Chapter 32 Windows
WINDOWS
While it was extremely difficult to untangle ourselves, Ciaran and I managed to leave the tavern as the sky started to pale, from a deep indigo to a stunning lavender.
There was no sign of Scion’s police force in the foggy morning streets, but we stayed on the north side of the Sequana, crossing only when we got to the same bridge where Elena and I had fled the gendarmes all those weeks ago.
We knew nothing about what had happened with our friends after we fled the opera house.
I prayed that they had made it out alive.
That they’d been able to get back to the mirror at least. Ciaran didn’t say anything, but I could tell he was worried as we descended the Medusa Steps and made our way through the catacombs toward the training room.
Elena was there, pacing back and forth, wringing her hands—tension and stress pouring off her lithe frame.
She was the first to spot us, running over.
Elena threw her arms around me, holding me tightly to her.
“Oh, thank the Goddess you’re alright.” She released me and punched me in the arm.
Hard. “What the hell happened?” She wheeled on Ciaran, hugging and punching him too. “I saw you get shot!”
“Ow!” Ciaran winced. “Good to know you’re safe as well.”
Rory and Fionn had been sitting when we entered the room, but they leapt up to greet us.
“Thank the Goddess that you’re all safe.” Ciaran exchanged relieved looks with the twins. It had been a harrowing night. And we were extremely lucky that we made it out intact.
“Yes, we made it back to the mirror. Unlike you. You were shot, Ciaran,” Rory reminded him.
“Right. Yes. I was shot. But I’m alright,” Ciaran reassured his friends. “Seraphina helped me get the bullet out, and I was able to heal the wound before I bled out.”
The blood drained from my face. I knew the situation had been dire, but to hear Ciaran phrase it like that? It hadn’t dawned on me—how close to death he had been.
“What happened?” Fionn began. “I was in the upper mezzanine levels when I saw you jump off the balcony. Then suddenly you were beating the shit out of some guy. And then he pulled out a gun and shot you. I set the smoke bombs off then to distract everyone and it worked. Thank fucking Ishtar. I lost track of you and you were just gone. We thought you had made it back, but you weren’t here either. Where did you go? What happened?”
Ciaran glanced at me. I shifted my weight side to side, trying to will the flush to stop creeping into my cheeks. It was no use, though. Elena noticed and narrowed her eyes.
Fionn also noticed, and an evil grin spread across his face, replacing the concern that had coloured it a moment ago.
Ciaran remained stoic. “Seraphina was discovered at the masquerade. Her identity was revealed.” He went on to explain what had happened with Seff. When he revealed that it had been Seff who had shot Ciaran, all three of them growled, low and menacing.
“The gendarmes forced us to the other side of the river. My magic was all but spent after healing the gunshot wound. We had to find somewhere to lay low.” Ciaran’s tone was soft and serious, and it didn’t betray a hint of what had happened when we were running through the streets or laying low.
My face, however, must have turned a raspberry hue. I tried to school my features into something that resembled shock and horror, and not a stupid grin. Because it was shocking and horrible. But Ciaran had wiped that all away last night.
Elena knew; the expression on her face told me she knew that Ciaran and I had crossed that line between platonic friends and something more. Thankfully, she didn’t seem upset, just supremely smug.
“How were you discovered, Seraphina?” Rory asked.
I explained how Carlotta had followed me onto the stage.
How she had accused me of murder and attempted murder.
How she had called me a whore, giving me five minutes to get out before she alerted the viscount to our presence.
I hadn’t told Ciaran this part of the story.
He looked irate. I was sure he would have punched Carlotta in the face too if he’d had the chance.
“Then while I was trying to find all of you, Seff grabbed me and forced me to dance with him. He also recognized me. He tore my mask off and revealed who I was to the whole party. Oh, and he called me a whore too. Great night for being called a whore.” I chuckled darkly.
“And the Pentacle?” Rory asked.
I shook my head, eyes lowered in shame. I had failed them.
“We were lucky to escape that mob with our lives, Rory. We can get the Pentacle another time. Scion doesn’t know about it, as far as we know. We survived. That’s all that matters right now,” Ciaran said.
I was grateful to him for standing by the decision to go to the masquerade at all.
It would have been very easy for him to turn on me, to demand why I had thought it would be a good idea.
He’d been shot because of my hare-brained idea.
Instead, he stood by me. He had my back—defended me.
I couldn’t help the way it made my breath catch.
As we stood there rehashing the events of the masquerade, exhaustion hit me so completely that I swayed on the spot. My eyelids grew heavy as the rush of emotions from the chase and the high of my night spent with Ciaran wore off. I needed sleep.
“And now we’re going to go to bed.” Ciaran’s eyes filled with concern again as he watched me; he knew exactly what I was thinking, he read me so well. “Unless you would like to grill us some more?” He glared at Elena and Rory.
“Nah, we’re good. You go to bed.” Fionn smiled, mischief dancing in his eyes. “I’m sure you’re really tired after all that… running and laying low was it?” He winked at me. I tried to scowl, but I couldn’t help the smile that crept across my face.
