Page 88 of These Vile Hearts

The crystals dissolve quickly, and her mouth moves as she crunches down on the hard bits. It takes minutes that feel like centuries for her eyes to open again, black pupils swallowing the silver. “More,” she says, holding out a trembling hand.

I place a pile of sugar crystals in her palm, and she brings each of them clumsily to her mouth, chewing, swallowing, and laying her head back on the blue velvet cushion.

“Can I get you something else? More sugar? Water? Wine?”

“My pouch,” she says through a labored breath, her chest rising and falling in rapid succession. “With my—things in it.”

I pick up the silk pouch off the floor and offer it to her. She takes it, attempting and failing to sit up. Climbing onto the couch beside her, I grasp her shoulders and gently move her until she’s upright, leaning heavily against me.

With trembling fingers, she pulls out a mortal device, a squat plastic bottle, and a black cylindrical instrument. I watch, bemusedand silent, as she takes a thin strip from the bottle and inserts it into the electronic device, which illuminates with false light. Then she presses the black instrument to her pinkie, clicks a button, and pulls it away to reveal a drop of blood, which she presses against the strip. The machine emits an odd mechanical noise.

Maddox frowns at the machine but says nothing, only nods as if answering a silent question. Then she dumps everything into the pouch, tying it to her belt before lying back down, her head propped on my lap like I’m a pillow. “I’m just going to wait here until I don’t feel so…heavy.”

I start to ask her about what just happened, about why she is shaking and pale, about the devices and drugs, but I’m afraid she will move away from me. So I stay silent.

My right hand hovers above her shoulder, settling gently down and waiting for her to push me off. But she doesn’t. With my left hand, I brush the strands back from her speckled forehead, stroking my thumb along her temple.

Eventually, her rapid breathing slows. I realize the adrenaline coursing through my body has erased the effects of the tieg wine, an effective antidote.

Judging from her even breathing, I assume she’s fallen back to sleep, but then she says, “How’s your hangover?”

The smallest chuckle escapes my lips. “Mostly gone now.”

“Do you remember anything about last night?”

Guilt settles around my shoulders like a shawl of rocks. “Bits. I remember the dinner and drinks with Durian. I remember the piano…”

Blush colors her cheeks, but her voice hides it. “What about after all that?”

“I took a bottle of tieg wine from my brother’s room and drank it while Tamarind yelled at me to stop. He wouldn’t shut up the whole samara ride. I nearly rotted him.”

“What else do you remember?”

“After that is mostly a blur. I know I used my…hazardous powerat Magesté. And I’m guessing you probably saw?”

Snorting at this, she nods against my leg. “I definitely saw.”

My eyes squeeze closed. “I’m sorry you had to witness that. I’m sure it was—”

“It was incredible,” she says on a breath.

“—what?”

“You destroyed that blood nymph with one sweep of your hand. I stabbed it in the side with a dagger, and that still didn’t take it down. But you just walked in and”—she snaps her fingers—“turned the monster to dust.”

A gentle laugh falls from my lips, dissipating quickly. “You’re probably the only person in this whole forest who has anything remotely positive to say about my power.”

She takes a deep breath in and lets a deep breath out. Then she turns over until she’s on her back, looking up at the ceiling. My left hand moves to the top of her head, and my right pulls away. She looks at me, and my thumb stills on her temple.

“Just so you know,” she says in a quiet voice, “you’re not a monster, Castor. In fact, you are much too lovable.”

My heart leaps to my throat. The wordlovableisn’t enough to set my curse in motion. For a bizarre moment, I realize my first thought isn’t of the pact with Durian or fulfilling it. There’s no leap of excitement when the wordlovablefalls from her lips. No, my gut reaction is panic and fear. Fear forher.

Anguish vines through my ribs, wrapping around my throbbing heart. My voice comes out half strangled. “Why would you say that?”

Her eyes move back and forth, from my right to my left, as if searching for something. “Seems like you feel that way sometimes, like your power somehow makes you this dark, despicable thingwho’s undeserving of care. But I could be wrong. I’ve been wrong a lot lately, shockingly enough.”

My teeth press together before I admit, “Sometimes I do feel that way. All the time, actually. I think people only speak kindly to me because they’re afraid. After last night, I can’t really blame them.”