47. RIEKA
47
RIEKA
T he stories my bunkmates heard those first few days onboard the rail were not an exaggeration. Lantern Town was indeed built into the cliff side. Departure from the train was only possible from one side and the station was only long enough to accommodate three carriages, so every passenger that wanted to depart from the train had a window of thirty minutes to do so. The train would then depart and wouldn’t be back until the same time the next day.
I already knew that Rhydian and his friends were meeting Filora’s Runners somewhere further in the town before the party began this evening, so I didn’t expect to see any of them until later.
Which was good, since I’d made the sensible choice to remain with my bunkmates for the entire trip here. We were going to explore the town, eat real food that wasn’t from a ration pack and we’d decided that come night fall, after the party we would all converge on a place where we could sleep under the stars, without a glass dome above us.
It really was the only option for us, since we’d heard most buildings were owned by locals. Though I had heard gossip that some of the Runners also lived here in some capacity when they were on runs. So perhaps they had a house.
Built directly into the rock, the wide station platform extended inward into cracks and caverns inside the cliff walls, forming a wide assortment of passages that felt more like a maze than a city. Bridges that seemed to vanish into walls and doors that lead nowhere, as if the place was unfinished. Market stalls lined the cracks like city alleyways, where timber storefronts had been built into alcoves forming a kind of bazaar.
We were still in Kensilla, yet the majority of those wandering between the stalls were Blessed, their scents mingling with that of the spices and fabrics, the metals and plants of the stall-fronts. It was the exact place I had been searching out since leaving Deos.
Pity it took my current circumstances to find it.
We used what little credits had been allotted us from our supply caches, the only form of currency this place recognised, choosing to share amongst ourselves what anyone purchased. If the item could indeed be shared.
Farox had gone out of his way to find a stall that sold Torvian sweet powder, a mixture that once poured in a goblet would make the liquid turn purple. It fizzled on my tongue when I drank it.
Hentirion had sought out any stall that sold books, desperate for some kind of reading material, an item that the train sorely lacked. He offered to lend the one he procured to me once he had finished. A History of Oltise. Not that I’d ever been particularly interested in reading up on The Gods Hold, but the offer was there.
Emil and S’vara amused themselves on the stalls that sold what I could only call junk. String and rope caught S’vara’s eye, something about needing more—I assumed to finish the net she’d been knotting.
Emil on the other hand found interest in the scrap metal stalls, a fan-like device made of steel caused his entire face to light up. Saska immediately passed over the credits to the merchant before Emil had even opened his mouth. He kissed him to shut it.
I found nothing of interest in the stalls except those that sold baked goods. I wasted several credits on them and felt quite satisfied I’d identified the ingredients in each one that I was confident, should I find myself in possession of the ingredients, that I would be able to replicate them.
Tira let out a strangled gasp. When I looked over at her I found her bouncing on her hooves and pointing over to a dark blue tent set up in one of the smaller alcoves, the space no bigger than one of the train washrooms. Like every stall here, a tapestry hung above the entrances displaying their vocation or sales items of choice. This one, embroidered in gold, bore the mark of a Blessed.
“A Soulstitcher? Really Tira, surely you know how dangerous they can be,” S’vara warned, her expression cautious as she gazed at the dark blue tent.
“Please,” she pleaded, looking around at our faces. “Don’t let me go alone.” She clung to my hand in desperation, her doe eyes somehow even larger. “Fine. I’ll come with you.”
“I’ll come too,” Saska added, causing Tira to yip in excitement.
The others said they would stay close by and the three of us approached the tent.
We passed through what I initially thought was the entrance only to find ourselves inside another tent. A sign on the stone wall informed us that only if the white curtain was drawn could we enter. The curtain was blue.
While we waited, Tira continuing to bounce in anticipation, I spread out my senses wanting to be prepared in case what was on the other side of that curtain was not welcome. I sensed three individuals. Two men. Both human. The third was a Blessed with a scent I’d never encountered before. That must be the Soulstitcher.