But I was exhausted, and as much as I wanted to finish what Ciaran and I had started in the tavern, I did need to sleep first.
Back at the apartment I crashed hard. I barely had enough strength left to scramble out of my masquerade dress and into something more comfortable.
I flopped onto the bed and fell into a deep sleep.
At some point during the strange fitful rest, I thought I felt gentle lips graze my forehead—thought I smelled rosemary before sleep claimed me again.
Hours later I awoke, tucked under the warm flannel sheets, with Ciaran dozing beside me on top of the blankets. He woke as soon as I stirred.
“Sorry. I was just checking on you. I must have fallen asleep too.” He looked embarrassed, as if he hadn’t meant to be found beside me.
“This is your room anyway.” I shrugged, chewing on my lower lip. My mouth was so dry—I needed a bath and to freshen up.
“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.” Ciaran, normally so suave and confident, seemed nervous. “There’s something I need to show you.”
“Okay.” I sat up, stretching, feeling aches in my muscles for the first time since the rush of the previous night. “But I need to have a bath first.” I leaned over and kissed Ciaran’s cheek, feeling heat sear me in the wake of the seemingly chaste gesture.
I emerged from the bathroom, clean, fresh, hair wrapped in a towel and ready to face this reality, where Ciaran and I had not only crossed the line but smashed it to pieces.
Ciaran was in the kitchen, standing over a skillet of fried potatoes, onions and peppers in a spicy, savoury sauce. He had already prepared thick toast and a pot of steaming hot coffee. I could have kissed him.
“So, is this what you had to show me?” I mumbled, my mouth full of potatoes and bread.
Ciaran’s mouth twisted into an arrogant smirk. “No. This is just because I thought you were probably feeling as hungry as I was after all the… excitement of last night.”
I swallowed. “This is so. So. Good.” I shovelled more into my mouth, decorum be damned. I was starving. “You are incredible.”
The smirk widened into a full grin. Cocky bastard. I probably shouldn’t compliment him so much. But he was incredible. At so many things.
“I really like it when you talk to me like that.” Ciaran tilted his head to the side, and I was sure he was remembering how I had said something very similar to him the night before. I narrowed my eyes but continued to pile more and more of the delicious food into my mouth.
“Well, I really like it when you cook for me,” I countered. Two could play this game.
“I also really like to watch that pretty mouth of yours. I like it even more when it’s on me.” His eyes were fixated on said mouth. The game was over now—flush crept up my neck and into my cheeks, heating my entire face as I swallowed and took a sip of coffee.
We finished eating, Ciaran cleaning up, ever the fastidious and neat one—my polar opposite—and headed down the trap door.
We walked through the catacombs toward the Cistern, where we had dared each other to jump in.
I should have told him then—how I felt. I had wasted so much time, never sure of what I wanted.
Ciaran led me to a nondescript door and unlocked it with a key, while muttering some spells. I hadn’t seen him use those spells to unlock anything other than his own home. This was a special place, then.
The door opened to a large space that was flooded with daylight. I let out a gasp as I stepped inside.
“What? How?” I murmured, spinning on the spot, taking in the features of the naturally lit room.
Four of the walls were typical—plaster, painted a warm white—but the wall on the opposite side of the door was the natural rock face, where the wall remained anyway.
Along that wall, impossibly, stood floor-to-ceiling windows, which overlooked the rushing River Sequana and had a stunning view of the northern side of the city.
My eyes prickled as I took in the view of the city I had loved so much.
The ceilings of the room were high—at least twelve feet—and star-vaulted, like the ceiling of the Cistern. The floor was a deep walnut, and there were several doors leading off to, what I assumed, were various other rooms.
“Ciaran. What is this place? How is this place?”
“I started having it built… oh… at least a year ago. I was still living and working in the city above, trying to complete my mission against the viscount, but I planned to move down here to be with my people full time. When everything happened with Scion, I needed a temporary space to live—hence our tiny apartment.” He shrugged.
Our tiny apartment. “But I had always planned on living here. It’s almost finished now.
The windows are made from the same two-way glass as the mirror up in the opera house.
They are magically warded to let the light in but be invisible to the outside world.
” And I noticed then, runes, carved into the wood that framed the windows.
There were little runes and characters like those in the intricate golden frame of the mirror in the opera house too. How had I never noticed before?
I was blinking stupidly. I hadn’t seen true daylight since I came here. The few glimpses of the night and creeping dawn had been all I was allowed. But this place? I could truly see the sun.
“Did you… design all this?” I was awestruck.
“I did,” Ciaran said quietly from behind me.
“You sing. You cook. You write music. You fight against tyranny. You write poetry. You design magical homes carved into rock. Is there anything you can’t do?”
“Yes,” he said, quieter still, “there is.”
“What?” I whirled on him, ready to play another verbal sparring game.
“I cannot stop this.” His eyes burned into mine as he said it, intense and open and completely vulnerable. “Wanting you.”
The power of his gaze knocked the wind out of me, and I stepped toward him, breathless, desperate to feel the strength of his arms around me once more.