Ayden felt a pang of guilt for waking her up. She wondered if Neave had slept any better than her.

  Neave rubbed her eyes, pushing her hair out of the way. “Ayden, just tell me what you want.”

  “I…” She swallowed. It seemed so stupid now that she was here. What difference would telling Neave she missed her make when Neave could feel it and chose to ignore it. She didn’t want to walk away.

  Neave’s face softened, something too close to pain reflected in her eyes.

  “Forget it, Ayden,” she said. “I’m not mad. I just…”

  Pressure built up in Ayden’s chest. Neave had to know Ayden knew she was lying. She could feel the anger, pressing and shifting at Ayden, at Yule, at the idea of them…

  “Why do you care who I sleep with?” she asked. Her mouth felt numb, her brain too slow to catch the question she’d never meant to ask.

  Neave opened her mouth and then closed it again. Anger crested up in Neave, burning through Ayden as painfully as if Neave had stabbed her.

  “Are you fucking with me right now?” Neave asked.

  Ayden clenched her jaw, keeping her face as straight as she could. Neave shook her head, stepping back to close the door, and Ayden should have let her go. She knew better than anyone how dangerous it could be to let anyone in. She didn’t want to spend another minute without Neave. She’d done it before. She didn’t want to do it again.

  She lunged forward, catching the door before Neave could close it all the way. Neave flinched, surprise flicking through her so strongly that she didn’t move. Even though she could have pushed Ayden out of the way.

  “Ayden…” she said, her voice faint. Her mind was a mess, twisting around and making Ayden herself so confused.

  Ayden wanted… she wanted… She was scared of how much she wanted. “I don’t…” Ayden let the door go. “Forget it.” She rocked back on her heel. She shouldn’t have come here. “Never mind.” She stepped back, dizzy and confused and terrified.

  Neave caught her arm, Ayden’s name bouncing around in her mind like she was afraid Ayden would disappear if she didn’t stop her. Her fingers were clamped on Ayden’s elbow, hot and callused. Her face was so close, her lips parted and her breath warm, and Ayden wanted to breathe her in.

  She lunged forward, pressing her lips to Neave’s, and Neave made a surprised noise in the back of her throat, her fingers weaving themselves in Ayden’s hair and pulling her close. Her lips were softer than Ayden had thought they would be, insistent and demanding as she pressed Ayden into the bed. Her hands traced every curve, her stomach, her chest, dropping to the waistband of her pants.

  “Don’t run away again,” Neave whispered against her skin, warm and comforting, her pleasure echoing through Ayden’s mind.

  ◆◆◆

  Ayden woke before Neave, the sheets tangled around their legs and Neave’s hair wrapped around Ayden’s left arm. The sun was dipping below the trees, Ayden’s watch starting in the next hour, and she wanted nothing more than to stay with her arm draped over Neave’s waist and Neave’s head on her shoulder. She knew what would happen if she did, if she let herself fall any more than she already had.

  She slipped away from Neave, laying the covers back over her and heading out. She changed her clothes and went to the Wall, ignoring Oliver’s raised eyebrow at how early she was.

  Neave didn’t say anything about Ayden sneaking out on her the next time she saw her, didn’t call her out on running away as Ayden had half expected. When she arrived for her own watch, she pressed a kiss on Ayden’s cheek like it was her due and then continued down the Wall, and Ayden ached.

  Oliver didn’t say anything about Neave and Ayden’s relationship either, even when he could clearly feel them fucking, his mind turned dutifully away as he tried to focus on his watch. He did spend less time in Ayden’s room than he used to, making himself scarce when there was any chance they could spend time together. It was like he thought they were dating.

  Rory’s displeasure with their relationship seeped into everything he did. He kept his mind closed more often than not, his head turned firmly away when they were together, and Ayden reveled in his discomfort.

  “Ayden,” Rory said, following her out of the dining hall after breakfast.

  Ayden closed her eyes, stopping a few feet from the dining hall entrance. She had just finished her watch, and she wanted to sleep. She wished Rory would just leave her alone.

  “I’m busy,” Ayden answered.

  “How long are you going to avoid me?” Rory asked.

  “What do you want, Rory?”

