Chapter 14
14
T HE S OUTH W IND ’ S ARM BANDS across my chest, yanking me against his body as a wall of wind encases me so completely that when I reach out, it feels as if my palm presses against hard stone. A tremor runs through Notus’ frame. His breathing possesses a ragged edge.
Only now do I realize what I have done: inserted myself between a weapon and its intended target. It shouldn’t matter. Notus cannot die by a mortal-made weapon. Yet I moved without thought.
“Release my sister,” Amir hisses. The tip of his sword scrapes the surface of the air-hardened wall.
“Your sister,” Notus says gruffly, “or my wife-to-be?”
It is so silent I hear the click of my swallow. Then: whispers. They stir the air into a frenzy, until no area of the ballroom is left undisturbed by the rush and roar of this oncoming wave. Did I hear that correctly? Princess Sarai and the South Wind? Engaged? What of Prince Balior? It cannot be true.
Amir belts out a laugh. It is a loud, garish racket, made sloppy by the amount of wine he has consumed this evening. Tuleen shrinks in mortification.
“First,” Amir sneers, gaze locked on the South Wind over my shoulder, “you deny a direct order from the heir to the throne. Now, you spout a claim that is so implausible it is borderline comical. Release my sister, before you embarrass yourself further.”
“I will release her,” Notus states with equal scorn, “when you lower your sword.”
A few gasps ring throughout the ballroom.
The South Wind and I stand on one side of the barrier; Amir and Tuleen stand on the other, the attendees crowding at their backs. They are moths, drawn by the bright of candleflame. As such, no one notices the palace physician escorting King Halim from the ballroom. No one but me.
“Remember who it is you address,” Amir snarls. “Release my sister, or I will have your head.”
“You will not,” I snap.
Amir’s eyes flick to me in confusion. In this moment, he looks so much like Fahim that it hurts my heart. “Then we will duel, and whoever is left standing will be granted the honor of taking the other’s life.”
Notus unsheathes his scimitar. The curved weapon glints brilliantly, its edge nicked by many a battle. I have observed Notus whet and polish his blade time and again, with painstaking care. No one can best the South Wind in a duel. He is graced with powers far beyond those of any mortal. Should they lock blades, I am certain it will end with my brother drenched in a pool of his own blood.
“Put that away,” I growl to Amir.
“He dishonors you in spewing these falsehoods.” His sword does not waver. “I will not have it.”
I glance around the room. So many eyes, so eager for blood. But one person in particular is absent: Prince Balior. “Notus does not lie,” I admit quietly, hoping to diffuse the situation. “We are engaged.”
Shock ripples through the crowd. Amir is like the sculptures lining the Temple District, those holiest of deities forever entombed in arid rock. “You think me a fool?” His lips have thinned to the point of being nonexistent. “I will not have it—”
“It is no deception,” I snap as the tether to my patience begins to fray. My brother, the most stubborn of King Halim’s children.
“Father gave you his blessing?”
“Not in those exact words, but he has always admired and respected Notus. It is a good match.”
The information leaches through the gathering, first as ripples, then massive swells as guests begin to question the legitimacy of the announcement. King Halim? His blessing? Let them talk. None would dare question the king.
Eventually, my brother lowers his sword a fraction. “I don’t understand.” Much of his earlier scorn has depleted, too overwhelmed by confusion to endure. “You know the ways in which this god has wronged you.”
I know. Roshar was not the only one who helped me gather the shattered pieces of myself after Notus vanished without a trace. Amir did as well. But I fear a greater threat to Ammara than a broken heart. The South Wind might be all that stands between this kingdom and utter ruination.
“Amir,” I say pleadingly. “Put your sword away. Please.”
I may as well have demanded he strip naked, so insulted does he appear. “Only if the South Wind sheathes his own weapon.”
Notus’ left arm is still banded around my waist. His right arm is held out, sword aloft. I touch the underside of his wrist in silent inquiry.
At once, the South Wind sheathes his sword. Amir follows, and only then does the wall of air dissipate. The room swells with a collective exhalation, numerous attendees fanning themselves, having found the display to be both exhilarating and alarming. It will, to be certain, be the most entertaining social event of the season.