I knew of them to be a Fabricant in nature, a Spindle said to be able to weave the threads of the human soul. My secret readings in my time at the Celestial Offices taught me they were once healers of the mind, but my Deogn scripture taught me they were to be feared. Blessed capable of twisting the mind and were trespassers upon the Dark Sphere. I’d been taught to fear them and report them should I ever encounter one.
The fact I felt at ease standing this close to one made my curiosity peak.
The tent flap opened, and the two men emerged. They halted for a moment when they saw us standing in the passageway, the larger of the two men’s gazes lingering on me, on my hair as he passed through. A moment after they had departed a woman emerged.
She looked forty years perhaps, a ruddy complexion and hair even more so. She took one look at our collars and in Prean said, “Memory or pleasure?”
“Memory,” chimed Saska and Tira at the same time.
What did they know that I didn’t?
The woman turned her dark eyes on me, a gaze that felt too heavy for a stranger. I swallowed the lump in my throat before answering. “The same.”
She bowed her head in acknowledgement and proceeded to lift the curtain for our entry.
A cave was the only way to explain the room. Limestone walls and floors, each step I took echoing back, a Bright-light nailed to the ceiling. The room had an odd golden glow to it, and there was a soft hum that filtered through from a set of curtains on the back wall. The space was bare except for the shelves where the source of the room’s glow was situated.
Dozens upon dozens of jars sat on the shelves, grouped in a way that didn’t seem quantifiable. No pattern in number or size. The only thing the jars had in common was the contents. Contained within each one was a single glowing thread, some brighter than others.
“Please sit.”
We did as instructed, taking the chairs around the small table the Soulstitcher sat at.
“Do you know which memory it is you wish to traverse?” My companions both nodded. I did not.
“Very well,” she said. “You two first. Paying with credits?” Saska once again handed over a heavy satchel covering the cost of all of them. Where he had obtained that many credits I did not deign to ask. Especially since our working theory on Saska’s origin involved the corporate enterprises and at least one of the seven families of the Pazgari Covenant.
The woman accepted the payment and then placed both her palms upward on the table. “Think of that moment you wish to traverse and give me your hands.”
Saska waited no time in placing his hand in the Soulstitcher’s, the tattoos on his arm peeking out from under his shirt sleeve. Tira took a little longer. She closed her eyes for a minute and when that toothy smile of hers filled her face, she placed her hand in the woman’s.
Pupils enlarging, the Soulstitcher’s eyes turned a glassy white. They began to flit back and forth rapidly as if she were reading something inhumanly fast. Her blank expression morphed into something pleasant, and a soft smile fell upon her lips. “How wonderful they are.”
Keeping my companions’ hands in her, their eyes still closed, she rose from the table and led them through the dark drapes at the back of the cave. Unwilling to depart from their sides, considering the circumstances of the past few months, I followed.
This room was a cave. Unlike the previous space, the only light source here were the jars. Hundreds lined the edges of the cave, the golden glow rising up the walls to illuminate the cavern above. Cushions and blankets bundled in piles were scattered about the floor. A half dozen people lounging on them, eyes closed as they, like my companions traversed whatever memory she had called forth for them.
Saska and Tira were led to a vacant pile of cushions where they both lay down, Tira curling up into the cushions. Still holding their hands the woman said, “Once I release my hold on you, you will experience a full immersion into the memory at which point you will be able to relive it to your leisure. If at any point you wish to leave the memory, you need only open your eyes. Ready?”
They both nodded. A moment later she released their hands, and they slowly laid back.
The heat of the woman’s stare caused me to remove my gaze from my bunkmates.
Looking up at me from the pile of cushions the woman bore a quizzical expression “Have you been ill child?” she asked, her eyes still glazed over.
Why would she ask me that?
I told her no, but it seemed to dissatisfy her. “Injured perhaps?” She pointed to her head.
Again I told her no, at which point she invited me to join her on the cushions. “May I?” she said, indicating to my hands.
I hadn’t requested any particular memory, let alone actually agreed to let her rifle through them so my hesitation was very apparent.
She relaxed her hands into her lap, but continued to retain those white eyes. “You are aware of what I can do, what I can see with these eyes?”
When I silently nodded, she continued. “Human soul threads are white. Tainted are silver. You my dear have neither.”
“Why would that be?”