  “I made a mistake, Ayden,” he said, low and desperate.

  Oliver’s concern flickered through them, but he didn’t get involved. Ayden wished he would. Anything to end this conversation.

  “I never meant for Ethan to get hurt.” He stepped closer to her, barely a foot away, and Ayden tensed. “I never meant—” He let out a harsh breath. “Can’t you understand that? Can you just try—”

  He reached out, his hand curling around Ayden’s elbow, and disgust, hot and heavy shot through her. He cared more about Ayden’s forgiveness than he did about what he’d done to Ethan. She jerked away from him, shoving his shoulder. He stumbled back a step, nostrils flaring, eyes wide.

  “You don’t get it,” she said. “I’m never going to forgive you. If it was up to me, you’d be gone. The only reason you’re still here is because Neave wants you here.” She shoved his shoulder again, and his lips twisted angrily.

  Ayden… Neave warned.

  “And Neave always gets what she wants,” Rory said. “Damn anyone else.”

  “Damn you, at least,” she answered.

  He lunged at her.

  She should have been expecting it. She should have been watching the way his muscles tensed. She should have been paying attention instead of listening to Neave, instead of letting her anger haze her vision.

  “You motherfucking—” His fingers dug into the side of her neck, slamming her back against the side of the dining hall.

  Her head cracked against the bricks, her vision going foggy and her head spinning.

  Oh my god, someone’s voice echoed through her mind. Footsteps banged through her mind. A bow clattered against bricks.

  “I hate you,” he ground out, his teeth an inch from her face, his breath against her nose.

  She wanted to bite him. She wasn’t sure she could move.

  “I hate you.” He pulled her forward and slammed her back against the wall again.

  “Get away from her!” Neave’s voice was high, frightened, far away.

  Her footsteps crashed through Ayden’s mind. Rory’s grip slacked, his head turning away, and Ayden lashed out, digging her nails into the first soft flesh she could find. He cried out, jerking away from her, and she shoved her nails in as hard as she could, feeling them sink into something soft and wet, a moist schlek sounding as her thumb sunk in.

  The hands let go of her neck completely, and she slid down the wall. Arms closed around her, hands cupping her cheek and cradling her neck. She coughed roughly, her throat spasming. Voices bounced around in her skull, sharp and loud, and she bit back a whimper. The arms tightened, her face buried in soft skin.

  “—I wasn’t trying—”

  “I don’t care what you were trying—”

  “—could have killed—”

  “It takes more than that to kill—”

  “Fuck you, Rory,” Neave said, her voice coming into focus. Her anger vibrated through Ayden, hot and contagious. Her left hand soothed down Ayden’s back gently, her right hand cupping her cheek.

  Ayden coughed into her neck, Neave’s hair brushing along her cheek.

  “I thought Ayden was wrong about you,” Neave said.

  “That’s not—” Rory started.

  Ayden forced herself to look up, the sunlight dancing along her eyes and making her head throb.

  “Just stop,” Oliver interrupted. He stood a little in front of them, his Claymore still balanced in his hand.

  Rory stood a few feet away, blood dripping down his face. His left eye was a bloody mess, deep gouges cut along his forehead and cheekbones.

  “Stay away from us,” Neave said. She stood, lifting Ayden along with her. She wrapped her hand around Ayden’s waist, ignoring the way Ayden tried to pull away from her.

  Her headache was already mostly gone, the spots having stopped dancing in front of her eyes. The concussion was probably already cleared up.

  I don’t care, Neave answered.

  Ayden didn’t know what she expected to happen. Neave and Oliver to forgive Rory again? It seemed possible. Probable. She couldn’t see how the slight was any worse this time around, and yet, they packed together in her room, pushing her down on the bed and insisting she stay there even though she was fine.

  I don’t care if you think you’re fine, Neave answered. Her hand was hot as it rubbed circles in Ayden’s waist, her thigh warm under Ayden’s head. Oliver pulled her shoes off, his fingers gentle on her ankles.

  “I’m sorry,” Neave murmured, her lips hot on Ayden’s forehead, her cheekbone, her chin, the corner of her mouth.

