Chapter Twelve #2
I’d said the words automatically, but as I watched Daziel study himself in the mirror, I studied him too.
His outfit was exquisite, a crisply ironed green jacket over trousers the silvery green of olive trees.
But my eyes caught on his face, which had become so familiar to me I no longer found the solid black of his eyes jarring or the shimmer around his body disconcerting.
Instead, I noticed how very beautiful he was.
I looked away, feeling overly warm. I’d known he was attractive from the start—his inhuman beauty had stood out—but it felt weirdly intimate to notice his looks now that I knew him so well.
It felt less objective and more intimate, a flush of attraction heating my whole body.
I stared downward, unusual shyness washing over me.
It wouldn’t do me any good to find Daziel attractive.
He was my roommate and my tutor, and that was it.
As my aunt had said, the two of us had no future.
And I had my spellwriting and grades to focus on.
Besides, he’d never acted interested, save calling me beautiful a couple of weeks ago—and even then he might have just been being polite. I wasn’t going to dash my heart on uncertain shores.
“Do you think I can wear these ear cuffs with these shoes?” he asked. “Because you’re not supposed to mix metals.”
Nice that we were both having our own private crises. The cuffs in question were long strands of gold curving over the helix of his ear. The shoes were black with silver detailing. “I don’t think anyone will notice.”
His expression made it clear I’d answered incorrectly. “Obviously people will notice. It’s more if it looks bad.”
“Wear different shoes, then.”
“So it does look bad?” He sounded agonized as he turned back to the mirror.
A new mirror, full-length. He hadn’t liked the previous short one I had in the living room.
When he’d brought this one home, I’d asked if it was because he wanted an easier ledge or whatever to step through when traveling by mirror.
He’d said no, he just wanted a full-length mirror.
I bit back a smile. “It looks great.”
“You’re no help at all.” He kicked off the shoes in frustration. “The problem is I only have six other pairs of shoes—”
“I’m sorry, what? Where?”
He reached into the mirror, which I’d never seen him do before. His arm slid unsettlingly through the glass, and he pulled out a brown leather pair. “This goes better with the gold, but I’m not sure it’s the right material for the rain.”
Eventually, I hauled him out of the apartment and into my aunt’s carriage. He was still fussing when we arrived, but he stopped upon entering the dining hall, throwing back his shoulders and lifting his head like the proudest peacock in the land. I stifled my smile.
My aunt looked up. “There they are. My niece, Naomi bat Yardena, my brother’s firstborn, and her betrothed, the shayd Daziel bar Cathmeus.”
Four adults turned: two men and two women.
My aunt had said people who wouldn’t normally dine with her would to meet Daziel.
This group looked older than my aunt, in their sixties, and they wore more expensive clothing, less interestingly made.
They looked the way I pictured élodie’s and Birra’s families, I thought, a touch unkindly.
“Why, Tirtzah,” one of the men said. “I shouldn’t have doubted you.”
Tirtzah’s polite smile looked pained. “This is Councilor Monteux and her husband, Monsieur Bar Henri, and the Doctors Bernard.”
“Nice to meet you,” I said.
For the most part, the lunch was fine. Which is not to say it wasn’t awkward. “We’ve not been so lucky to have a shayd staying in Talum for a long stretch before,” Councilor Monteux said. “Usually the visits are as though your kind are blown here and away.”
“Perhaps we could tempt you to visit our home,” her husband said. “Throw a ball, perhaps inspired by the shedim fashions.”
Daziel smiled pleasantly. “No.”
They looked taken aback. “No? Do you have a particular objection? I’m sure we could address it.”
“I don’t want to.”
Aunt Tirtzah closed her eyes briefly. “Monsieur!” she said with forced cheer. “Have you tried the roasted sprouts? The honey-mustard glaze is exquisite.”
On the wall across from me, a line of ladybugs crawled toward the open window. The rain was slowing, at least, and I could see the sun trying to fight its way out from behind the wall of clouds. “Is there any news about the birds?” I asked.
The adults shifted. “I thought we weren’t going to speak of politics, Tirtzah,” one of the men said with a false-sounding laugh.
“My apologies,” my aunt said, and changed the subject. I grimaced into my food. I hadn’t realized it would be political to talk about the birds.
Under the table, Daziel found my hand and squeezed it.
When lunch finally ended, I was as excited as Daziel to flee the scene.
Samuel dropped us off on Temple Hill. It was the highest point in the Levite Quarter and the second highest of the city’s four hills.
The rain had come to a complete stop, though the pavement was wet and gleaming.
The air was cool, and I was glad to have brought a bulky sweater to bundle up in.
I’d never been to Temple Hill before, though it’d been inevitable I’d visit—everyone eventually made their way here.
