CoS30

## Chapter 30

**Chapter 30** of **City of Spells** follows **Tavia**.

## **Full Version**

“THAT IS NOT HOW you play Clover Cards,” Tavia said, throwing her hand down on the table.

“It’s how *I* play,” Wesley said.

“Yeah, well, you’re an idiot. And a cheat.”

Wesley scooped up Tavia’s cards and shuffled them into the rest of the deck.

The estate was quiet with the night, but while the rest of their army slept and rested their bones, Tavia and Wesley sat in the gardens with the moon hovering like a streetlamp above them.

This was the last night they had before they headed into battle and she’d wanted them to spend it together, like old times.

The air was balmy but there were rare moments when the wind picked up speed and ruffled the playing cards like feathers, like the night was breathing out a sigh of relief that it didn’t have to be alone. The darkness had Tavia and Wesley for company.

When Tavia won a hand, the wind clicked the nearby tree branches together in a steady clap.

When Wesley won, the trees themselves swayed so rhythmically that they created a low whistle, the leaves stirring in a rustled cheer.

Tavia didn’t think it was fair for plants to play favorites, especially when Wesley was so clearly a cheat, but apparently the trees liked it most when he played dirty.

“Want another game, or are you tired of losing already?” Wesley asked.

Tavia shot him a rude gesture. “It’s three all,” she said. “That’s not losing, that’s a draw.”

Wesley shrugged. “Whatever helps to stroke your ego.”

Tavia glared at him and snatched the deck back. “I’ll shuffle. That way you can’t palm the cards or fix your hand.”

“So little trust in me.”

Wesley put a hand to his chest, like he was entirely offended.

“Never trust an underboss,” Tavia said, dealing him his hand. “The only thing they’re good for is screwing people over.”

Wesley nodded, like she had a point. “That’s me,” he said.

The air shifted swiftly with his breath.

“Born a bastard. Destined to be a crook.”

Tavia paused mid-deal.

She hated the way his voice changed so abruptly when he said that. She’d only meant it to be a joke, but the resigned smile Wesley gave, casual and accepting, like that was his past and his future and he had no escape, made her want to scream.

It was she who had no choice.

Karam had seen it. Arjun had seen it.

Tavia was going to die by the end of this war, and if that happened, she didn’t want Wesley to spend the rest of his life feeling sorry for himself.

“Don’t talk shit,” Tavia said, laying the final card on the table.

Wesley quirked a brow. The moon pounded down, reflecting the unwavering black in his eyes that Tavia still couldn’t get used to.

“Don’t look so serious,” he said.

“Don’t be such an idiot, then,” Tavia countered. “None of us were born crooks. Ashwood made bastards out of us all.”

“Yet you turned out okay,” Wesley said.

Tavia nearly laughed.

“I’m not okay.”

She didn’t realize how true those words were until she said them.

They’d come out like a reflex, something to say so Wesley didn’t get the last word or convince himself he was the only awful person in the realms. But by the Many Gods, Tavia felt those words crawl across her skin like insects, biting down hard.

She wasn’t okay.

She hadn’t been okay for a long time.

Not since her mother died and not since Wesley had been taken from her.

And now, with the knowledge that his little sister was going to kill her. It was just another thing piling up on the unsteady walls she had built around herself, and with each new brick an old one crumbled.

Tavia had always said she didn’t believe in fate or destiny. They were just excuses for people who didn’t have the conviction to make their own choices. And yet here she was, with her life on the line, and she didn’t know what she could do to stop it. She couldn’t tell Wesley and take his focus from the war and to her own life, which she knew that he would in an instant.

She could only wait to die.

“I’m not okay,” Tavia said again, picking up her cards and trying to keep her focus intently on them. “And maybe I’m not turned out yet.”

“I hope that isn’t true,” Wesley said. “I hope this is who you are forever.”

Tavia glanced back at him, and she wanted so badly in that moment to tell him everything, but the way Wesley looked at her, like she was so shiny and new, like there was a light in her that never dimmed, trapped the words in her throat.

