Chapter 25: Half-Dead, Fully Scolded

The world was still a blur of shadows and wood grain when I stirred. My cheek was pressed against something smooth and deliciously cool—the tavern’s bar, sticky with old ale and someone else’s regrets. My head felt like it had been used as a drum in some goblin war band, and my neck… gods, every muscle in it was splintered kindling.

I stayed where I was, half-asleep, half-drowning in liquor still sloshing through my veins. Around me, voices fluttered, not quite words at first, just soft murmurs that pressed like cloth over my ears. Then sharper—scolding, irritated. A woman’s voice, stern, with that particular cadence that made me feel about ten years old and in trouble for climbing the wrong tree.

“… disgraceful… honestly, sleeping here like that…”

It took me a moment, but I knew that tone. Serine. Sweet little Serine, sounding like a mother about to ground her wayward daughter for life.

Another voice—lower, apologetic—slipped in to soothe. Cassian, probably. The barkeep muttered back, his words half-drowned under the pounding of my headache. Something about “letting the wretch sleep it off.”

Wretch. Charming.

I didn’t bother opening my eyes. The bar was cool, and I liked it there. If I never moved again, I’d be fine.

Then arms slid under me, steady and strong, and my body lifted off the bar. Whoever it was carried me like I weighed no more than a sack of flour. I didn’t need to guess. Even drunk as a sea-soaked rat, I knew the shape of him.

“Cassie,” I hiccupped, the word tumbling out in a slur.

His chest was hard under my cheek, his heartbeat steady against my ear. My hand, traitorous and drunk, wandered upward until my fingers brushed the line of his jaw. His face was set like carved stone, serious even in this ridiculous rescue mission.

“You shouldn’t be carrying me, adulterer,” I croaked, grinning wickedly through the hiccups. “What about Serine, huh? What will she think?”

My fingers lingered against his cheek, tracing warmth. “Although,” I added with exaggerated conspiratorial hush, “I must admit… being carried by a handsome boy like you is quite exciting. We won’t tell her, will we?” I burst out laughing at my own joke, a sound halfway between a cackle and a cough.

“Rissa!” Serine’s voice cracked like a whip beside me. She walked at his side, face flaming, mortified beyond belief. “You shouldn’t say things like that! Cassian might misinterpret!”

Poor thing. She was scandalized, and gods, I loved it.

Cassian himself didn’t say a word. His grip on me tightened just slightly, his ears and neck flushed a brilliant red. He looked, from what I could glimpse through half-closed eyes, like he wanted the floor to swallow him whole.

That alone made the ache in my skull worth it.

I laughed again, though it came out hoarse. “Even half-dead and drunk as a skunk, I can still toy with my two favorite little puppies.” My smile wobbled, tiredness dragging at my face. “My sweet, innocent pups.”

And with that final barb, the exhaustion won. My eyes slipped shut, the world tilted, and I let go, sinking into the darkness with a grin still curling on my lips.

***

The afternoon sun stabbed through the window like a spear, landing directly across my face as if the gods themselves had decided my hangover wasn’t punishment enough. My skull throbbed. My tongue felt like I’d been chewing hay for half a week, and the sour taste of my own breath clung to me, ricocheting back under the blanket I had pulled over my head.

Buegh.

I groaned. “I’ve already humiliated myself enough in this life to last ten lifetimes—no way I’m going down to a damned sunbeam.” My voice rasped against the stale air. In my head, the thought came sharp, dripping with venomous sarcasm: One day, if I ever get enough power, I’ll erase every light, every sound that dares to torment innocent, hungover souls like me.

A shame, really. It was a good joke, but no one was around to hear it.

In fact, it wasn’t bad at all, Arkanthos rumbled, his voice echoing directly in my skull.

I froze under the sheets, eyes narrowing. “Oh, for fuck’s sake. I forgot you could eavesdrop in my head.”

The skull sat on the bedside table, its hollow sockets fixed on me in eternal judgment.

“This should be illegal, you know,” I muttered, dragging the blanket tighter around my face. “There’s going to come a day when I need to hide something, something so mortifying or damning that I can’t even stand the thought of you knowing it. What then, huh? Am I supposed to just… gouge my own brain out?”

The silence stretched, heavy.

I jabbed a finger in his direction. “Don’t tempt me, bone-boy. I swear, if it comes to it, I’ll gift you to the first stray dog I find in the gutter. Maybe he’ll gnaw what’s left of your marrow—if there’s even any left after these millennia. Though, judging by the way you sound, I’d say you’re drier than my soul after last night’s drinking.”

The skull just stared, sockets unblinking, as if daring me to go on.

I sighed and flopped back onto the pillow, glaring at the ceiling. “Great. Hungover, roasted alive by the sun, and haunted by a snarky skull. This is my life now.”

“Mistress, we must talk,” Arkanthos said, his tone clipped, without his usual flourishes. “You already know—”

“Yes, yes, Arkanthos, I know.” I waved a limp hand from under the blanket. “I have to tell my dear little puppies the truth, blah blah blah, end of the world, end of my secrets, yada yada.” I peeked one bloodshot eye at the skull glaring at me from the nightstand. “But please, for the love of every god that’s ever existed, give me thirty minutes of wallowing in shame and regret. Be merciful. I beg you.”

A pause. Then his hollow sockets almost seemed to gleam with amusement.

“At least I have a plan,” I added, trying to sound defiant, though my voice came out hoarse and pitiful.

“Ah, I expected nothing less from you, Mistress,” Arkanthos replied, and there was something almost proud in his dry rasp. “Though you should know—no plan in existence will spare you from Lady Serine’s wrath. Truly, she seemed most… incensed.”

I groaned and buried my head under the pillow. “Of course she’s furious. Why wouldn’t she be? I mean, who doesn’t love dragging a drunk woman out of a tavern?”

Arkanthos said nothing. The silence was louder than words.

I clenched my eyes shut. Yep. I’m doomed.

“Honestly,” I muttered into the mattress, “maybe destroying worlds and starting over isn’t such a bad idea. Where’s Mr. Grimmy McDrama-Cape when you need him, huh? For once, that creepy bastard could be useful—hit the big red reset button before Serine skins me alive.”

No answer. Just the oppressive weight of my hangover, the quiet disapproval of a skull, and the looming thundercloud of Serine’s righteous fury waiting for me outside that room.

I sighed, dragging myself upright, hair sticking out in every possible direction. “Right then. Time to face my executioner.”