24. Drinks and Dreams
S lowly, spring started to creep across the land. Leaves returned, flowers pushed through the cold earth, boughs blossomed and life sprung anew. The fields were filled with lambs, the nurseries whispered with the birth of new flying steeds, and markets swelled with people and produce. Ships flocked back to the harbour and filled the lakes, bursting with overseas nobles seeking the sun, or returning citizens who had finished trying to escape the winter.
Viola liked this time of year. She never enjoyed the long, dark nights, which at their peak seemed endless. Heading into the light never failed to renew her energy, to add a spring to her step.
It helped that Nicodemus was staying away from murder and assassinations, although he was wont to let people catch a glimpse of him at his numerous heists and robberies. The nobles were incensed. The general public, meanwhile, seemed to find the whole debacle amusing. Whatever his designs, Nicodemus wasn’t unscrupulous. He never stole from those who couldn’t afford it.
“What’s even the point?” she asked him one afternoon at the temple. “You don’t need any of this stuff.”
“Do I not?” Nicodemus leaned into his bag and removed a crown from it. He placed it on his dark locks. “Because I really feel like I need this.”
Viola scowled, partly at him, and partly at herself for noticing how the gold of the crown brought out the amber in his eyes .
Nicodemus grinned, as though he could sense her thoughts, and plucked the crown off his head to place on top of hers. “You look excellent in a crown, Windbright. Softens that scowl of yours.”
Viola shoved the crown back into his hands. “I will murder you.”
“So you keep saying.”
The ludicrousness of the situation was starting to fade for her. It was starting to feel almost normal to be chasing Nicodemus during the day and then berating him at night through their twinned notebooks.
You could have let me—
Did you have to—
Next time you could really—
The fear of being discovered, of losing everything, of being exiled, arrested or even killed was starting to ebb away. It returned from time to time, like in the moments where she did nearly catch him, or someone did nearly get hurt, but the rest of the time it was more of a quiet thrill, like the wait before a dive or flying on a wild steed.
“You always did like to court danger, ” said Sebastian’s voice in her ear.
He was right, of course. She was always the one climbing trees and hay bales, swinging from the rafters in the barn, jumping from the tallest rocks by the lake, and then crawling home with broken arms and sprained ankles and grazes on top of grazes. Her mother would sigh as she patched her up, and Seb would too, asking her why she never learned.
Because the thrill was worth the pain. Because she didn’t want to live in a world where she couldn’t run and jump and swing and dive.
And now, she was becoming increasingly aware that she didn’t want to live in a world without…
Well, it was best not to think about that.
A part of her felt protected by her bad luck, like she’d already lost so much that the world couldn’t be so cruel to her again. In her more lucid moments, she knew she was being foolish.
But maybe she’d had enough of being sensible. Or maybe this was who she’d always been—the girl who leapt before she looked, who dived into the deepest water, who’d never been held back by fear, never let herself be conquered by it.
One morning, she returned from patrolling the Feywood to find several of the knights preparing to ship out. There was an urgency that was unusual—the squires were running out with water spears, enchanted crossbows, flame-resistant armour and vats of burn ointment, all being strapped onto mounts and a small airship resting in the harbour. Viola recognised Freya’s pegasus, Valkyrie, as one of the steeds being readied.
“What’s going on?” she asked, grabbing Flameborn as he tightened the stirrups on his saddle .
“A dragon has been spotted in the western mountains,” he explained. “Torched a farm—cattle and children and all.”
Viola’s stomach plummeted. Flames roared in her ears. The heat of the flames leapt at her skin, images of burn bodies flashing across her mind—
It was rare for dragons to attack humans. They were an intelligent species and knew that humans were likely to retaliate. But after waking from a long hibernation, its hunger might have overtaken logic…
Viola glanced around her, counting the steeds. Twelve in all. “So many?”
“Apparently, it’s quite the beast.” Flameborn grinned, his eyes gleaming.
Viola almost wished she was going with them, although given her tendency to freeze when confronted with fire, it was probably for the best. She searched through the crowd for any of her friends heading off on the mission, wanting to wish them well.
Her eyes locked onto Freya’s instead.
They hadn’t spoken since she’d discovered Nicodemus in her room weeks ago. Viola had wanted to, but she couldn’t find a lie that spared her feelings and kept Nicodemus safe.
“Freya—” she started.
“What?” the knight snapped back.
“I… good luck, with the dragon.”
“Is that all you can say?”