Amir catches Notus’ eye. “We’re not finished, you and I.”
The South Wind says nothing, only watches my brother storm from the room, Tuleen at his heels.
As the crowd begins to disperse, I jostle my way toward the refreshment table, snatching a cup of water and downing its contents in one swallow. Its bracing coolness washes the dryness from my throat. The display has shaken me more than I care to admit. What is a woman to do with her back against the wall?
I expect Notus to have followed me, but I spot him halfway across the ballroom, striding with purpose toward the corridor. The sight of his retreating form seizes my heart.
I’m moving before I’m aware of it, my cup abandoned, shoving aside guests left and right. I catch his arm before he reaches the hall. “Where are you going?” To meet your mystery woman? He was certainly moving with enough haste.
He glances down at me in impatience. “To the library. There’s something I want to check.”
At this time of night, the library is closed. Empty. An ideal location to meet an unmarried woman without danger of tainting her reputation.
My fingers fist the front of his sunset-colored robe. “We have things to discuss.”
“Whatever it is, it will have to wait.”
“It can’t wait.”
His eyes kindle in warning. “Sarai.”
“Notus.”
It is then his attention drops, locking on to my bracelet. His gaze darkens. The sight billows through me with breathless heat.
“It’s a symbol,” I explain, in anticipation of his question. “To represent our engagement.” I’m pleased by my unaffected tone. Even I find it believable. “You did gift it to me, after all.”
“I did,” he replies slowly. “I didn’t realize you still had it in your possession.”
I’m suddenly aware of our proximity, the press of his hard thighs against mine, how the warm air feathers against my skin, ebbing and flowing in time with his breath. I have been here before. The most deliriously joyful time of my life. It does not bode well that already I struggle to keep my distance.
“As much as I’d like to discuss your choice of jewelry,” he says, “there’s something I need to do. It can’t be delayed.”
After a moment, I release him. Of course, he is going to meet this mystery woman. I am imagining his hands on her hips, her fingers in his hair, their mouths soft and open, mated fully. I crush a hand to my chest, above my thundering heart. “What is so important at a time like this?” My traitorous voice wavers. “I am your betrothed.”
The South Wind studies me with too much knowing. For once, it does not feel so terrible to lower my guard. I trust him, though I fear it may be to my own detriment.
Tugging me into a dimly lit recess, Notus drops his voice, broad frame blocking the guests milling about from my view. “Did you notice that Prince Balior disappeared during the ball?”
I nod. “You think he went to the library?”
“Either the library or the labyrinth.”
I’m so relieved that I barely flinch when he demands, “What did the prince say to you earlier?”
“Nothing of importance. Just that he hopes we’ll be able to discuss this whole misunderstanding.” I hesitate, unsure if I should go on, but then I say, “He believes we are an excellent match and that our realms are stronger together than apart. He wants to discuss how we might move forward.”
The South Wind bristles. The sight pleases me. At least I’m not the only one affected by the sight of him seeking companionship in another. “And what did you say?”
“That I would think about it.”
“And are you?” In the amber glow, flecks of color fracture the dark wells of his eyes. “Thinking about it, that is.”
I frown and glance away. Does he ask only for the sake of Ammara, or something more? “I haven’t decided.”
Notus does not appear particularly satisfied by my answer. “The writing’s on the wall, Sarai. Prince Balior has ulterior motives.”
“I know.”
“Do you? Because the Sarai I knew would never have considered making a deal with the enemy.”
His words sting, which must mean they hold some truth. My life was different then. With Notus, I’d felt free. I’d revealed to him a woman hidden deep who yearned only for acceptance. When he was gone, I wondered if he’d even loved that person—the bright fire of the woman I’d been.
“The Sarai you knew is no more,” I bite out. “Today is all we have. Do you understand?” The South Wind hasn’t the slightest notion of how the curse burdens me. He does not know the dread of each arriving day. He is eternal.
Eventually, he sighs. “I understand.” But it is clear he does not agree with me. “If you want to check the library, we shouldn’t delay.”
We make haste departing the ballroom. Four guards stand sentry at the library. They claim not to have seen Prince Balior, but I can’t be sure that he hasn’t bribed them. Inside the expansive atrium, all is quiet. An air of abandonment shades the area, with its vacated armchairs and extinguished fireplace. No scent of burning. No indication of any darkwalkers near.
