Chapter 7
Bellanca couldn’t make heads or tails of Carver’s encounter with the oracle. No, the Chaos Wizard. They were a rare breed. Seers were an obol a dozen in comparison. There’d only been one Chaos Wizard in Thalyria, which was much bigger than Atlantis. He’d lived in a shack and occasionally spouted prophecies that changed the world.
He was theoliptos —the one who receives the knowledge of the gods. Apparently, so was Cleito.
Unfortunately for a Chaos Wizard, that meant all the knowledge, anywhere in space and time. The jumble in their heads was so boundless and huge that it took a god, usually Zeus, pulling forth a specific thread of information for a prophecy to pop out and for it to make any sense.
“Broken temple. Sacrificial virgin.” Frowning, Bellanca dug her bare toes into the sand. After Carver had come to collect her at Spiro’s, they’d bypassed home and headed to one of the great peninsula’s countless little beach creeks that offered privacy and pretty views. The tide was on its way out, which gave them plenty of time before they had to scramble back up the steep hillside and go home. Their rented lodgings bordered the harbor, and neither of them had had the stomach to watch Eryx dump some poor woman over the wall. “But why are you the flame?” she asked, sliding a confused look at Carver.
He shrugged. He sat next to her on the sun-warmed sand, a slight breeze ruffling his tunic and hair. “Maybe she looked at me and saw you . We’re”—he hesitated, waving a hand back and forth between them—“connected, right?”
Bellanca narrowed her eyes, first on that tanned, sinewy forearm hovering between them and then on Carver. Was that a question? Of course they were connected. Did he think they weren’t?
Her chest constricting, she turned back to the sea. “And ‘her blood is burning’? What does that mean?”
“Probably the fire magic inside you. You’re sparking right now.” He nodded toward her head and hair. “It’s hard to miss.”
She buried her magic a little deeper under her skin. She didn’t need to hide it from Carver, but right now, giving free rein to her unguarded reactions made her feel strangely exposed. “Maybe.” She sighed. “We could speculate from here to the Underworld, but without something more precise, none of what Cleito said really makes sense or tells us anything new that helps us right now.”
Carver picked through the sand and uncovered a pinkish, palm-sized stone. He drew back his arm and tossed it into the water, but it was too small to make a satisfying sound. “‘Sacrificial virgin’ is new.”
Bellanca made a face. “Well, that might be about me, too.”
His whole body swiveled in her direction. “Are you a virgin?”
She stared back at him. Why was he looking at her that way? It made answering hard. “Of course I’m a virgin. When would I have had time for…cavorting in my life?”
His lips twitched. Sliding that piercing gaze to the side, he picked up another stone. “Cavorting?”
She tensed. First he was surprised by what she’d said, and now he was laughing at her? “What do you call it then?”
Carver smoothed his thumb over the tide-polished rock. He seemed to weigh it in his hand. His eyes dipped to her mouth. “Making love.” His gaze flicked back up. “Fucking.” Her jaw dropped, and he grinned. “Anything in between.”
Heat washed over her, different from fire or magic. He’d never once been vulgar around her—competitive, surly, horribly quiet, sarcastic and biting—but never vulgar. And… She swallowed. She didn’t hate it.
Clearing her throat, she murmured, “I wouldn’t know.”
“Right.” He cocked a brow, definitely laughing now. “No time.”
“We can’t all find our one true love early in life,” she said in annoyance, instantly regretting her words. Her stomach sank. “Or lose them. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to remind you of…”
“Konstantina?” Carver let slip a humorless smile. “I actually hadn’t thought about her in a while.”
Great. So not only had she confessed to being totally inexperienced with men, but she’d just reminded Carver of his tragic past and how he’d never love again. She was on fire.
She dug her feet deeper into the sand, searching for the damp coolness beneath the hot, dry grains blanketing the surface. “At least it makes fake marriage easier.”
“Why?” Carver turned back to her, his brows snapping together. “What do you mean?” Sunset hues had overtaken the ocean basin, turning his eyes the color of liquid metal. Unlike the sea, they weren’t calm. They were pearlescent thunder.
Awkwardness bled through her. She should’ve known better than to bring up Konstantina. Carver turned into a lion every time, and there was no getting this thorn out of his paw. “You’re in love with a ghost, and I don’t know what I’m missing.” She shrugged. “See? Easier.”
His expression blanked, then tensed. “First of all, I never thought it was hard. Second, I’m not in love with a ghost.”
She snorted. It just popped out, unbidden. “You’ve only been wallowing in misery for years because of her.”
“I wallowed in misery because of me and the stupid notions I was holding on to.”
“Don’t snarl at me. I wasn’t even there when she left you.” Bellanca flicked a sand flea off her ankle and rubbed the spot where it bit her. “I’m sorry I brought it up. Forget I mentioned her.”
“No.”
Her brow furrowing, she pivoted to look at him. “ No? ”
The muscle below his eye twitched. “It’s like you don’t even know me sometimes.”
The sheer hurt from his words caught her off guard, and despite the crackling-hot blood hurtling through her veins, shock froze her solid. “What’s that supposed to mean?” She didn’t know him? Carver was the only person who really knew her, so if it wasn’t reciprocal, she had nothing.