“I don’t want you to get hurt, Frey.”
“You should have thought of that before inviting that noble back to your bed.”
The sense of urgency around them seemed to abate. A few of the crowd stopped moving, listening to the conversation. Viola squirmed under their gazes.
“You weren’t supposed to see us,” she said. “I didn’t think…”
“That’s your problem, isn’t it? You don’t think, and you don’t feel. You're as cold as they come.”
Viola’s throat tightened. “I feel,” she spat out. I feel even when I don’t want to.
Slowly, Freya unsheathed her sword and turned to face her. “Prove it.”
“Prove what?”
“Prove that you feel. Fight me. ”
Viola hesitated. Duels between knights were only permitted in the spirit of training, and only with the appropriate gear. She wasn’t wearing her full armour, and Freya’s sword could slice through almost anything.
That being said, Viola was fairly sure she could take her, or at least disarm her. It had been a long time since Freya had beaten her. Viola had the advantage of height and strength, and while Freya had the advantage of speed and stamina, she never fought her best when she was angry .
Viola drew her sword. “We don’t have to do this.”
Freya didn’t answer with words. She lunged instead. Viola sidestepped her, letting her run into the paddock fence. The crowd cleared to give them room.
“Three crowns on Windbright,” Flameborn whispered to someone.
“I’ll take that bet. Whiterain is crazy. ”
Freya swung round, meeting Viola’s sword. They parried, their faces close. Freya’s contorted as though in pain.
She kicked Viola’s middle, winding her before slashing at her shoulder. Her pauldron took most of the hit, absorbing it. Viola didn’t want to think about what would have happened if she’d missed.
She dug her free hand into the dirt and flicked it into Freya’s face. Freya cried out, swinging with her free hand and punching Viola in the jaw. Pain reverberated across her cheek. She tasted metal.
Spitting out blood, she rose from her spot, catching Freya’s sword with her own. Her attacks were relentless, frenzied. Hard to dodge, though Viola did her best. She didn’t want to hurt her. She darted out of reach, catching Freya’s back with her hilt, sending her sprawling into the ground.
She was up again in seconds. “Come on!” she yelled. “Fight me!”
“I am.”
“This isn’t your best. Do more. Feel more! ”
She wants to make me angry, Viola realised. She wanted to infuriate her if she couldn’t make her anything else.
And Viola couldn’t be made angry. Not by this.
“That’s enough!” Captain Drakesbane stalked across the grounds, Mage Arcaneborn beside her as if she suspected she might need magical back-up. “We do not fight for pain,” she reminded them. “Whiterain, saddle up, and be grateful you’re still on this mission. Windbright, you’re off duty for the day. Clean yourself up.”
“Yes, Captain,” Viola said swiftly, making no attempt to argue the reprimand. Heindrich came up behind her, but she shrugged him off. She headed back to the stables. Blackberry was still saddled up. She ruffled his feathers, checking he was still good for another ride.
She headed straight to the temple, not knowing why. She hadn’t stopped to grab her notebook. Nicodemus wouldn’t know she was there.
It didn’t matter. She didn’t want him there. She didn’t need him. She didn’t need anyone.
Nicodemus was in his study, staring at his nefarious plans and wishing he had the drive for any of them. Most of them were starting to feel a little more pointless than they used to. Viola was right; he didn’t need most of this stuff. He had enough money to hire himself an army.
When he first started to steal, it was for necessity. Then, simply because we wanted to. Because yes, he had decent clothes, but what about fine ones? Yes, he could afford bread, but what about wine? What about crystal chandeliers and stain-glass windows and silk sheets and leather-bound books and expensive paints? He deserved all these things far more than the people he was taking them from. The world owed him. Until the day the building came crashing down on him, he’d lost so much and taken so little. It was only right he took something back.
But then he thought of Viola, who’d also known loss, and her sparse room and empty drawers. She gave far more than she took.
Well, she’s a fool, a voice snapped.
No, she isn’t, he snapped back harder.
If he did arrange another heist and drop a few hints as to what it would be, he might run into her again. He was running out of excuses to lure her into the woods.
His eyes fell to the pages of another book, a list of names and addresses and a motive too serious to include in his jokingly-named nefarious plans. He sighed. It was never about the money. It was about making those who had wronged him suffer.
A dark flash cut across his thoughts. He looked up from his desk, and spotted a familiar-looking hippogriff heading towards the temple.
Nicodemus smiled. The Goddess was looking up at him today.