She offered her hand to me again. “Should we find out?”
I gave her my hands, though I didn’t close my eyes. My nature wouldn’t allow it of me.
Her eyes began to flitter back and forth. “Fascinating.”
“What is?”
She blinked and her eyes returned to normal. “My dear,” she addressed me, patting my hand in hers. “Have you ever considered the possibility that your memories are not your own?”
During the hour in which I waited for Saksa and Tira to wake up, unwilling to leave their sides, my mind continued to replay my conversation with the Soulstitcher. I knew there was only one possibility as to the cause of her words, the source of the possible manipulation of my memories. But which memories—the thought was too great, too devastating to fathom.
The rest of the afternoon was spent in a kind of haze, following my companions from stall to stall, conflicted about how I felt knowing they were able to experience a joyous memory and I was troubled with the thought mine might not even be my own.
I’d been so preoccupied in those thoughts that I hadn’t noticed daylight no longer shone into the town. Instead, across every gap, of each alley and passageway were lanterns. These giant embers floated on the air like a thousand fireflies, bringing warmth and light where only darkness once ventured.
Still clinging to my hand as she had done since leaving the Soulstitcher’s tent, still thriving off the joy of reliving her memories, Tira pulled me at a running pace through the passages, excited by the prospect of the large lantern that was said to be hanging over the centre of town.
Several minutes later, after weaving in and out of the alleyways, we found ourselves standing in a cavernous concourse. Overhead, made of some type of red fibrous material was a lantern the size of a small boat, the paper almost as crimson as my dress. Below scattered around the walls were more stalls, the scent of exotic foods filling my nose and making my stomach grumble. And in the centre, directly below the lantern were couples dancing.
Tira gushed when she saw the dance floor, begging us to join her as we crossed the space. Hentirion offered his hand to S’vara who mockingly curtsied in acceptance. Saska who looked as willing to dance as a pile of horse manure allowed Emil to lead him onto the dance floor, their embrace intimate. That only left Farox, Tira and myself. However considering the terror on the young girl’s face at the prospect of being denied a dance, I encouraged the two to take the floor.
Farox offered his hand to Tira, an offer she accepted with glee. Before taking to the dance floor, he paused by my ear. “I might be mistaken, but I believe that man over there is your husband. Perhaps now is the time to see you in that dress.”
Though I had not admitted it aloud, the idea of garnering a reaction out of Rhydian in this dress had been part of the reason I had agreed to wear it in the first place. The bodice was tight and form-fitting, and the skirt whilst encompassing several layers, was thin and airy. It was unusual compared to my normal attire, but it was comfortable. And after spending a year wearing clothes I hadn’t picked for myself, wearing something that I actually liked on my body was satisfying.
The Runners all congregated around a table by the wall, the scent of alcohol in the air, several large glasses already in some hands. I recognised Filora amongst them. She was the first to notice I hadn’t moved from the edge of the dance floor, and the first to notice where my attention lay.
If it were not for his scent, I would not have recognised Rhydian. Handsome was too simple a compliment. Beautiful, exquisite, delectable. Ravishing. Too many words came to mind as I admired him in those crimson pants, and the way the black shirt hugged his broad shoulders beneath the matching crimson vest. I pitied the Nomen he likely stole them from. They would never have done the garments justice. Even his hair, which he’d worn in a bun, was beyond expectation. A single strand hung down his brow as if placed there by a god to tempt me to pull his hair loose and run my fingers through those thick waves.
Filora made the gesture for my name, a Seja word I’d only recently learned, and Rhydian turned, the pin securing his bun glinting in the light of the lantern.
For a split second, Rhydian’s control over his blessing lapsed and I heard his heart rate quicken when he looked at me.
Chaos and serenity coexisting in a single expression.
No sooner had the lapse occurred did Rhydian’s calm control return and he closed the distance between us. The moment he touched me, sweeping me into his arms, pressing my body to his, I was reminded why I hesitated to come in the first place.
I was losing the bet.
“If I said I wanted to tear that dress off your body, would you let me?” My breathing trembled as his lips caressed the curve of my ear.
Gods it was infuriating how he’d managed to find so many of my weaknesses when I’d only managed to find one of his.