Talum housed many temples—with twelve tribes, everyone thought they should have their own, and that was just Ena-Cinnai locals, not to mention the people from all over the continent who had built their own houses of worship in the city.
The Temple, though, was different. It had been built two thousand years ago, during the human-demon wars.
Harnessing the power of shedim allowed for incredible feats—path-jumping, which allowed a person to travel great distances; construction of massive structures; wars of epic scale.
All done through stealing magic from Daziel’s people.
All the streets here funneled people upward toward the Temple, though shopkeepers did their best to distract potential customers. Towering over the cafés and shops, the white stone of the Temple’s walls always gleamed in the cool winter sun, the gilded column capitals almost blinding.
We wandered up the streets until we reached the hill’s peak.
Though it had been raining an hour before, it was still a weekend, and the tourists were out in spades.
A long line wound from the entrance of the Temple complex, which Daziel declined to wait in.
He walked to the front, smiled his sharp-toothed smile, and they handed us pins to mark we’d paid the entrance fee (we had not) and waved us right in.
The complex was larger than I’d expected—I’d imagined it as a single building, but instead more than a dozen covered the hilltop, some with trickling fountains, others with statues.
There was a small amphitheater, a tour guide speaking to her group where the stage had once been.
Everything seemed bright and clean after the rain, almost ruthlessly so, as though it had been freshly washed for us.
Daziel was unusually quiet. It took me a while to realize, as I was wowed by the beauty of the place, the contrast of white stone and newly blue sky. “Are you okay?”
“It’s strange.” He trailed a hand over a fluted column. “Built by shedim but to human tastes.”
Of course. I was embarrassed I hadn’t realized this earlier. “Does it make you angry? Seeing what humans used your people to do?”
He looked at me, too quickly for a human to move, his speed jarring. I didn’t usually startle him into that. “Yes.”
“Do you hate it?”
He tilted his head. Paz popped his own head out, tilted as well. “It’s very beautiful. But yes. I think I might. I think I might burn it to the ground if I didn’t think it would get you in trouble.”
“I appreciate your forbearance.” I paused, then added more seriously, “I’m sorry if it’s painful.”
“I wanted to see it. It feels important to…bear witness to what they did.”
We wandered, silent for a few minutes. From so high, we could see all of Talum: the great plazas, spice markets, and public buildings.
We could see the other hills—Society Hill, with its private residences and the glimmering dome of the Hall of the Sanhedrin; Lyra’s Seat, green and lush, the highest point in the city; Diamond Hill, where the grand duke kept his palace, though his family had long ago lost all political power and now had only riches and social clout.
We could see the Lyceum jutting out on its peninsula, and even the black bar of the Keep, tiny from this distance.
“I’m sorry if it’s too much,” I said as we leaned against a wall taking in the view.
The Lersach River cut like a ribbon north and south, and we could make out the curve of the uninhabited islet off Talum’s west coast, then the vineyards along the far bank.
Sunset was already on its way, despite the hour not yet being four, and it painted the world gold.
“Everyone treating you differently because you’re a shayd, here and at my aunt’s. ”
Both our forearms rested on the stone, and our shoulders brushed. His warmth bled into me. “It’s sweet how much your aunt cares about you.”
“She does?”
“Clearly.” He paused. “Will your parents visit you?”
“I’ll go home this summer, and maybe they’ll come for my graduation, but I don’t expect before then.”
“I’ll have to go home with you in summer, then.”
I started. I’d never imagined Daziel meeting my family.
Now I pictured Daziel on the high plains and the stir he would cause.
People would be meticulously polite, even if they tried to banish him.
He’d get on with my sisters, because he was basically a child himself, and my mother because he’d help with chores without her asking.
Dad would like him too. And my grandmother always appreciated a good-looking, well-dressed young man.
He’d fit in perfectly.
“Do you miss your family?” I asked. “What are they like?”
“My father is distant. My mother…” Daziel’s eyes narrowed in concentration. “Not very maternal.”
“No?” I asked, surprised. I knew, without any doubt or sentimentality, my mother would fight a bear for me and my sisters. A demon. “How so?”
“It’s not such a…procedure for her…as it is for human women to have children. And she has so many. We aren’t as interesting as other things in her life.”
I stared. “What’s more interesting than your kids?”
“What isn’t?” His smile didn’t seem sad or self-pitying. “I’m used to it. And I’m trying to become interesting.”
“I think you’re interesting.” I was offended on his behalf. Daziel was one of the most interesting people I knew. Not just because he was a shayd but because of his curiosity about the world around him, his delight in beautiful things, the way he listened and tried to make me happy.
He smiled, and a warmth bloomed in my chest. “Thank you,” he said, pressing his shoulder more firmly into mine. I smiled back, and we watched the oranges and golds of the setting sun in silence.