After lighting a lamp at the front counter, I shuffle behind Notus through the back stacks, a palm pressed to his lower spine. The heat of his skin through his robes is the only warmth in this lightless place.
“This way,” I whisper.
Down, down the gloomy hall where the air grows icy, my breath pluming as clouds before us. The special collections are still in disarray, books and documents stacked haphazardly along the walls. I direct him to the last doorway at the end of the hall, our single lamp wavering.
The room is empty. Everything has been straightened, the desk rightened. The shelves have been cleared, leaving bare walls behind. Not a book or scroll in sight.
“You didn’t happen to clear this room,” I ask Notus in unease, “did you?”
“No. I searched it but found nothing.”
“No documents?”
“None.”
That’s what I suspected. If Notus didn’t clear the room, who did? Prince Balior? The head archivist? I could demand a search of the prince’s room, but what if I’m wrong?
“I suppose,” Notus says, “I can do some research of my own, reach out to some old contacts to see if anyone has books or information regarding the labyrinth.”
I nod in agreement. “I’ll keep looking through the book I grabbed to see if anything else stands out to me.” The more we know about the labyrinth, the greater the likelihood we stumble across material regarding my curse.
With no signs of disturbance, we return to the corridors emptyhanded. My mood darkens the farther we travel through the palace. I have questions for Notus concerning tonight’s ball, but this is not the place for private conversation. These halls echo.
A nearby door catches my eye. That will do. “In here.” Dragging open the door, I shove him inside.
Darkness surrounds us, though a strip of light shines beneath the crack at the bottom of the shut door. Stacks of bedsheets, tablecloths, and towels stuff the shelves lining the cramped space.
“A linen closet?” Notus drawls. “Really?”
I lift my chin. “You have a better idea?”
His scoff wafts across my upturned face. The spice of his breath is so familiar it makes my teeth ache. We stand too close—the toes of his boots brush my slippers. Notus is a shadow before me, a ghost of my past, yet he is warm enough to rival the sun.
Once again, I understand the mistake I have made. This deity’s presence clouds my thoughts and rips clarity from my grasp. There can be no worse place to have a conversation between former lovers than a closet, where his every breath becomes mine.
“What is this about, Sarai?”
That ugly, grinding sensation in my chest returns, shaving itself down to a vicious point. I think of Notus’ promise, now broken. I think of that woman in the silver gown. I think of how lonely I am, how lonely I have always been, despite having been surrounded by people my entire life.
“Do you recall our conversation at the beginning of the week?” I say.
The South Wind regards me warily. “I’m not following.”
He will make me spell it out for him. Very well. “About agreeing to the fake engagement. About being a little more convincing ?”
His silence is telling. I sense rather than spot the pulse in his jaw. “I apologize for revealing our engagement. I understand why you would be angry about that. I should have discussed it with you beforehand.”
“I’m not angry because you told the entire court about it,” I hiss. The truth would have revealed itself eventually, with or without his aid. “I’m angry because you ignored me for the entire evening.”
“I didn’t ignore you,” Notus counters, voice heating to match mine. “You were the one who ignored me.”
A slow throb consumes me, a bright shimmer in my blood. Wounded Sarai is an entirely different beast. “Oh, really?”
“You were speaking with Tuleen,” he growls. “When I attempted to approach you, you pretended I didn’t exist.”
My mouth clamps shut in surprise. He is right. I had forgotten how I’d ignored him in front of my sister-in-law. And yet— “Why didn’t you approach me a second time?”
“Sarai.” He shakes his head, the gesture of a man at his wit’s end. “Do you hear yourself? If you sent me away, I would assume, as any sane person would, that you do not wish to be near me. Anyway, Amir was present. He hates me. You know this. I was trying to prevent a scene, which obviously didn’t work. I was doing what I believed to be in your best interest.”
Something claws at me with terrifying desperation. It wants to be seen, known, heard, soothed. Though I stand before Notus, it feels as if I stand before Father. I attempt to reach him, yet always, he brushes me aside. I do not feel understood. I feel burdensome.