Setting aside all thoughts of revenge, he took a moment to check himself out in the mirror, putting on his mask in case anyone else saw them (at which point, he assumed, he would have to start attacking her to keep up their ruse… which could be a lot of fun) and pulled on a jacket with a black feathered collar and cuffs, dusted with bronze. He thought it made him look like a majestic raven. That done, he snatched up his cane, opened the window, and proceeded down to the temple of platforms of shadow, sauntering into the foyer where Windbright was slashing through foliage .
When his eyes fell upon her face, his smile dropped immediately. Her bottom lip was split, and a fresh bruise was spreading along her jaw.
“What happened?” he said, striding towards her. He took her chin and tilted it into the light. “Who did this to you?”
She pulled herself away from him. “I had a fight with Freya.”
The girlfriend. The ex- girlfriend. He hadn’t had much of an opinion on her before today. He actually felt himself feeling a bit sorry for her when she’d walked in on them. Any traces of sympathy vanished now, cast into the void. He’d never gone from ambivalent to wanting to murder someone faster.
“Want me to kill her for you—”
“No!” Viola objected. “No, I just—”
“What? What do you want?”
“I want not to hurt anymore.” She turned away from him, as if confessing to some vile secret. “Pathetic, right?”
Nicodemus was no stranger to not wanting to be in pain—physical or emotional. “I don’t think it’s pathetic to try to rid yourself of pain.”
“No?”
“No. I just… The heart is not so easily healed as skin and flesh. And I’m not one gifted at healing either.” He tapped his mask, his leg aching at his words. “I do, however, have a fine collection of alcohol. Want to follow me to my cellar?”
If Windbright was annoyed that she was once more being presented with stolen goods, she kept her thoughts to herself. They took two fine bottles into the parlour overlooking the courtyard, and immediately opened one. Windbright refused to let it breathe and started knocking it back. Nicodemus cringed. He savoured his own glass. It was as rich as velvet, and made him think of harvesting plums at the back of his foster house and his foster mother making jam with them. Summer was stewed into every sip.
“This is excellent,” Windbright remarked, refilling her glass. Clearly her taste wasn’t as terrible as her manners. “Tastes like plum and summer.”
“That’s what I thought! ”
“Something else, too. Apples?” She took another long sip. “Yes, slightly crisp undertones.”
“Stop drinking it like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like it’s honey mead. Slow. Savour.”
“Usually, I’d agree,” she replied. “But I just really, really want to get drunk right now.”
Nicodemus had to admit, he quite wanted to know what drunk Viola was like. “Shall we play a game? I shall say something. You need to guess if it’s true or false. If you’re correct, I drink. If you’re wrong, you sip instead.”
“Sounds like a deal.” She held out her hand. “Shall we shake on it?”
Nicodemus slid his hand into hers, trying to ignore the jolt her palm provoked in his, like he’d been struck by a lightmancer. “Your hands really are very soft for a knight’s.”
Windbright smiled. It was a smirk almost as wicked as he imagined his often were. He wasn’t sure if he liked it or not. “Shall I go first first, Shadow Boy?”
“By all means.”
“My hands are soft because one of the few luxuries I allow myself is a rather expensive lotion.”
“I cannot imagine you spending money on such frivolous things. I call false.”
“Then drink, for it is true. Despite my thorny exterior, I do, in fact, like feeling pretty.”
“You don’t have a thorny exterior,” said Nicodemus, a little too quickly. “A prickly personality, sure. But your exterior is actually one of your finer qualities.”
Windbright scowled at him. He wasn’t sure why that was his favourite expression of hers, but every time she did it, he wanted to make her do it again.
He took a sip. “My turn. I can see you enjoying looking pretty, because you looked very fetching that night at the ball.”
“ Obviously true,” said Windbright, pointing to his glass. “Because I looked incredible.”
It was hard to disagree with that, and he realised he’d changed his mind: he liked her smile more than her scowl.
“Your turn,” he told her.
“Hmm. I had a cat called Tybalt when I was a child.”
“Oh, that’s far too ordinary. That’s hard to guess. Give me something more personal.”
Viola’s smile dropped. “I don’t do personal.”
“Fair enough,” he said swiftly. He didn’t really either. “I’ll guess true. ”
“And true it is. We had a few cats growing up. Tybalt was the worst. I mean, he was still a cat, so pretty great, but he’d claw up everything and we had to stop leaving out anything on our surfaces because he’d push them off. Gods, that cat was a dick.” She took a drink. “I miss the little bugger.”