  Oliver shifted uncomfortably, muttered something about someone needing to be on watch and his hands retreated.

  Ayden didn’t understand why the way Neave pressing into her that night felt like an apology or why it felt like a balm, soothing her in a way nothing had in a long time.

  Oliver and Neave didn’t forgive Rory, didn’t so much as speak to him. It only took him barely a week to accept that they weren’t going to come around, shutting his mind off with a sharp snap that felt permanent. It felt so good to have him out of her mind.

  ◆◆◆

  They stood on the Wall a week later, Yule clutching the finished potion in her hand as she stood beside a dead Nightmare. A puddle of slime drooled out from the Nightmare’s stomach from when it had died. It was barely an hour after the last attack, and Ayden wanted nothing more than to just sleep, but Yule had wanted to use fresh slime.

  “Ready?” Ayden asked.

  Yule nodded and handed over the bottle. It was full of bright green liquid, warm to the touch and glowing slightly. It didn’t look particularly safe to drink.

  “Just…” Yule reached out a hand. “Just don’t stick your whole hand in the slime.”

  Ayden glanced up, and Yule hesitated, her fingers curling into a fist as she pulled away. All the confidence she’d had before seemed suddenly gone, her eyebrows knitting together and her shoulders tense. It didn’t matter. Ayden was going to see this through. She lifted the potion to her mouth and tipped it back.

  The potion didn’t taste like anything but warm liquid pressing in her mouth. She knelt next to a freshly killed Nightmare. Yule bit her lip, her eyes flicking over Ayden.

  Ayden dipped her fingers in the slime, and Neave tensed. The slime felt hot, tingling, but it didn’t burn her. She pulled her hand out and wiped it on the scales of the Nightmare. Yule let out a loud breath.

  “Are you alright?” Yule asked.

  Ayden held her hand out, her fingers catching the moonlight, and Yule gasped, grabbing Ayden’s wrist to bring it closer to her face.

  “It worked!” she said. “It worked!”

  “Yes,” Ayden answered, pulling her hand away.

  Neave glanced over Ayden’s shoulder, her hair brushing along her neck, the touch of her fingers along the back of her hand hot. Ayden shivered and curled her fingers.

  “We should celebrate!” Yule said, her smile bright and wide and full of excitement.

  Ayden couldn’t find it in herself to say no.

  ◆◆◆

  Yule sat across from her in the dining hall, an empty mug on the table. She leaned over the table, her face pleasantly flushed from the alcohol. Neave had left after barely twenty minutes, her lips twisting with disgust as she’d watched Yule drink. Now that she was gone, only Yule and Ayden were in the dining hall. It made Ayden miss Ethan and his parties. Even though it was because she was drunk, there was a level of levity to Yule now that Ayden wasn’t sure she was able to reach anymore.

  “I’m so glad that worked,” Yule said. Her hair fell out of its braid in little whisps around her face, her blue eyes hazy, and her dress slipped off her left shoulder. She was so far from the arrogant witch she wanted everyone to see.

  “Why do you serve him?” Ayden asked.

  Yule pushed up off the table, her eyes focusing after a long moment.

  “I don’t—” She sighed between her teeth. “We’re partners.”

  “That’s why everyone calls you his pet witch,” Ayden answered.

  Yule bit her lip, her face the picture of frustration. “It wasn’t always like that,” she said. “John wasn’t always this way. He—” She cut herself off, running a hand down her face.

  “I grew up in the west slums,” Yule said, her fingers tracing her mug.

  Neave shifted in the back of Ayden’s mind, unusually silent, especially compared to when Ayden had talked to Yule recently.

  “My parents died when I was fourteen, and…” She laughed sharply. “I’ve read your files. I know you know how the slums treat a child, especially a girl. Well, double it when they figure out you have a talent for witchcraft.”

  Ayden fingered her own water. Maybe she shouldn’t have been surprised. She’d just thought Angela Yule was as highborn and arrogant as the Byrnes had been, as her boss was. She hadn’t known Angela knew what it was to suffer.

  “John saved my life,” Angela said. “He met me one day while I was making a potion. He gave me a place to live, a title, a purpose. I would be nothing without him.”

