Chapter 18
I spend the rest of the week thinking about that kiss.
I go to class; I think about the kiss. I eat lunch; I think about the kiss. I lie awake, eyes on the ceiling, and think about his lips on mine, my pelvis on his, grinding into him as if the friction between our bodies could make our clothes disappear.
After Daerios left on Tuesday, I hastily threw together a midterm proposal inspired by Dr. Infix’s lecture the week before.
Daerios and I plan to scour the English and Lukkarin language to see if we can find any morphological overlap.
In other words: is there any evidence that humans and elves have crossed paths before they came to Earth, one hundred years ago?
I know it’s a cop-out. Elves and human evolved in completely different realms. The odds of there being any crossover are next to nothing.
In all likelihood, we’ll do a cursory search of both dictionaries and come up empty-handed.
But for some reason, when I show Daerios the proposal before class, his eyes widened.
“What?” I demanded. “You don’t like it?”
“No,” he said. “It’s not that.”
“Then, what?”
He held the paper as if it were a stick of dynamite. “I just—” He cleared his throat. “I don’t think we’ll find anything.”
“That’s the whole point.” I stuck my hand out and waved it impatiently. “Now, let’s go turn it in before we miss the deadline.”
And, of course, as I passed the paper in to Sheila, our TA, I thought about the kiss.
Two hours later, working at my desk in my dorm room, I decide I have to say something to him. Anything. A hint, a sign, no matter how oblique.
Quinn: where did those donuts come from?
The response comes almost instantly.
UNKNOWN: Well, hello there, friend.
UNKNOWN: I do believe I’ve found your weakness.
He has no idea how right he is.
Not long afterward, a knock sounds on my door. When I open it up, the person who knocked is already gone, but I find a pink box sitting on the floor with a note taped to the top:
I live to please. —D
My cheeks burn. I peel off the note, crumpling it up and stuffing it into my pocket before Cara can see.
It’s Thursday night, which means I’m lying flat on the roof of the Ikarith, listening to Daerios and Berendir harass the Punchmaster.
They’re supposed to be going over the rules of joining the Ikarith, giving the Punches a chance to ask questions.
The Terrible Twosome have done most of the asking, the questions turning subtly lewder with each round.
When Berendir asks, “And how much time, then, do you think we’ll spend on our knees before we bring the mission to completion?
” I have to cover my mouth to keep from laughing aloud.
An hour into the stakeout, a commotion sounds down on Linden Street. Whinnying. Horse’s hooves. Voices extinguish inside as members scramble to determine who is arriving. It doesn’t take long.
“It’s Saechon, Your Highness.”
“I see,” comes the voice of Daerios. “Presumably to see me again.”
“Presumably.”
Light footsteps as the other Punches file out of the room. Then the soft closing of the door, and a long beat of quiet before:
“I assume you know why I’m here.” Saechon’s voice, delicate and musical as that of a child, should soothe me. Instead, it sends chills down my spine.
“Not a clue, brother.”
“Word has reached England,” Saechon says. “You’ve been spotted cavorting about campus with a human female.”
Dread, thick and murky, pools at the base of my stomach.
“Is that so?” asks Daerios.
“It is.”
“What else do they say?”
“They say her name is Quinn Kallister. That she is a skilled linguist who grew up in St. Paul, Minnesota. That you follow her around campus like a lovesick puppy.”
“Now, that’s somewhat rude.”
“You know the rules, Daerios. It is one thing for you to play around with human females in nightclubs. It is quite another to pursue a relationship with one.”
“Is this the part where you give me a lecture about not disobeying Father’s commands?”
Father’s commands?
“If I have to.”
“What if I said I didn’t care what Father thinks?”
“Then I would call you just as foolish as you pretend to be.”
“Did you really fly across the ocean just to insult me? A phone call would’ve sufficed.”
A harsh laugh. “The world does not revolve around you, Daerios, though you seem to believe it does. I am here on official business. Getting you in line is just a side mission.”
“Right,” Daerios mocks. “Because my brothers and I are little more than chess pieces to be put in line for your and Father’s grand plan.”
“We are all working in service of a larger mission, Daerios.”
Snort. “Don’t I know it.”
The sound of a chair scraping back and a body settling onto its cushion.
The soft pop of a cork being wrested from the neck of a bottle.