I think I’d miss you even if I’d never met you, came Nicodemus’ thoughts, conjured, no doubt, by the alcohol. What a strange, stupid thing to think. He’d obviously had more than he thought.
The door opened before the thought turned into words, and Cordelia stood in the threshold, wearing a stained dress the colour of buttercups. A crown of daisies was woven into her hair. She looked like she’d been out foraging.
“Oh,” she said, her eyes falling on Viola, “you’re here.”
“I’m getting drunk!” Viola said, holding up the glass that proved she was already halfway there. “Will you be joining us?”
“I could, but I don’t want to. Nicodemus… don’t do anything stupid.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.”
“You literally wake up in the morning with stupid plans in your head.”
“That is… fair. Please leave.”
She closed the door without another thought.
Nicodemus turned back to Viola. “Now—whose go is it?”
For hours it seemed, they traded lies, before words and facts seemed empty and Viola’s boldness grew. She wanted to slide down across the polished floors and down the bannisters, something she’d been dreaming of doing since the first time she visited the royal palace and knew she’d never have the opportunity or the courage to. Nicodemus seemed only too happy to oblige her, even if he toppled at the end of his slide and had to be helped up by her. This was followed by her demanding that they build a fort in the dining room, and then scuttling into it only to immediately announce a game of ‘dare or drink’ where they challenged each other to increasingly complicated feats of stupidity until their sides ached from laughing and they collapsed once more into the pile of pillows, so close that their shoulders were touching.
“Want to know a secret?” Viola asked after catching her breath .
“I would happily kill a person to possess one of your secrets,” Nicodemus replied, which seemed a bit dramatic but she supposed he wasn’t particularly bothered by murders on the best of days.
“I used to be a bit of a wild child,” she confessed.
Nicodemus punched the air. “I knew it!”
“What? How did you know? I follow all the rules now !”
“Viola, darling, you just swung from a villain’s chandelier. Your moral compass clearly doesn’t point due north.”
Viola rolled over, so close that their noses were almost touching. She enjoyed the way his throat bobbed at her proximity. “Not a villain’s,” she insisted. “ Yours. Any other criminal I would have killed by now.”
Nicodemus’ eyes turned glossy, obsidian and amber. His cheeks were dusted with pink. “And why am I the exception?”
“No other criminal has saved my life,” she told him. And made me laugh.
“Ah, of course. A sense of debt. I knew that there was a reason you kept me around.”
“Well, that and your cute butt.”
“My what?”
“I didn’t say anything.”
Nicodemus snorted. “What next?”
“A shadow puppet competition!”
Nicodemus blinked at her. “You are aware that I would win that, right?”
“Ah, but you’re not allowed to use your magic!”
“That sounds like a terrible idea. I’m in!”
They skidded into the library (they’d discarded their boots some time ago) and crashed down beside the fireplace. It was set with stones rather than logs, though Viola couldn’t remember ever telling him about her aversion. She didn’t ask now, fearful of rawness. Instead, she lifted her hands to the wall and cast the shadow of a butterfly flapping his wings. Nicodemus tried to replicate it, not to much avail.
“You’re really bad at this.”
“It may not have occurred to you, but I have never needed to do it this way.”
Viola turned to him. “How old were you when you learned you had powers?”
“I never learned. I always knew. Ever since the day I turned to stare at my shadow and found it didn’t mimic me.”
Viola’s gaze turned towards the shadow he cast, and found it waving at her. “Your normal shadow… it sometimes acts like it has a mind of its own. Is that deliberate, or…”
“Ah,” said Nico, his cheeks reddening. “It’s accidental. I can control it, but… it’s difficult. Like holding your breath. ”
“It must have been hard hiding it from other people.”
“You have no idea.” He looked back at the wall, extending his hands. “Show me how to do a wolf.”
Viola showed him, leaning across to guide his hands into the correct position when he proved helpless once more. Then she demonstrated a cat. Nicodemus animated his wolf and had him chase the cat all the way across the library, jumping on the shelves.
“That’s cheating!” Viola said, though her voice was alight with laughter.
“ Villain, ” he reminded her, though his usual smirk was replaced with something soft and warm. “I like your smile more than your scowl,” he admitted. “And I think I’d commit a great number of bad deeds to earn your laugh.”
Viola’s cheeks heated. It was no doubt a result of the warmth and alcohol. “What about a great number of good deeds? It might be more effective.”