I leaned forward ensuring that the waves of my hair brushed against his cheek, the long black and white locks hanging entirely unfastened down my back. Close enough to taste his scent, I whispered in his ear. “You should ask your wife to dance if you ever want that to be a possibility.” I made sure to kiss his lobe before pulling away.
Desire scented the air as Rhydian cleared his throat.
Keeping his hand on my back he led me to the dance floor as his inner voice growled in vexation. “You delight in this particular form of torture.”
“I delight in knowing that my presence excites you,” I informed him as his hand methodically drew a line down my spine where it finally forced the gap between our bodies to vanish. My body moulded into his and for a moment, I imagined us in this position entirely naked and I felt myself grow wet. The thought caused an involuntary moan to escape me.
Rhydian laughed. Soft and genuine that my heart betrayed me and fucking fluttered.
“What?” I asked, looking up into those arrogant eyes.
“I may not be a mind reader, but even I can tell you’re thinking about me naked.”
I fumbled a step, forcing Rhydian to catch me. It caused an even more amused expression to become etched into his features as he helped me back to my feet, the skin tingling where his hand touched. I remained indignantly silent.
“Just admit it, Rieka.” He let his thumb linger just above the back of my dress, just enough I could feel the ghost of its touch. “You’re struggling with this just as much as I am. Don’t you think it’s time we make up for missed opportunities?”
I forced us to a standstill, gripping his arm as if it would somehow stop him from moving without my permission. “Missed opportunities?”
“Must I spell it out for you?” He furrowed his brow. When I didn’t respond he said quite directly, “Sex Rieka. I would really like to have sex with you.”
But Keltjar. That night. Didn’t we sleep together? A single brow raised as if he had actually read my mind. “Oh, that night. We slept together yes but we didn’t have sex.”
“But you were naked in my bed?”
The expression on his face turned to one of honest confusion, as did his scent. “Rieka, do you still not remember that night?” I felt his grip on my hand slacken as if to release it, but for some unfathomable reason, I tightened mine.
“We were drinking,” I recalled that much.
“We were,” he replied casually as he led me into a spin before dipping me.
I grabbed his shirt to stop him from doing it again. “Rhydian Kanyk, did we or did we not sleep together in Keltjar?”
“Much to my eternal disappointment,” Rhydian said as he brushed a lock of hair behind my ear. “We did not. ”
The song ended and the musicians began playing a slower tune, one that had Rhydian pulling my body closer into his, his hand slowly coming to rest on my lower back.
“So then why were we naked? Because I distinctly recall waking up to the sight of your naked ass in my bed?”
He gave me the smallest of smirks. It made me almost miss the clean shave. Those dimples…
“You invited me up to your room and demanded I strip tease for you.”
My eyes widened in shock. “Please tell me you’re joking?”
The smirk became a smug smile. “I believe your exact words were, ‘I demand you remove your attire so that I might admire that magnificent cock beneath those too-tight trousers.”
The memory flashed in my mind the moment he said the words.
Mortified did not begin to define how I felt.
As Rhydian spoke his next words, I felt the comforting touch of his hand as he cupped the back of my head. “Then you kissed me.”
My expression clearly showed my recognition of that fact because he then said with a smirk, “Oh, so you do remember that. Well after you kissed me, several times between the dining room and your room—”
“ Now you’re just rubbing it in…”
“Then…I noticed that you had a fever—which I did eventually realise was because Brute bodies can’t always metabolise alcohol like other Devos—I used my blessing to get sober. I thought that man—Leon I think you called him—I thought he had spiked your drink with something but when I went to confront him, he was too drunk to function after the lashing you gave him.”
“You think Leon spiked my drink? Not likely. He loves me too much to hurt me.”
Rhydian’s scent shifted slightly. His eyes darkened. “Loves you. Present tense.”
I bit my lip to see his reaction. His eyes immediately lowered to my mouth. “ He still did when we saw him in Keltjar,” I admitted with a smile.
Rhydian hmphed under his breath. Very uncharacteristic of him.
Is he jealous?
It was a ridiculous thought. It certainly helped in achieving my goals, but Rhydian had proved himself to be a rational man. Jealousy was not something he’d ever indulge in.
