like he was trying to hold something back and it was so, so close to being let out.
Tavia touched her lips to his again, delicate, trying to swallow the yearning that seeped into her veins.
She didn’t know she could want someone so much, but if this was it—if this was her last chance to be with him—then Tavia was done holding back. She was done pretending.
Her legs were still wrapped around Wesley and she could feel every twitch of his bones and the thump of his heart against hers.
She pressed her hand to the back of his neck and Wesley’s breath turned ragged.
“Gods.” Wesley swallowed.”Tavia, just stop for one second.”
It was like a plea.
Tavia broke away, untangling herself from him just as suddenly as they had collided, a weight of disappointment inside her heart.
It wasn’t enough.
There just wasn’t enough time in the world anymore.
Her legs slid slowly down Wesley’s body and when her feet met the ground, the world felt tilted and shaken.
She didn’t think she could keep standing if Wesley’s hands weren’t pressed firmly against her shoulders, like he was trying so desperately to keep himself from her.
Tavia wished he wouldn’t try so hard.
“What is it?” she asked.
Wesley pressed his forehead to hers, breath as uneven as the world felt. He kissed her again, but it was short and quick and it left Tavia’s lips dry and aching.
“I’ve loved you since we were kids,” he said.
When Tavia looked into his eyes this time, she saw color. Rimming the pools of black that had engulfed his irises was a small circle of brown. It was thin, and against the moonlight she had to squint to discern the colors, but it was there. The same brown as the tree bark.
“I love you,” Wesley said again.
Tavia thought hearing those words would make her happy, but she only wanted to cry. She’d been waiting so long for him to say them and now that he had, it was too late.
She couldn’t be with him anymore, no matter how desperately she wanted it.
“I love you too,” she said.
Wesley smiled and bit by bit, piece by piece, she was coming undone.
“I just wanted us to say it,” he said. “Just once, just in case.”
“We’re not going to die,” Tavia told him. “Everything will be okay.”
It was the worst lie she had ever told.
“Is that a promise?” Wesley asked, that old smile tugging at his lips.
Tavia tried not to break promises often. It seemed like a bad habit most buskers picked up and she prided herself on not being like most buskers. But promising Wesley they’d both make it out of this war in one piece, when she knew that her future was already sealed, felt like the only way to make sure he went ahead with his plans. To make sure he focused on Ashwood, instead of her. To make sure he didn’t turn his back on his family.
He can’t know, she thought.
Tavia held on to Wesley’s hand. This was the boy who she’d survived the streets of Creije with. Who’d become her friend, when she had none, and her family, when she had none. Who meant so much more to her than anyone could.
Tavia looked into Wesley’s eyes.
“I promise,” she said. “It’s all going to be okay.”
Tavia kissed him again, slow and endless, a kiss wild with possibility. Like if she wished hard enough, the night would never end and the sun might never rise and they could just stay locked in that moment, and that promise, forever.
31
Wesley
TAVIA’S HAIR SPREAD ACROSS the pillow as she played with the mirror doll.
Wesley watched her.
He’d been unable to take his eyes off of her for the past few hours, but now that she had the mirror doll he definitely couldn’t stop staring. They were his least favorite kind of magic and though Wesley dealt in many things that were deadly and devious, he found nothing quite as eerie as a puppet for somebody’s life.
They varied from maker to maker, but the dolls were consistently dreadful. Made from buttons and badly stitched thread, or tree bark and twine, they began as a jigsaw person, barely formed and off-kilter, their black-spot eyes ready to change with the flick of a charm.
Only then did they become person-like, their form dislocating from the makeshift to the harrowing reality, tree bark turning to rotten skin and patches of hair growing from the twine, their button eyes hollowed out to mummified pits and jagged nails sprung from their new fingertips. Once blooded, they