“It means ask questions instead of decreeing absolutes and assuming you already have all the answers.”
Her jaw dropped open. She snapped it shut with a clack of teeth. “Fine. Here’s a question for you. Is love a stupid notion?”
His eyes flared, storm-gray and wary. Clearly, she’d surprised him. “Loving someone who doesn’t love you back is a stupid notion,” he finally said. “And a waste of time.”
Was that how he felt about all those years of pining after Konstantina? Before she died? After? What a sad conclusion after all the effort he’d put into loving the woman and then hiding his suffering once she was gone.
“What? Nothing to say?” he asked in a voice that mocked her.
She nearly burned the smirk right off his face. “What do you want me to say? The life we had is over, anyway. Nothing to do with it even applies here.”
“I disagree entirely.”
She scowled. “Why? Your family’s gone. Your home is gone. You’re a soldier, not a prince. No position. No wealth. No horse. No—” She was about to say love of your life and bit off the words. Carver hadn’t had Konstantina anyway. He hadn’t for years.
As for Zephyrus, Carver barely mentioned the stallion he’d been with through thick and thin. Not because he didn’t miss him terribly, but because he did .
“ We’re still together.” He scowled back at her, his expression as stiff and black as his evening stubble.
“So?” That didn’t seem like much compared to what he’d lost.
“Yeah, I know.” His eyes hardened, and an almost cruel smile played around his mouth. “You would’ve left without me.”
“There was no reason for us both to give up everything.”
He turned back to the sea, the water calm, his countenance storming. “You wish I wasn’t here?”
“Gods! I didn’t say that.” Sparks detonated in her loose hair. They were alone, and she didn’t even try to contain them. She was so sick of holding herself back, so godsdamned suffocated beneath tight headscarves and endless pretense.
Carver threw the stone he was still holding into the waves. “Since I’m here, and we’re stuck together, do you want to know?” He glanced at her. “Are you ready for that?”
“Ready for what?” she asked in confusion.
“To know what you’re missing.” Carver’s eyes fell to her mouth again and stayed. “To know what it’s like.”
Something in his voice changed, sending a tingle of warmth along her spine. Her eyes widened as he slowly lifted his hand and gently gripped her neck, his palm big, his fingers light. Heat suffused her. He pressed a little, and her breath shortened. Watching her, he didn’t let go as he swept his work-roughened thumb along her jawbone. Sensation jolted through her—hot, twisty tension mixed with what in all the gods?
His gaze held hers, and her mouth went as dry as a fire-charred bone. What was this? She and Carver didn’t touch. They didn’t have tender moments. She might be far too fascinated by his perpetually naked chest, but her thoughts didn’t stray farther, because she liked what they were right now—partners and allies who drove each other to insults and violence.
“Bel?” He leaned in, his grip still light on her neck. “Well?” Carver’s eyes moved over her face, seeming to try to gauge her reaction. She didn’t know what he saw, but he started to close the distance between them, and her heart leaped right out of her chest. Panic roared in her blood, and magic surged through her so violently it crossed her skin and burst out.
Carver reared back before his lips even touched hers, letting out a curse the dead could probably hear in the Underworld. He lurched to his feet and sprinted toward the ocean. He dove in, raising steam where he split the waves and disappeared.
Bellanca gasped. She jumped up, her pulse pounding so hard it left her shaking. Carver popped up for air, then went back underwater before she could shout out to him. She scrambled down the beach. A moment later, he stood and trudged back up the shore. Dripping wet and spitting mad, he glared at her.
She stopped short, curling her hot hands into fists. “Sorry.” Scorching blood beat against the barrier of her skin. “I’m sorry.” That sun-flare heat, the same new magic as inside the cavern, built inside her again, ready to burst out, and she took a hasty step back.
“No, I’m sorry,” Carver bit out, his wet tunic and pants clinging to his tall, hard body. Her magic had left the material pockmarked with ragged little burns. She’d singed the hair around his face, especially his brows and lashes, and his skin looked sunburned.
“I don’t know what happened,” she croaked out. This magic was unfamiliar and new. She didn’t know how to detect it fast enough inside her yet—or how to truly control it.
“I do.” A wry smile twisted Carver’s mouth. He shook his head, his eyes savage. “As far as defending herself against unwanted advances, at least I know my fake wife has everything well in hand.” He bent, grabbed his boots, and headed up the beach away from her.
Bellanca gaped after him. What in the almighty gods just happened?
Carver stalked toward the hillside path that would take him back into the city. He didn’t turn around once, and her heart hammered so ferociously it beat louder than the waves.
***
Still in shock over Carver’s odd behavior—well, anger and mood swings were no surprise, but an attempted kiss was completely unexpected—Bellanca slipped into their lodgings and hurried to her room to wash up before dinner. Carver’s door was shut. He hadn’t lit any lamps. She didn’t even know if he was there, but she hoped so.
Where would he have gone otherwise? A tavern? Worry flared inside her. That wouldn’t be good, considering his lack of control around wine when he was unhappy. On a scouting mission without her? No, that would just be stupid. Good gods , a brothel?