He hadn’t looked at her like that since that time in the tree house. At least not without turning away or making some kind of quip.

“I’m sorry that I couldn’t save you from Ashwood,” Tavia said. “I’m sorry you had to deal with all of that on your own.”

Wesley painted an easy smile on his face. “Quit apologizing,” he said. “It was just another day at the office.”

Tavia threw down her cards and stood up from the table with a disbelieving sigh.

“Stop messing around,” she said. “Can’t you be serious for once? You could have died.”

Wesley rolled his eyes, as though that was the most dramatic thing he had heard all day. “I don’t die,” he said.

It only made her angrier.

Wesley was stupid to believe that Ashwood’s twisted obsession with him made him indispensable. He was reckless and arrogant enough that someday someone was going to kill him and he wouldn’t even see it coming until the bullet landed between his eyes.

Wesley Thornton Walcott was not invincible.

He was just a boy.

“You’re ruining this for me,” Tavia said to him. “This is the last night we have before we head into battle and all you can do is be a cocky little git.”

Wesley stood up and buttoned his suit jacket. “Are you done being mad at me?” he asked. “Or should I go to bed and let you be dramatic on your own?”

Many Gods, Tavia wanted to punch him in the face.

“You think this is dramatic?” she said. “You’re the one who left me in the middle of a self-imploding island. One moment you were there and then suddenly you were just *gone*. You ran off with Zekia and I didn’t know if you were dead or alive, or if you were ever coming back. That was dramatic.”

“It wasn’t my first choice of strategies,” Wesley said. “And like I told you before, I don’t die. Haven’t you heard that demons have nine lives? Or is that cats?”

Tavia didn’t hesitate to lean over and push him.

Hard.

Harder, even, than she had meant to.

Wesley stumbled back a few steps.

“*Hey*,” he said, dusting off his suit jacket. “What’s wrong with you?”

Tavia wasn’t sure how to answer that. There were so many things wrong with the world, but he was the only thing that made sense—the only part of her life that seemed *right* anymore—and she was about to lose all of that.

Just as she was close to having everything she wanted— friends, a family, and Wesley—it was going to be stripped away from her.

“Stop making jokes and pretending like this is all a game,” she said. “I’m scared. Don’t you get that? I’m scared and I need you to tell me things are going to be okay.”

When Wesley frowned, a dimple appeared in the center of his brow that Tavia found so unreasonably distracting that she had to look away.

He stepped closer to her, his breath heavy, like he could read every thought going through her mind. When he swallowed, Tavia felt the sound in her bones, and when he lifted his hand to her chin, so her eyes met his again, she felt like every part of her was suddenly primed to fracture.

*You’re going to die*, she thought. *You’re going to die without ever telling him how you feel.*

“What’s wrong?” Wesley asked.

“You’re an idiot,” she said. “That’s always what’s wrong. You’re an idiot and I need you to . . . I just *need* you.”

Tavia tried to steady her shaking hands. Her shaking everything.

“I need you,” she said again.

It only took a breath, a tiny space within the seconds, for Wesley to grab her with enough force to send them both hurtling back into a nearby tree trunk. Tavia took in a quick breath and then Wesley’s lips were on hers, hands knotted in her hair, pulling her closer to him so that every inch of their bodies was touching.

Suddenly Tavia couldn’t think about anything else.

Not the war or Ashwood or the realms hanging on the line.

Not the fact that she was going to die and this would be the first and last time she ever kissed Wesley.

Tavia couldn’t focus on anything past the burning inside of her. Kissing Wesley helped put the fire out and then ignite it all over.

She ripped off his suit jacket and slid her hands across his chest, under the thin layer of his shirt. He was skinnier than she remembered and it broke something inside of her to think about why. The months of torture he’d endured alone and in the dark.

Wesley pulled away for a moment to push her hair from her eyes, revealing the high arc of her cheekbones. “Tavia, I—”

But she didn’t listen. Couldn’t listen.

She needed him. More than words. More than anything.

How had she gone her entire life without kissing him?

