Page 132 of Consort's Glory
Her chin wobbled as she valiantly blinked away tears. The sight broke his damn heart.
His witch, so brilliant at compartmentalizing, was also a practical, determined sort of woman. She did not let misfortune or fear or circumstance drag her down. Even when the end closed in around her, she kept going.
Margot Solbourne was no weeper, but in that moment, when her skin was blistered to undo a profound wrong, she struggled to hold on to her usual composure.
He could see it beginning to crash down on her, the first bits of shattered rock that would soon turn into a landslide, and knew that this moment was the start of a long and painful process.
My love, he crooned, pouring as much of his adoration and his pride into their bond as he was physically and psychically capable of. Oh, my love. You are so strong. So, so strong. You don’t need to process everything at once. We take steps one at a time, remember? And we do it together.
The metallic scent in the air got sharper until, with a great burst of magic, it became more than just energy. Margot made a small sound of distress, her shoulders jumping with a full body jolt. A bloom of warm copper and salt flooded his senses, drawing his outraged gaze to the vivid tracks of blood sliding down the creamy column of her throat.
Fara sat back in her seat, apparently satisfied with her work, as Theodore barked out, “What have you done?”
“Blood’s normal for a sigil as deeply embedded as that. Nothing to get your panties in a twist about.” The old woman sent him a cool look as she gave Margot a single, conciliatory pat on the shoulder. “That’s one done, then. Want to look?”
Fara held out a small compact mirror, but Margot didn’t take it. Her face had gone ashen and her eyes remained fixed on his, as if she couldn’t bear to even glance at the reflective glass for fear of what she’d find there.
Margot sucked in a shuddering breath. A single tear escaped her stubborn grip as she locked eyes with him. Her voice was barely even a whisper when she asked, “How does it look?”
He squeezed her hands and held his breath. Theodore’s eyes followed the trail of vivid, iron-rich blood up her throat and was, for just a moment, taken back to the first time he saw her in the flesh. Like that night in front of the bombed shell of the Healing House, she looked stricken, blooded, but determined. The only difference was that now she didn’t look at him like he came to ruin what was left of her life.
She looked at him like he was the only being she could trust.
Theodore swallowed, his throat thickened by his worry, by his fierce pride in his consort, and beheld her elvish ears for the first time.
He was staggered by the picture she made: bloodied, sitting stiff in a chair by herself, tears clinging to her lashes, and one ear as round as any humans and the other a perfect, dainty point. A striking image that encapsulated everything she was and all that could be, had been, and would never be again.
The point of her ear was not nearly as large as his own, but held a gentle curve like the end of a plum leaf. He hadn’t worried that she would look strange with her glamour removed, but he knew she’d entertained the stray thought that the effect might be similar to what happened when one wore glasses for so long, people forgot what one looked like without them. Theodore was happy to report that Margot’s ears, like the rest of her, were perfect.
Overwhelmed, he kissed their clasped hands three times before he could manage to get a word out. “It’s beautiful,” he rasped.
Another tear slid out from under her control even as she asked, “No little curl?”
He kissed their hands again. “No,” Theodore breathed against her skin. “No curl.”
She nodded, blinking fast. Relief flowed through their bond, mingling with a profound grief that knew no name, no place of purchase. It merely was.
Even when it felt like she was unraveling inside the safety of their bond, the shelter he so willingly provided, Margot didn’t miss a beat. Turning her head toward Fara, she said plainly, “I’m ready for the next one, Auntie.”
* * *
The entire procedure only took forty-five minutes. They were among the longest minutes of his life.
By the time Fara declared Margot officially free of the glamour she’d laid twenty-six years prior, Theodore felt stripped raw. Despite the fact that Margot healed the wounds behind her ears immediately, and even with all traces of blood gone, he felt her pain echoing on a loop in his mind, tearing at him with each pass.
And yet it was nothing compared to how Margot felt.
At first, as they retreated into their bedroom, she was still. Her head was empty; her thoughts slightly fuzzy from emotion and adrenaline and the lingering buzz of pain. And then she caught her reflection in the glass of the huge, floor to ceiling windows behind their bed.
Margot, so strong for so very long, shattered.
Theodore caught her when her knees buckled. They slid onto the floor together, his arms looped around her middle as she bent over and heaved great, silent sobs into the floor. It was as if the breath had left her body. The avalanche buried her under a lifetime of pain, knocking the strength from her limbs and crushing her ability to cry out, to breathe.
Her blunt claws scraped at the floor as her fingers curled, seeking purchase. Theodore held her tighter and squeezed his eyes shut. Helplessness churned like acid in his stomach, mingling uneasily with an immense relief. Each wracking sob was a lash on his soul, but he knew this was necessary.
Like the burning away of the sigils, the stubborn block on Margot’s grief and pain needed to be removed.
I’m here, he whispered to her, over and over, as he nuzzled the back of her neck. I’m here. You’re not alone, my love. Never alone.
