The next day she spent hours thinking, turning her inquisitiveness inward. She liked what she was discovering about herself. Aria, who knew that birds should be plucked while they were still warm so the feathers came out more easily. Aria, who could start a fire with a knife and a piece of quartz. Aria, who sang wrapped in the arms of a blond-haired boy.
She didn’t know where this side of her would fit with what lay five days ahead. How would it be going back to the Pod? Knowing how utterly visceral and terrifying and euphoric these days had been, how would she return to simulated thrills? She didn’t know, but thinking of it worried her. As to her biggest question—what would happen when she reached Bliss—she did something new. She withheld her questions and fears and trusted that she’d know what to do when the time came.
“Perry?” she whispered late that night. His arms immediately tightened around her ribs and she knew she’d woken him.
“Hmm?”
“When did you get your Senses?”
In the quiet, she could practically hear him sinking into his memories.
“My sight came first. Around age four. For a while no one knew that it was different . . . even I didn’t. Most Seers see better in the light, but I thought everyone saw like I did. When it came out that I was Night-Sighted no one made much of it. At least not around me. I was eight when I started scenting tempers. Eight exactly. That I remember.”
“Why?” Aria asked. But there was something about the way he’d said it. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know.
“Scenting tempers changed everything. . . . I realized how often people say one thing and mean another. How often they want what they can’t have. I saw all these reasons for everything. . . . I couldn’t avoid knowing things people hid.”
Aria’s heartbeat quickened. She found his burned hand. He’d stopped using the bandage the night they left Marron’s. The skin at the top had patches that were too rough and patches that were too smooth. She brought it close and kissed the marbled skin. She’d never have dreamed a scar could be something worth kissing, but she loved every scar on him. She’d found them and kissed them all, and asked to hear each and every story that had left its mark on him.
“What did you learn?” she asked.
“That my father drank so he could bear to be around me. I knew he felt better still when his fists found me. For a while, anyway. Never for long.”
Her eyes filling with tears, Aria pulled him close, feeling how tense he was against her. She’d sensed this piece of him. Somehow she had known. “Perry, what could you have possibly done to deserve that?”
“My . . . I’ve never talked about this before.”
When he sniffed, Aria felt a sob catch in her throat. “You can tell me.”
“I know . . . I’m trying. . . . My mother died birthing me. She died because of me.”
She leaned back so she could see his face. He closed his eyes.
“That wasn’t your fault. You can’t really blame yourself. Perry . . . do you?”
“He did. Why shouldn’t I?”
She remembered what he’d said about killing a woman. She realized he’d been speaking of his mother. “You were an infant! It was an accident. It’s just a horrible thing that happened. It’s a horrible thing your father did to make you feel like that.”
“He just felt what he felt, Aria. There’s no disguising a temper.”
“He was wrong! Did your brother and sister blame you too?”
“Liv never did. And Vale never acted like it, but I can’t be sure. I can’t scent his tempers just like I can’t scent my own. But maybe he did. I’m the only one who carries her Sense. My father gave up everything to be with her. He built a tribe. He had Vale and Liv. And then I came and stole what he loved most. People said it was the curse of mixing blood. They said it finally caught up to him.”
“You didn’t steal anything. It’s just something that happened.”
“No. It’s not. The same thing happened to my brother. Mila was a Seer too, and she’s . . . she’s gone. Talon’s sick. . . .” He exhaled a shuddering breath. “I don’t know what I’m saying. I shouldn’t be talking about this with you. I’ve been talking so much lately. Maybe I forgot how to stop.”
“You don’t have to stop.”
“You know what I think of words.”
“Words are the best way I have to know you.”
His hand slid under her jaw, his fingers threading into her hair. “The best way?”
His thumb ran back and forth across her chin. It was distracting, and she knew that was what he wanted. Maybe all he’d ever done was move forward. Try to save the people he could. Try to make up for something he’d never done.
“Perry . . . ,” Aria said, covering his hand. “Peregrine . . . you are kind. You put your life at risk for Talon and Cinder. For me. You did it when you didn’t even like me. You worry about your tribe. You ache for Roar and your sister. I know you do. I saw it in your face every time Roar spoke of Liv.” Her voice was shaking. She swallowed the lump in her throat. “You are good, Peregrine.”
He shook his head. “You’ve seen me.”
“I have. And I know your heart is good.” She put her hand over it and felt all the life that drummed through him. A sound so strong, so loud, as if she’d rested her ear against his chest.
His thumb stopped. His hand moved to the back of her head. He drew her toward him until their foreheads touched. “I liked those words,” he said.