“That’s not what I wish,” I croak.
“Then what do you wish?”
My twisted mind has the gall to misinterpret his inflection, the lowering of his voice to something decidedly more intimate. “I wish you would have come back to me.” So that we might face this new world united instead of as separate parts. “Instead, I spent the entire evening watching you woo another woman despite the plan we’d made.”
“What?” He’s stunned. “Who?”
“Black hair, silver gown, huge chest. You don’t remember?” How convenient. “You touched her back. I watched you touch her.” My lips peel back as though I am a snarling dog. “Who is she?”
Again, this damned, dreadful silence. I fear his response, yet I’m no coward.
“I don’t know who she was,” he says.
“Lies.”
Notus glances at the ceiling while muttering what I believe is a prayer. “You are quick to make assumptions, Sarai. Yes, it appeared that I touched this woman’s back.” He looks at me then. “Did you ask yourself why?”
What a foolish question. “Because you’re attracted to her, obviously!”
“By the gods,” he mutters. His hand slips to his beltloop and emerges clutching something long and tapered: a dagger.
I stare at the weapon. “I don’t understand.”
“I don’t know who that woman was. I’ve never seen her before.” He searches my gaze. Perhaps he wishes as desperately to understand me as I do him. “But I saw the shape of the blade beneath her dress. When I searched her, this is what she carried.”
Prior to entering the palace, all guests save those who serve the royal family are required to remove all weapons. Additionally, each person is thoroughly searched. How did this woman manage to slip past?
“I was concerned she would use it against the king.” After sliding the weapon into its sheath, he returns it to his beltloop.
“Where is the woman now?” I ask.
“Locked up for questioning.”
I see.
Notus must recognize my skepticism, for he adds, “My duty is to the crown. You know this.”
My chin lifts. Anger, that vibrant green shoot, leading always to fear rotting its roots. “And what of your duty to me? I am your betrothed.”
He shifts his weight back onto his heels. I’m tempted to ease forward and close that bit of distance. “The engagement is a farce.”
“Not to everyone else.”
“Why do you care what others think of you?” he demands, tossing up a hand in exasperation. It accidentally hits one of the shelves, sending linens tumbling to the ground. “Why is their perception of you more important than your perception of yourself?”
I flinch back. “It’s not.”
“Isn’t it?”
My lungs squeeze as I attempt to draw in air. I do not feel in control of my own emotions. On the contrary, I feel powerless against them. “Don’t pretend that you know anything about what I feel,” I say through clenched teeth. “We aren’t talking about my emotions. We’re discussing your failure to keep your promise to me.”
“My failure?” He scoffs. “Again, you sent me away, Sarai. That’s your own fault. Though now I question why you did it. Are you embarrassed to be seen in my company? Ashamed of me in some way?”
“Of course not.” Nothing could be further from the truth.
“Then why is this an issue?” he demands.
“Because I needed you!” I cry. “I needed you and you weren’t there!”
Notus goes still.
My gasps ricochet in the enclosed space. I don’t know how we arrived here, with our knives locked and our past tinging the air in sour memories, but as our eyes catch and hold, the South Wind shoves me back. My spine hits the shelves. Something rattles loose as his hot, hungry tongue parts my mouth.
I moan, loud and long and full of want. Here, now, the transgressions of our past matter not. We are two bodies colliding in darkness, two pairs of fumbling hands, two mouths and two hearts fused. I despise him and ache for him, scorn him and fear him and hunger for him, hunger for this: the South Wind’s anchoring presence, the security of his arms, the gentle pressure of his touch.
But there is no gentleness now. The darkness breeds hunger, cravings so acute I feel my very bones bend beneath its force. The South Wind has plastered himself fully against me, hands framing my face to stabilize my head as he steals every sharp-edged word from my mouth, every pointed insult, every scathing remark and daggered affront. He seeks to conquer me, but I will not go willingly. I eat at his mouth as he eats at mine, with thrusting tongues and vicious teeth, every pained groan drawn from his throat a spoil of war.
In this moment, Notus is mine, his body my realm. It has been long since I’ve explored its topography, but my hands remember, mapping the taut muscles and brute strength, the long line of his thighs leading to his abdomen, chest, shoulders, neck. Then down, sliding along his lower back, the taut globes of his backside gripped firmly in hand.