Her heart pitched sharply, scenes popping into her head she’d never taken part in but still knew about. Who didn’t? She wasn’t a child. She’d lived with an army . She’d seen Pan and his herd indulging in an orgy just days ago. Innocence was long gone in more ways than she could count, even if she was a virgin. Carver wasn’t. She’d already known that. And he’d never alluded to anything like brothel-going, at least not with her, but now that she’d raised the thought, her mind wouldn’t shut up about it.
She bit her lip, tasting sea salt and her own cherry-sweet magic. Is that what Carver would’ve tasted? And did he really want to kiss her? Since when? Why? Was he that lonely?
Her heart lurched again. Gods, she hated that feeling.
Questions whirled in her head as she began her evening routine, blocking the drain in the bottom of her almost adult-sized bathing tub and then unblocking the pipe leading from their rooftop barrels. Hot water was never a problem, although enough water occasionally could be. Sometimes, it was too hot. Right now, she could use the cooling down, but the ever-predictable Atlantian sun had left the water close to scorching.
Despite the uncomfortable heat, Bellanca slipped off her dress and hopped into the basin as it filled, pulling her knees up to fit into the tight space. She started washing when it was only half full, scrubbing until her soap foamed enough to cover her skin with frothy, almond-scented bubbles. She didn’t want to look at her body any longer than she had to, all pale and scarred and practically shapeless. She’d never imagined anyone else wanting to look at it, either, and usually avoided even thinking about another person seeing her naked and vulnerable. She could face just about anything head-on, but there were some situations where avoidance seemed infinitely better than failure. Intimacy topped that list. And didn’t intimacy start with kissing?
She felt Carver’s hand on her neck again, his thumb on her jaw, his breath warming her lips.
And then she’d panicked and burned him.
Scowling, she attacked her hair next, the red turning almost brown as she wet it and lathered. She rinsed and did it all again from top to bottom, but there was no washing away the distressing recollection of that awful look on his face when he’d stormed off earlier.
Would she have ever initiated a kiss? She couldn’t even imagine doing that. But did she hate that he’d tried?
Slamming her soap down on the little table beside her, she squeezed her eyes shut, barely breathing. The horrible feeling churning inside her ever since Carver had walked away from her had sunk so deep it was everywhere. She could rub herself raw, and it would still be there, twisting in her stomach.
Sometimes, Carver needed to nudge her into things she wouldn’t consider on her own, but she didn’t like the idea of him confusing loneliness with a sudden interest in kissing her, especially with the memory of Konstantina always hovering so close. And touch wasn’t something she was used to. She’d learned to flee it as a child because it usually meant someone would leave a bruise, a cut, or a burn on her. She knew Carver wouldn’t, but that didn’t magically fix her gut reaction, especially when he’d surprised her.
She stopped the flow from the rooftop barrels, dunked, and rinsed, contorting to keep her head under the water as she shook soap out of her hair. With her eyes closed and wet silence all around her, the feel of Carver leaning toward her on the beach sharpened, jolting her senses all over again.
She popped up, slicked her hair back, and breathed. She opened her eyes, but all she could see were Carver’s—hot, liquid metal and then…wounded. Betrayed.
A knot in her chest, she leaned her head against the edge of the tub and stared out the open window. The sky was that rich, textured blue-black of impending nightfall. One bright star winked at her, taunting. Was it happy, up there in the cosmos, looking down at humans and watching them fumble through their lifetimes?
Because that was what it felt like she was doing. Fumbling.
With a low growl, she let out a pulse of fire magic to try to eliminate the bad energy plaguing her. All that did was make the cooling water too hot again, and she didn’t feel any better. She started draining the bath just as she heard Carver come in. She swung toward her closed door, her heart squeezing painfully. Then he hadn’t come straight home, after all.
She listened, ready to answer if he called out to her, but the main door just latched behind him, his footsteps crossed the living room, and then his bedroom door opened and closed. He threw the lock. She heard it.
She blinked, the sound resounding inside her. Had he ever locked his door before? She hadn’t.
Standing, she reached for a drying cloth and wrapped it around herself with unsteady hands. Atlantis was turning out to be a lot more complicated than she’d expected. Missing keys, barely a clue, oracles who were conduits for the gods, and fake relationships not feeling fake enough sometimes.
She dried off, combed her hair too aggressively for her own good, put cream on her face and body, got dressed, and screwed up her courage enough to open her door again. Not that she was afraid of Carver. She just felt disconcerted and…guilty somehow. There were some problems you couldn’t fix.
She took a steadying breath, hoping this wasn’t one of them. Maybe he’d act normal, she would, too, and it would all be fine again. Or at least as fine as it had ever been.
But she didn’t see Carver all evening—a first since they came to Atlantis. She waited, but he didn’t give a single sign of life from his bedroom. Despite an utter lack of appetite, she ate an orange for dinner and went to bed with enough tension whipping through her that she worried she might accidentally burn down the building.
“You really are an idiot,” she muttered into her pillow, punching it for good measure. The problem was, she didn’t know if she was talking to herself or to Carver.