hair. The lower I went, the more his hands shook on my head. His breaths grew hoarse.
When I kissed, he gave a yell and bucked. Agonized sounds burst from his chest because I was sending him into the throes. Emboldened, I took him between my lips.
"Sieva," he brokenly rasped. "Sieva! Gods almighty!" Yet even as his body quaked, he reverently caressed my face with the backs of his fingers. . . .