The wooden shelving at my back creaks as Notus rocks his hips forward. The length of his erection presses between my thighs, and I shudder, widening my stance so his cock nestles against the part of me that aches. The pleasure is mind-numbing, drenched in delirium. How could I have forgotten what it felt like to burn on a fuse before him?
A delicious sigh vibrates in my throat as I grind slowly against him. It’s not fair that he should feel so irresistible when I have done everything in my power to maintain distance. Too easily, I have been dragged into the South Wind’s undertow. I do not fight the pull.
With a pained groan, Notus rips his mouth free, stumbling back into the opposite wall. A stack of sheets falls onto his shoulders.
I can’t catch my breath. My knees wobble, and I fear they will collapse beneath me, unable to bear my weight.
“I apologize,” he whispers. “That was out of line. I—” Yet his voice dies. He hasn’t the words.
The glitter of Notus’ black eyes holds me in thrall. In the gloom, my gaze slips to the soft smudge of his parted mouth, the tongue that I have often dreamed of, despite my best attempts to push it from my mind.
Here is what I know. Desire is an animal. For years, it paced its cage. I did not feed it, not at first. Hungrier the beast grew. It crowded its pen. It knocked against the walls, the door, until it at last tore free.
Reaching out, I snag the front of his robe, haul him back, chest to chest and groin to groin. “Stop talking,” I murmur, then crush my mouth to his.
He tugs my hair loose of its binding. The tresses fall free, and he slides the locks between his fingers, grazing my scalp with a delicious roughness that draws my nipples to peaks beneath my gown. I whimper. My spine curves, pushing me flush against his frame. The air dampens with the rising perspiration of two shadows entwined.
A low, throaty purr cascades out of me. I claw at his clothes, eager for his long, hardened shaft to enter my core. One of my legs curls around the back of his thigh in an attempt to drag him closer. He relents, hitching me into his arms. My legs wrap his waist as he braces me against the shelves. Something tumbles from overhead and shatters.
Arms wrapped around his neck, I tuck my face beneath his jaw and suck the heated skin there. The South Wind is pure, untapped power. It charges the surrounding air into static. His hips roll with leashed aggression, rutting against me as tension coils white-hot beneath my skin.
“ Sarai …” Notus pushes harder against me, and I spread my legs wider. Delicious friction, unbearable heat. They twine into the tightest of knots.
And that has always been the problem, he and I. Our bodies fall into sync, into melody and countermelody. It is easy to forget what came before, his sudden departure. But that is what I fear most: that I will forget. That I will let him in. And then he’ll leave. Maybe not now, but someday. Ammara is not his home. What reason has he to stay?
I break the kiss, my breathing ragged. “Put me down. Please.”
He does so immediately.
I angle away from him, clutching the shelving with all the strength I possess. Collapsing into a puddle of emotion simply will not do.
“Are you all right?” Notus asks quietly.
“I’m fine.”
“Clearly.”
I cut him a glare. When Notus steps closer, my palm flies up, halting him. “This was a mistake,” I say.
He stares at me. His lips are swollen, color reddening his cheeks. “The engagement?”
I grit my teeth. He is being willfully obtuse. “The kiss.”
“I see.” His unhurried response rolls forth with aggravating contemplation. “Because you desire me.”
I practically choke on my own tongue. “Because you took advantage of me.”
The South Wind snorts. “No one can take advantage of you, Sarai. But—fine. If you refuse to admit that you desire me as I desire you, that is your prerogative.”
“Now who’s the liar?”
He is still, this immortal. Darkness leaches from the air to cloud the space between us so that I struggle to see his face in full. “What, exactly, have I lied to you about?”
“If you truly desire me as you claim,” I state, “you would have stayed all those years ago. But you didn’t.”
A blankness slides across his eyes, snuffing out the fire sparking within. I am sorry to see it go. Sorrier still that the past is present, this wound unhealed. When Notus retreats a step, my body goes cold.
“You’re right,” he says bitingly. “Then again, you always are.” Nudging me aside, he pushes out into the hallway, blinding me with the sudden flood of light.