  “And what about Adam Byrne? Or the people you experimented on?” Ayden asked.

  Angela shrugged, her lips twisting. A single piece of hair fell into her eyes, obscuring the bright blue. “I owe him everything,” she said like that explained selling her soul for deeds she’d never wanted done.

  Chapter Eleven

  Ayden ducked under a Nightmare’s claws, drawing her sword up and across its underbelly. It screeched, its eyes dulling as it fell to the bricks. Oliver’s elbow brushed against hers as another Nightmare fell by his hand. Neave was a little way down the Wall, her arrows firing one after another. Ayden slashed at another Nightmare, cutting it off from lunging at Oliver, pivoting on her heel to meet another.

  Ayden! Oliver cried out, surprise flashing through him. He shifted against her, shoving her backward with his body.

  She grunted as she caught herself on the bricks with her elbows, and then she screamed as pain ripped through Oliver. She twisted around, scrapping her knees and elbows.

  Oliver gasped, Rory’s sword sticking out straight through his chest. Rory stood across from him, his eyes wide, mouth gaping open.

  “NO!” Neave screamed, her voice too far away.

  Ayden’s body wouldn’t move.

  Rory pulled his sword out of Oliver, throwing it to the side as Oliver sagged. He caught him as he fell, cupping the side of his face and pressing against the gaping wound in his chest like he hadn’t been the cause. The Nightmares stood around them in a circle, no longer attacking as if they too were too shocked to continue.

  Oliver sagged into Rory, his heart stuttering out one last heartbeat, and for one horrible minute Ayden thought he would make it, that he would heal. Then it fell silent, their minds tearing apart again as he was ripped from them.

  Ayden screamed. Neave’s pain rippled through her. Rory pressed his face to Oliver’s hair, and disgust ripped through Ayden. She clenched her swords so hard her nails dug into her palms, the shock of physical pain grounding.

  “Get away from him,” she said, forcing herself to her feet.

  Rory raised his head, his face streaked with tears, his face still shocked.

  “He wasn’t supposed to—” He sucked in a sharp breath. “It wasn’t supposed to— He just jumped in front of me—”

  “What have you done?” Neave said, shoving aside an Immortal as she came to stand by Ayden.

  The Nightmares were retreating, watchmen and Immortals watching the scene with wide eyes like they could possibly understand how this felt.

  “It was supposed to be her,” Rory answered, his face twisting. He pointed at Ayden, his hand trembling, covered in blood.

  Ayden stepped forward, raising her sword. She was going to cut his head off. See if he survived that.

  Rory scrambled back, tripping over his own sword and leaving Oliver lying across the bricks like a pile of trash. His hand closed around the hilt of his sword, his eyes flicking over the watching Immortals and watchmen. He locked on Ayden, a snarl twisting his features, and Neave stepped between them, drawing her bow taut. Before she got a chance to fire, he raced across the Wall and jumped over the edge.

  Ayden and Neave ran after him, but he was already gone, his shadow disappearing into the trees.

  ◆◆◆

  The wind bit at Ayden’s fingers and her nose and her ears, so cold it trickled into her bones. Her fingers were numb around her swords, the stiffness of the leather the only indication that she was actually holding anything. It didn’t matter. It had only been three days since Oliver’s death. If she just kept looking, she might still find Rory.

  The trees swayed with the wind around her. It was one of the few times she’d been in the forest outside the Wall, and it was always somehow creepier to be down here, watching and waiting for an attack.

  Ayden, Neave said, her mind a desperate press for Ayden to come back.

  Ayden wanted to shut her out. She wanted to bring Rory’s head back and mount it on a stake in the middle of the training ground. She wanted to have been wrong about him. They should never have let him go in the first place. She had just been so upended by Oliver’s death that she’d chased him too slow, and now she’d lost his trail under a layer of fresh snow.

  For whatever reason, the Nightmares never attacked her while she was looking for Rory. She could hear them, rustling around in the trees and the fallen leaves as she walked, their breath smelling of singed sugar and their strange feet leaving those unmistakable scuttling marks in the dirt. Yet, they never stopped her, and she almost wished they would, wished she could sink her swords into something or die trying.

 

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