Page 96 of Ignite
And now, his gaze remains unfocused as I mix lavender and rose into the bathwater until the aroma is heavy with fresh notes of floral herbs. I brought a gas lamp from the now-empty bar up with me, setting it in the corner of the washroom to provide a soft glow.
It isn’t until my hand presses against his face that he finally comes back to me—if only for a fleeting moment.
I stop us at the foot of the copper tub. He’s barely with me.
“Do you need help?” I ask softly, not wanting to startle him.
He doesn’t answer, but he nods absentmindedly.
I swallow, bracing myself for the glimpses of his scarred flesh that I saw in the Vale. His shirt was torn enough to see some of what Vidaris had done to him, but I knew it would only be a small piece of the story.
Slowly, I peel off his shirt, grabbing the bottom hem. Scorch lines mark the lower half as if held beneath a fire, the fabric jagged and singed black. My gaze rises to his face, but he’slooking at the floorboards. His clothes weren’t like this when I left to fetch our food.
I want to help him, but I don’t know how.
He feels so far away, even as my fingers grip the tattered cotton of his shirt. The distance in his eyes is unlike anything I’ve felt with him in the past. I never realized how open he was with me until he began to close himself off.
My mouth opens, ready to ask him why he’s shutting me out, but I freeze.
I’m barely functioning some days myself; who am I to help him through this? My magic is depleting, half of the council thinks I’m going to be the downfall of Penyth, and we’ve yet to figure out a solution to save the souls trapped by Vidaris.
My eyes sting, and I bite down on my lip until a metallic tang leaks onto my tongue.
Instead of talking, I continue removing his clothing, hoping that right now, a warm bath is enough to settle his thoughts.
I remember how he wouldn’t let anyone near him when he washed in the creek, but nothing could’ve prepared me for this. My words stay lodged in my throat, unable to speak as I take in what she’s done to him. To my Graylen.
Tears prick behind my eyes again. I blink rapidly, keeping them at bay.
Instead, I reach for his hands. They’re like ice, cold and stiff.
My eyes shift down to where our hands are clasped, and heat surges through my veins. My vision dulls into black as every breath burns against my chest.
Unlike when he was in the Vale, covered in dirt, dried blood, and torn clothing, I can see it so much clearer now. There’s no hiding what he’s endured. Every nerve in my body screams to dosomething. To cry for him, to find Vidaris and make her pay.
I swallow thickly, fighting the roaring emotions rapidly flowing through me, and tear my eyes away from his abdomen. I didn’t think it could get worse—but I was wrong. My gaze stops on his arms, on the tattoos that he wore with such pride.
His ink markings have been torn to shreds.
Every single one—each swirl and shape—has been slashed to ribbons.
“Graylen—” My voice cracks.
Deep slashes mar the inked flesh. Every swirl now broken by a scar, every straight line now jagged. It looks as if a knife had carved his arms with the sole purpose of destroying his tattoos. The spot where my name used to be—a story I still haven’t learned fully—has been entirely severed and is now unreadable.
It was the only tattoo I could understand—it’s what brought us together and led to him figuring out who I was. It was the start of my new life, the start of getting to know the real Graylen.
I gasp, and he flinches. “Your tattoos?—”
“It’s fine,” he rasps, harsher than I’ve heard him speak before.
But itisn’tfine. None of this is fine. But I don’t know what Graylen needs right now—my fury or my tenderness. Anger swirls in my chest; no matter how much I try to stay calm, every vein within me fills with rage, burning like acid as my blood pumps through them.
I swallow the anger, forcing it down and shoving it away with every ounce of self-control I can muster. Only for him would I store it away and reach for gentleness.
Better to let the rage simmer until I can aim it at the right person. Thegoddesswho stole him away from me. For him, I won’t stop until she’s screaming for mercy. Even then, I doubt I’d be able to keep myself from making her feel every ounce of pain he endured at her hands.
I clench my jaw and resume carefully peeling his clothes off.