Tavia pulled Wesley’s head back to hers, sucking on his bottom lip, and Wesley pressed harder against her. Tavia traced the lines of his stomach and Wesley made a beautiful, wretched sound in the back of his throat that reverberated through her.

He moved his hands lower, sliding her up against the bark of the tree. Tavia hitched her legs around his waist so their bodies curved into each other.

She pulled away, breathless, panting as Wesley trailed kisses along her collarbone. Tavia cupped one arm around the back of his neck, pulling the small locks of hair and twisting them between her fingers.

His teeth skimmed Tavia’s neck and she knotted the collar of his shirt in her fist, before crashing her mouth back onto his.

She was hungry for him.

She felt like she had been hungry for years without ever admitting to it. But months apart, and then seeing him again, bruised and beaten but *alive*, had changed everything.

Tavia ran her teeth across Wesley’s lip. He tasted like oranges and bonfire smoke. Bitter and sweet as his tongue glided over hers.

Every inch of her was exploding.

“Wait,” Wesley said. “I have to tell you something first.”

He was shaking.

Tavia opened her eyes to his, glassy and near black, fluttering in a blink with every breath. He looked at her like he was trying to hold something back and it was so, so close to being let out.

Tavia touched her lips to his again, delicate, trying to swallow the yearning that seeped into her veins.

She didn’t know she could want someone so much, but if this was it—if this was her last chance to be with him—then Tavia was done holding back. She was done pretending.

Her legs were still wrapped around Wesley and she could feel every twitch of his bones and the thump of his heart against hers.

She pressed her hand to the back of his neck and Wesley’s breath turned ragged.

“Gods.” Wesley swallowed.”Tavia, just stop for one second.”

It was like a plea.

Tavia broke away, untangling herself from him just as suddenly as they had collided, a weight of disappointment inside her heart.

It wasn’t enough.

There just wasn’t enough time in the world anymore.

Her legs slid slowly down Wesley’s body and when her feet met the ground, the world felt tilted and shaken.

She didn’t think she could keep standing if Wesley’s hands weren’t pressed firmly against her shoulders, like he was trying so desperately to keep himself from her.

Tavia wished he wouldn’t try so hard.

“What is it?” she asked.

Wesley pressed his forehead to hers, breath as uneven as the world felt. He kissed her again, but it was short and quick and it left Tavia’s lips dry and aching.

“I’ve loved you since we were kids,” he said.

When Tavia looked into his eyes this time, she saw color. Rimming the pools of black that had engulfed his irises was a small circle of brown. It was thin, and against the moonlight she had to squint to discern the colors, but it was there. The same brown as the tree bark.

“I love you,” Wesley said again.

Tavia thought hearing those words would make her happy, but she only wanted to cry. She’d been waiting so long for him to say them and now that he had, it was too late.

She couldn’t be with him anymore, no matter how desperately she wanted it.

“I love you too,” she said.

Wesley smiled and bit by bit, piece by piece, she was coming undone.

“I just wanted us to say it,” he said. “Just once, just in case.”

“We’re not going to die,” Tavia told him. “Everything will be okay.”

It was the worst lie she had ever told.

“Is that a promise?” Wesley asked, that old smile tugging at his lips.

Tavia tried not to break promises often. It seemed like a bad habit most buskers picked up and she prided herself on not being like most buskers. But promising Wesley they’d both make it out of this war in one piece, when she knew that her future was already sealed, felt like the only way to make sure he went ahead with his plans. To make sure he focused on Ashwood, instead of her. To make sure he didn’t turn his back on his family.

*He can’t know*, she thought.

Tavia held on to Wesley’s hand. This was the boy who she’d survived the streets of Creije with. Who’d become her friend, when she had none, and her family, when she had none. Who meant so much more to her than anyone could.

Tavia looked into Wesley’s eyes.

“I promise,” she said. “It’s all going to be okay.”

Tavia kissed him again, slow and endless, a kiss wild with possibility. Like if she wished hard enough, the night would never end and the sun might never rise and they could just stay locked in that moment, and that promise, forever.