Chapter Twenty-Three #3
But I didn’t. I wasn’t yet ready. So I kissed him until I could tell stopping would be too difficult if we kept on. When I paused, he let out a tiny groan of disappointment but took his cue from me, kissing my forehead and rolling onto his back.
I rested my head on his chest, and we nestled into each other. He pulled me close, drawing my arm across his chest, and I wrapped my leg across his body, securely snuggled into his side.
I let out a relieved breath, released the tension I’d been holding in my body night after night, and nestled closer. I could hear him breathing, feel the thrum of his heart beneath my ear.
In the dark, and the silence, it was easy to admit how much I loved him, to feel the depth of it, how it stretched to every part of my soul, how it filled me up with intangible energy. I hoped, very much, he loved me. It felt like he did.
I fell asleep.
~ ~ ~
The next day, Daziel, Professor Altschuler, the Lyceum president, and I once more arrayed ourselves before the Sanhedrin.
“You have before you copies of our latest work on Scroll 4,” Professor Altschuler said, the excitement in his voice clear.
Not only had he achieved two of the biggest goals of his career—both reconstructing the scrolls and beginning to decipher them—but their meaning had weight on the shape of the world.
“It shows the scroll contains a spell meant to heal the Great Beast, which, as the shayd Daziel has shared, is paramount. We request immediate help locating the Ziz and the neshem listed to perform the spell.”
“This is an obscene amount of power,” the Chief Judge said. He peered at the Lyceum president and Professor Altschuler. “You’re sure you need this much? Maybe it’s a translation error.”
“We’re not going to cast a spell we’ve never tried before on a divine being,” someone else said. “Besides, this translation isn’t even complete.”
“As laid out on page three,” Professor Altschuler said, though I could tell it hurt him to say this, “there is technically no need to translate the entire spell before performing it.”
This set off a storm of protests and questions, the likes of which made my cohort’s response seem like nothing.
It took half an hour before everyone felt like they’d had their say explaining why performing the spell in Language X was madness.
Even then councilors kept protesting and only moved on because the Chief Judge banged his gavel and forced them to in order to keep the meeting on agenda and discuss the next impossible thing: the still-unknown location of the Ziz.
“We have six potential locations,” Professor Altschuler said. He was doing an admirable job as front man for our research; his voice lent the work my friends had done credibility. I’d been shocked he’d agreed, but maybe I shouldn’t have been; this was his passion too. “As you’ll see on page eight.”
There was a ruffle as everyone flipped through their packets. The ruffles managed to sound unfriendly.
“We’ve identified locations worth exploring, based on research into where birds were last seen, where the winds are shaped, and recommendations from rabbis and sailors,” he said.
My friends had come up with thirteen potential locations, but we’d decided to mostly give sea-based ones to the Sanhedrin.
Daziel would path-jump to the land ones and explore.
“We’ll discuss it,” the Chief Judge hedged. “But you must understand this is a very large ask.”
“As is stabilizing natural magic and saving the country,” Aunt Tirtzah said. “Yet it must be done.”
“We don’t know if this will save anything,” Melanie countered. “It’s a fool’s errand to waste our resources without proof.”
“We could look for the creature before we agree to fund the spell,” one of the Naphtali councilors offered. “Without finding it nothing else can be done. And if we find it, and it is hurt—or dying—it could lend credence.”
Daziel muttered in my ear, “You’d almost think it might have made sense for them to look for the Ziz all along.”
I hushed him.
“There is one way to have enough magic for this spell,” a council member said. I looked toward the voice sharply. It came from a very old man swaddled in heavy robes, his face obscured by shadow. “Without wasting our own resources.”
“Oh?” the Chief Judge said. “Go on.”
The man stared at Daziel.
After the moment it took for everyone to comprehend the old councilor’s meaning, a shocked outcry washed through the chamber. “You’re suggesting we bind the demon?” someone asked in scandalized tones.
“Isn’t that right, boy?” the old man asked Daziel. “Isn’t that how the miracles of old happened?”
“We’re not binding anyone.” Aunt Tirtzah sounded furious.
“Why not?” Melanie said. “This was his idea, wasn’t it? Let his magic fund it.”
“It is against the treaty,” a Danite I vaguely recognized said.
Voices rose; councilors thumped their fists for attention. I swallowed a sigh. We’d get nowhere now.
Daziel spoke, low-voiced so only I could hear him. “We should tell them. There’s so much we need them to agree on. I’d rather they devote resources to finding the Ziz instead of finding power.”
I wanted to argue. I wanted to say this shouldn’t be on us, this should be something the government fixed, but he was right—it’d make it easier for them to work on one thing if they felt like we were compromising.
Only, I wanted Daziel’s and my relationship to progress at the rate we wanted it to progress. I wanted to be with him at our speed, and if we completed the betrothal, do it when we wanted.
But. I loved him. And maybe he loved me. Maybe that would be enough.
“We should make it seem like we’re bargaining,” I said, equally quiet. “Tell them we’ll only do it if they agree to look for the Ziz.”
“Good idea.”
Daziel’s accord rang out in a suddenly silent chamber. I blinked, confused. The entire Sanhedrin had stopped talking, their argumentative expressions dropped for shock. They were staring at us. No—behind us.
“That won’t be necessary,” a smooth, liquid voice said.
I turned slowly. There’d been a familiar resonance to the voice, male and older, and when I saw the speaker, I knew why.
A shayd. Older than Daziel, his appearance corresponding to a human man in his seventies.
A blue silk bow restrained his silvered hair at the nape, and blue jewels studded his ears. A metal circle wrapped around his brow.
“Lord Khasmodai,” the Chief Judge said, with a deep inclination of his head. There was a note in his voice I didn’t recognize. Fear? Respect? “It has been some time.”
“Has it?” Lord Khasmodai flipped his hand. “I cannot keep track.”
“What has brought you to Talum?”
The shayd turned to look at Daziel. “We’ve lost one of our young.”
“What do you mean,” Daziel said in a cold, hard voice, one I suspected was born of fear instead of anger or dislike, “that this won’t be necessary?”
“Ah,” the man said. His gaze roved over Daziel, then flicked to me. He looked unimpressed. “I mean you will not need to go on any quests or adventures or whatnot. Because you’re too late. The Ziz,” he said calmly, “is dead.”