“In the hundred years we have spent in this realm, you have never demonstrated such interest in a human female. Tell me, brother,” the clink and swirl of pouring liquid, “what makes this girl different?”
For a long, tense moment, I hear nothing but the steady filling of two cups. Then, quietly, Daerios says, “What if I told you she’s the one, Sae?”
It is as if time stops. The cars no longer move. The people no longer breathe. The stars no longer turn in the night sky. My chest constricts, tightening to a fist-sized boulder, and I clutch at the shingles of the roof as if I might suddenly roll straight off.
What if I told you she’s the one?
He can’t possibly mean—?
“Well, is she?” Saechon asks. “You’ve had ample time to figure it out.”
This question halts my train of thought. Has he? Are elves truly so driven by logic that they see love as something that can be hastily figured out?
I don’t want to care what he answers. I don’t want to hope that it will be a yes.
I can’t. I barely know Daerios. While I can no longer deny my attraction to him—not after what happened on Tuesday—it doesn’t mean that I’m anywhere near in love with him, right?
He’s an elf, for God’s sake. A violent, angry, drunken, self-absorbed elf.
I could never fall for someone like that, right?
Right?
Why, then, is my heart twisting itself into anxious little knots?
Daerios doesn’t answer right away. His silence stretches on, pulling and tightening the knots in my chest until they’re so painful I fear they may burst right out into the damp night.
And then, just when I can take it no longer: “No.”
No.
The word is like a push over a cliff I didn’t know was there. I am falling. I am in freefall. My stomach is sinking and spinning, and I’m trying desperately to stop it, but the disappointment is a rush of air, twisting limbs, a rocky ground hurtling toward me with deadly speed.
“At first, I thought she might be,” comes Daerios’s voice. “That’s why I paid such close attention to her.”
Saechon asks, “But she is not?”
“She is not.”
“I see.” A pause. “That is too bad.”
Too bad? Now I’m just confused. Does Saechon want Daerios to fall in love with me?
“If she is not the one, then nothing good can come from you spending time with her,” Saechon continues. “You risk the fate of Elaerion, and for what? A schoolboy crush?”
“It isn’t like that.”
“Well, then, pray tell—what is it?”
“Quinn and I are… we’re friends.”
There’s that word again.
“You are a Prince of the Sun,” Saechon says. “You have plenty of friends already.”
“Not one like her.”
Wooden legs on wooden floor as a chair pushes back. “You are playing a fool’s game, Daerios.” Footsteps. The creak of door hinges. Before his exit, Saechon adds one more warning, “Trust me on this, brother: stay away from Quinn Kallister. There will be consequences if you do not.”
I don’t remember climbing off the roof. I don’t remember sprinting down Mt. Auburn Street, or the journey up the stairs of Stone Hall. It is all a blur of disheveled emotion, of lightheaded stumbles and the ricochet of Daerios and Saechon’s words against the walls of my mind.
What if I said I don’t care what Father thinks?
What if I told you she’s the one?
You risk the fate of Elaerion.
Stay away from Quinn Kallister.
One moment, I am flat on my back on the roof of the Ikarith.
The next, I am back in my room, legs crossed on my comforter, staring down into an open box of donuts.
Round. Skinny. Chocolate. Sprinkled. Glazed.
Twisted. Happy. Unhappy. Beautiful. Their cheerful faces mock me.
Laugh at the blind confusion ripping apart my insides.
What, really, were the two brothers discussing? Was it just Daerios’s feelings for me? But if that were the case, how could Saechon both warn him to stay away from me and be disappointed that I’m not the one? None of it makes sense.
The elves, and Saechon in particular, are so single-mindedly set on finding the thing that will fix the blight on Elaerion. Is it possible that their conversation somehow connects to the search? That true love—finding the one—is the cure to banishing the shadows?
But, no. That’s absurd. Real life doesn’t work like a Disney movie.
I lift up the donut. Inhale. Breathe in sugar and sprinkles and sin and everything else I tasted on his lips two nights ago.
What the hell am I to make of the effect that conversation had on me? I’m the one who sent Daerios away two nights ago. I’m the one who swore we were nothing more than friends. Why the hell does his rejection feel like I’m falling into a fathomless black pit?
This relationship has clearly gotten out of hand.