Chapter 90 Won't
He reached down, his large, calloused hands grabbing my shoulders. He hauled me up from the chair. His grip was bruising, his fingers digging into the thick grey wool of my dress. He didn't shake me, but the sheer force of his touch made my breath hitch. The magic in my throat flared, a hot, desperate spark demanding to be released as a gasp or a cry.
I swallowed it down. It tasted like burning copper. I squeezed my lips together so tightly they went numb, and finally lifted my eyes to meet his.
The raw agony in his sapphire gaze made my chest cave in.
"Say something," he pleaded, the anger bleeding out of him, leaving only a hollow, terrifying desperation. "Insult me. Curse me. Call me the butcher of the Southern Rift. Tell me you wish I had drowned three hundred years ago. Just open your mouth and let the sound out, Nerissa. I can hear you choking on it."
I raised my right hand. I pressed my index finger against his chest, right over the spot where I knew the necrotic flesh festered beneath his crisp white shirt and heavy wool coat. I pressed hard, feeling the unnatural, sluggish heat of the curse seeping through the layers of fabric.
I tapped his chest twice. You. Then I tapped my own throat, my fingers brushing against the high collar of my dress. I shook my head violently.
I won't kill you.
"I am already dead," Klaus hissed, his hands moving from my shoulders to cup my face. His palms were hot, his thumbs resting against my cheekbones. "I have been dead since the day your grandmother carved that curse into my ribs. You are not saving me, little fish. You are just sharing the grave."
I tried to pull away, but he held me fast. The proximity was intoxicating and agonizing. I wanted to lean into his hands. I wanted to open my mouth and tell him I loved him, that the curse didn't matter, that I would find another way.
But I knew the rules of the magic. The Scribe's translation had been absolute. Every note was poison. Every word was a drop of black sludge in his heart.
I reached up and wrapped my hands around his wrists, trying to pry his fingers away from my face. I pulled, gritting my teeth against the burning ache in my lungs.
Klaus didn't let go. Instead, his thumb dropped down, brushing against my tightly sealed lips.
"Open your mouth," he whispered, his face inching closer to mine until I could feel the warmth of his breath against my skin. "Please. I can feel the rot building in your veins. Your skin is cold. Your eyes are losing their light. If you let the Blight fester inside you, it will eat your mind before it stops your heart."
I shook my head, tears pricking the corners of my eyes. I pressed my lips tighter against his thumb.
"Nerissa," he groaned, his forehead dropping to rest against mine. His entire massive frame was trembling. "Do you think I want to live in a world where you are silent? Do you think I want to breathe clear air if it costs you your voice?"
I let go of his wrists. I brought my hands up, framing his face just as he was framing mine. I ran my thumbs over the sharp, exhausted lines of his cheeks, feeling the rough stubble along his jaw. I looked deep into his eyes, letting all the devastating, ruined love I felt for him rise to the surface.
I didn't need to speak to tell him. The grief was a shared language between us.
I choose you, my eyes said. I choose your life over my voice.
Klaus let out a broken, jagged sound that tore at the silence of the room. He pulled back just enough to look at my face, his sapphire eyes swimming with a helpless, infuriated sorrow.
He dropped his hands from my face and stepped back, pacing away from me like a caged animal. He ran his hands through his perfectly styled silver hair, ruining the neatness, making him look wild and unhinged.
"You stubborn, foolish girl," he rasped, pacing in front of the dead hearth. "You don't understand what you are doing. The Emperor is already asking questions. He noticed the water in the eastern bay is turning murky again. He noticed I am not coughing blood into my handkerchiefs during the council meetings."
I stood perfectly still, watching him. The mention of the Emperor sent a cold spike of genuine fear through my stomach.
"He thinks the Anchor is failing," Klaus continued, turning to face me. "He thinks my body is finally rejecting the curse. If he realizes the truth—if he realizes you are deliberately holding the magic back to spare me—he will force it out of you. He doesn't care if it breaks your mind. He only cares about the clear water."
I crossed my arms over my chest, lifting my chin in a silent gesture of defiance. Let the Emperor try. I had locked the door from the inside, and I swallowed the key. Nothing would make me sing.
Klaus stopped pacing. He stared at me, taking in my rigid posture, the tight, bloodless line of my mouth, and the black silk tied around my wrist.
The anger vanished from his face, replaced by a bleak, devastating realization. He realized he couldn't win this fight. He couldn't force me to speak without physically harming me, and he would rather burn the Citadel to the ground than hurt me himself.
He walked slowly back toward me, his boots dragging slightly on the stone. He stopped a foot away, his hands hanging uselessly at his sides.
"I have listened to the screams of dying men on a hundred battlefields," Klaus said, his voice dropping to a gravelly, hollow whisper. He wasn't yelling anymore. He sounded completely defeated. "I have heard the sound of ships cracking in half, and the sound of my own bones snapping in the deep."
He reached out, his hot, calloused fingers gently brushing the black silk ribbon tied around my wrist.
"But I swear to you," he murmured, his sapphire eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that made the room spin, "your silence is louder than your scream. It is deafening, Nerissa. And it is going to kill us both."
I stared back at him, the burning ash in my throat threatening to choke me. A single tear escaped my eye, slipping down my cheek. It felt hot, stinging the cold skin.
Klaus didn't wipe it away this time.
He looked at my sealed lips one last time, turned on his heel, and walked out of the room. The heavy oak door shut behind him, the iron latch clicking into place.