A Court of Innocents

32: Relief

I was no longer in the greenhouse. I was back in Rhysand's cabin, losing myself to the pleasure Tamlin had given me, and then taking a backseat in my own body as a power I'd never felt spilled out of me.

I was stuck on Tamlin now, on that thick gash across his throat that hadn't been there the last time I'd seen him, and I wondered—had I done that? Had my power cut him open? Had I hurt my mate?

Everything that had happened after I lost control that night was a blur. I had no memory of it. If I had hurt my mate, I would have no idea.

Perhaps Rhysand had been right to hide me away in that library. Perhaps I should go back there and rot. Perhaps the world would be safer if I was locked up—

Tamlin closed the distance between us. "Don't think like that. Never think like that."

Fear, worry, concern—these were the emotions darkening in his gaze. But not for his sake. He didn't feel any of those things because he was afraid of me, of my power.

That golden thread inside of me—the thread that I now realized tied me to him—pulled taut. He was doing it. He was willing me closer to him, whether he realized it or not. The sensation was so strange, so new, that I couldn't stop my mind from jumping inside of his.

And then I was no longer seeing through my eyes, but through Tamlin's. He gazed down at me, and what I saw...

Rhysand had looked at me with pity inside the library. For the few days that Azriel and I hid away inside the Moonstone Palace, he had nothing but pain in his eyes for me. Even Eris had asked if I'd been starving myself.

And what I saw through Tamlin's eyes... I had not realized the gravity of it...

My cheekbones had gone from sharp to lethal, drowning beneath dark smudges of purple. My eyes were sunken and dull. The glowing tan I'd earned after years spent in the Illyrian Steppes—it was completely wiped away. My arms were thinner, and my collarbones jutted out harshly beneath the cream dress that had been awaiting me this morning. I was a walking corpse.

I'd become intimately familiar with the hunger pangs of the lower class when I lived in Montesere. Silas and I had been dirt poor for the first few years we were together. We often faced the choice of spending our last coin on food or repairs for the house. I went without as frequently as I could, knowing my fae body could handle it better than his mortal one.

But even then, I had never looked like this. Like my soul had died a week ago, and my body had been rotting ever since.

By the time I returned to my own body, Tamlin was steering us out of the greenhouse.

"Where are we going?" There was no emotion in my voice. Not when the gravity of him weighed so heavy on my shoulders.

The sight of my starved body flashed behind my eyelids for another moment before a worse image replaced it. I had stared at Tamlin's scar long enough to memorize the details of it, and now it was permanently painted on the walls of my mind.

Nausea jumped up my throat.

He moved with urgency, passing through hallway after hallway with the familiarity of someone who knew this place well. We hurried down a set of stairs that brought us to a basement. Old, used tables filled the small space, covered in ingredients that members of the Day Court whisked into food. I stopped in the doorway. Tamlin drifted around the room, gathering food in his arms, but I couldn't bring myself to look away from the cooks.

They were all High Fae. Perhaps Helion offered the position of palace cook to only the most elite, but I had a nagging feeling that there was another reason.