Page 63 of Devoured

“Glad you still think my hair is pretty.”

I narrow my eyes. “Actually, it’s sweaty. And frizzy.”

He winces at that. “Yes, well, you try riding in a tourist bus without any air-conditioning. Perhaps you’d long for the dungeon.”

“Oh, definitely,” I hiss, each word like coarse sand in my throat. “I miss it already.” He winks at me and picks up the saw. I shut my eyes. “Can you just… can you distract me?”

“I can’t exactly perform a juggling routine while I’m sawing—”

“Sin!” I peer out of one eye just to glare at him, but he’s grinning down at me, and he looks so boyish, so youthful and handsome, that I almost forget he’s about to saw into me. Almost.

“As you wish.” He offers me the rolled towel again, and I bite down. Hard. But he doesn’t move for several seconds. Instead, he watches me, his brow furrowed with concern. “I’m sorry, Vanessa.”

My heart continues to pound against my ribs at his words, at his presence, at the tendril of pain curling ribbons through my chest. I merely close my eyes in response.

He drags the serrated blade across my left wristbone, and my entire body ignites. I cry out around the towel, staring at him in feral desperation.

“It won’t be long. I’ll be quick.” He glances at me apologetically before pressing a steadying hand onto my abdomen. I try to remain still. But even with the help of the pain reliever, the vibrations rattle me to my core.

Thankfully, he talks, and his words anchor me.

“Calix wasn’t responsible for his father’s death,” Sin says softly, continuing his story from only moments ago. “No one loved my uncle more than Calix. That makes sense now too. My uncle loved Calix just as much. Maybe he knew about Calix’s true parentage, or maybe Sybil compelled him to forget, but some part of him couldn’t. It didn’t matter. I never minded. For years, it was the three of us together. We could trust one another. Lean on one another. We were happiest when we were together. Then Léo Severi died, and Calix and I were alone.”

I wince against a searing rupture, like fireworks shot through my nerves, and then—a wave of immense relief crashes through me.

Sin looses a breath that makes my stomach flip involuntarily. “I tried to make sure Calix knew Léo’s death wasn’t his fault, but it’s hard to convince a kid when the adults surrounding him are kicking him down the stairs. And he felt guilty. Calix carries the burden of the world on his shoulders.”

“And—you don’t?” I hiss beneath the towel as Sin moves to my right wrist.

“Calix is different. He’s just. He cares about right and wrong. He cares about being good.”

“You just fought your mother,” I say—but the words come out muffled and strange.

Sin understands regardless. Just as he always does. “I’ve done everything wrong. We both know that. But yes, I try my best. And the best I could do for Calix back then was heal him. I learned how to suture wounds. I learned how to clean wolfsbane and silver from gashes. I even learned how to make alchemical ice for any sudden swelling. Eventually, he became a mountain of a man and didn’t need me to heal him anymore. No one dared beat Calix to a pulp once he was a foot taller and wider than them. But for those couple of years when we were boys… I was there. I did what I could.”

That’s why he learned this, I realize with a start. For Calix.

“Why?” I ask.

“He’s my cousin and my best friend. Everything I’ve done…” He hesitates before pulling the silver from my right wrist. I choke on another cry, and he cradles my cheek. His thumb brushes tender circles on my skin until I’m breathing again. “I never wanted to live in a world where justice meant beating a seven-year-old to near-death. What I’ve done isn’t right, but that wasn’t right either. I’m still figuring out the rest, but I’ll always protect Calix with my life.” He pauses, and his eyes seek mine. “I’m trying to protect you too. Doing a shit job, of course, but you were never supposed to be hurt.”

I shut my eyes again; I can’t bear to look at him. Not when his words threaten to dull those shattered parts of me.

I have to be strong. I can’t afford to be anything else.

With my eyes closed, it’s easier to loathe him. I count my breaths. I count the seconds. I count the flares of pain. Anything to forget the way his hands glide over my skin with gentle reverence. I shouldn’t have trusted him to heal me. If I’d been in my right mind, I would’ve shoved him away and crawled to Evie, or the infirmary, or anyone else.

But he fought Cora for me, and there are parts of him that aren’t wholly evil. He wants peace. He trusts me. I think he might even still love me. Does that matter? Should it matter? The torment is too much. Nausea burns acid up my throat as I stave off another icy chill. I can’t think clearly. I can’t—

“There,” Sin says. “Last one.”

The final manacle falls on the pillow with the rest, and my pain eases tenfold. My fever doesn’t break, however, until he feeds me a spoonful of bitter powder. “Purified stardust,” he explains. “It’ll help your regeneration. Usually we mix it with tea, but you need a full dose. You can have it watered down in a few hours.”

My body trembles from shock, or perhaps relief. “Is that it?”

“Yes.” He gathers all the tools and places them back in the basket. Then he wraps the manacles in a towel, setting them on top. “You need time to heal. Food, water.”

Sleep, I think miserably, but he doesn’t say it. Because he knows. And I’m not even certain it’s bad that he knows.