“So, if I understand correctly, we got naked and were about to sleep together, then I got sick and you being the gentleman that you are, decided to keep me warm with your naked body? ”
Rhydian moved his face closer to mine, so close that I could taste the mint on my tongue. “I’m not sure if you know this, but, bodies get warmer faster when they’re skin to skin.”
I pursed my lips to keep from smiling. “ Really? ”
“Especially if those two bodies are naked.”
Then I did something I probably shouldn’t have.
I kissed him.
I could say I did it because it was part of my plan to seduce him. A part of the same plan that had me agreeing to wear this beautiful dress for the exact purpose of enticing him to tear it off my body. A way to make him crave more of me than I was willing to give. But it would have been a lie.
I hated this man. But I wanted him more than I hated him.
He took my breath away. I was so damn breathless I didn’t want to breathe so long as his lips were on mine.
“Get a room!” someone shouted, the sudden attention drawing the two of us apart.
“ Do you have one? ” The words left me before I could stop them. But now that I had said them I didn’t want to take them back.
Rhydian’s gaze was downcast, his eyes scrutinising my face, presumably because of what I’d just said.
I swallowed and glanced down. I was holding his hand. The one with the marriage band. “ We started this bet on unequal footing, I would like to remedy that.”
I gazed into those ocean-blue eyes, chaos rumbling within them. “Or are you going to reject your wife?”
A second, a breath later and he’d drawn me into a hard and fast kiss. And once again I did not care if I ever breathed again.
“I’ll meet you there,” his inner voice promised as his own was caught in his throat, his breathing ragged. “I’ve got to make excuses for why I’m not attending my own party. Ten minutes. And leave the dress on.”
He fixed me with a stare. “So that I might admire those magnificent tits as you take it off.”
Five minutes later having followed Rhydian’s instructions, I stood in the middle of what could only be called an apartment. A cave that had been altered in such a way that regardless of the dark stone walls, it was homely.
There was a kitchen off to the right, a round dining table with a dozen chairs. The circular chaise lounge, draped in heavy blankets and stuffed with cushions sat in the middle of the room whilst further back, secluded by shadow was a large timber framed bed.
I wandered through, careful not to move anything but unable to stop myself from touching. When I reached the bed I caressed the blanket draped across the corner. The fabric was the softest velvet I’d ever encountered. The thought of wrapping myself in it was extremely enticing, especially since it smelled like him.
Pine and earth. Perhaps I could convince Rhydian to bring it back to the bunks?
Sitting on the edge of the bed, I stared out at the room. If felt warm. Nothing had felt like that since I’d lived under my parents’ roof.
How often did Rhydian visit this place when he wasn’t on the train, did he consider it his home? Would he have told me about it if not for my invitation?
My gaze was drawn to something metallic glinting in the centre of the room. Rhydian must have been here earlier because there was already a Kindling Orb activated, the room warm from the heat emanating from the metal sphere.
As I approached the orb on the tea table where it sat before the chaise, I noticed more of Rhydian’s sketches scattered across the table’s surface. But unlike those on the train, these had only one subject.
In breathtaking delineation, Rhydian had captured my likeness. Dozen upon dozens of charcoal sketches of me.
He could not have done all these today, surely not. Unless…
Was this where he was coming all those weeks before Old Kings Town?
I’d never considered myself a beautiful woman, attractive—yes. I knew that I was appealing to men, and I used whatever part of me that attracted them to my advantage. But beautiful was a word I associated with my mother and her soft delicate features. I’d always thought my own harsh and angular. More severe than what a beautiful woman ought to be. I picked up the one closest to me. My hair was braided over my shoulder and I was laughing.
When had he seen me laughing like that?
The way Rhydian had drawn me, I’d never seen myself that way. I was almost—radiant.
There knock on the door.
Rhydian!
His name left my lips the moment I swung open the door. But it wasn’t Rhydian who greeted me. My instinct kicked in a moment too late. By the time I realised the two men standing in the doorway were the same two men from the Soulstitcher tent, my muscles locked, my stomach cramped, and pain ripped through me like a thousand razors before my world turned black.