His smile faltered. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Try to make me into something I’m not.”
“I’m predisposed to seek the best in people,” she told him. “’Tis my greatest strength, as well as my weakness.”
Nicodemus said nothing to this, not for a long while, not even a sharp warning that it might get her hurt one day. She was glad he didn’t. That trait was one of the few things that had carried over from her old life; she didn’t want it belittled.
“You mentioned before that you thought I was clever,” he said eventually. “And that you liked my wit. I was just wondering… what else do you like about me?”
“You want more compliments?”
“Look, I know that a brave, capable, resourceful, loyal, heroic, annoyingly attractive knight like yourself is probably showered in compliments every time she so much as breathes, but for me, who lives in the woods with a only realm-walking, truth-telling necromancer and a lovely-but-silent cat for company, they are a little harder to come by.”
Viola blinked at him through the haze of alcohol. Dimly, she was aware of what he was doing, of the peeling away of armour. He was—subconsciously or otherwise—giving her power over him. He was pressing her blade to concave part of his chest and trusting her not to thrust.
He needed her to like him, to hear the words. How long had it been since anyone uttered something nice to him? How would she feel if she had gone without such simple kindness? Despite what he said, compliments weren’t freely given to her easily, but they were given.
She had no idea what it was like to be him .
And wait, had he just called her attractive?
“You’re staring, Windbright. Is there a problem? Too many positive attributes to list?” His expression wavered slightly, as if he feared that there were too few.
“Despite my better judgement…” she began, “I don’t… I don’t hate our time together. You are a very good host. You’re funny. You’re talented. Annoyingly talented, actually. You seem to succeed at everything you try your hand at.”
“It’s more practice than talent,” he said sheepishly. “But do go on.”
“You have an artist’s soul,” she told him. “It’s clear from the construction of this place and even the way you arrange your food and mix your tea.”
He smiled. “No one’s ever noticed that before.”
“And also, despite your unnerving ability to rip people apart with your shadows, I actually think you’re quite gentle.” She punched him on the arm. “But if you ever tell anyone I said any of this—”
“Murder, yes, yes, and rightly too.” He held out his hand to her, his smile shining. “Come on, we really ought to put something in our bellies other than wine.”
Nicodemus took Viola down to the kitchen and whipped up a supper of meat pies, slices of cheese, grapes and apples cut into the shapes of roses.
Talented, she’d called him. He was determined to show her all proof of that.
She moaned as she bit into his pie, which was frankly all the reward he required. He served figs, cream and honey for dessert, which they enjoyed with yet more wine, licking the plates clean.
“Where’s Zazzy?” Nicodemus declared when the meal was over. “I want to rub my face in his fur and smell him.”
Windbright stopped. “ I love the smell of cats too!” she admitted. “I thought it was just me! But they smell so good. Like warmth and love!”
“They do smell like warmth and love!” Nicodemus cheered. He grabbed her face. It was a very nice face. He didn’t know why he’d never grabbed it before. “It’s almost like we’re connected, Windbright. ”
Windbright grinned. Liquor dribbled down her chin. Maybe that should have been disgusting, but he actually wanted to lick it off. Off her chin, and off her neck…
She grabbed his face before he could act on the impulse.
“You have nice eyes,” she told him. “Dark. Warm. Shiny.”
Nicodemus’ cheeks heated. “You have nice eyes too,” he returned. “They’re very… grey.”
Viola wrinkled her nose. It was possible that wasn’t the compliment he thought it was. “I mean, I thought they were brown, at first, but they’re not. They’re dark silver, like river stones. They’re very, very pretty. All of you is pretty, actually. And your skin smells amazing. ”
Viola laughed, and pitched herself forward. Nicodemus froze as she tumbled into his lap. She held his face again, still grinning.
Her laughter died away. Her fingers stayed on his cheeks. Her gaze was intense, lingering on his scars. Gently, she started to stroke them. Her touch made his skin ripple, made his centre tighten. He wanted to crawl into her.
“They don’t hurt anymore, do they?” she asked.
Nico shook his head carefully, afraid that too much movement could send her running, that even his voice might be loud enough to shatter the moment.
“I’m really, really glad I didn’t kill you,” she whispered. “I probably shouldn’t be, but I am.”
Nico raised a hand and stroked back a lock of her hair behind her ear, sliding his hand along her neck until he was cupping the back of her head.
“I’m really, really glad I didn’t kill you either.”
Viola brought her mouth next to his. Her hands cascaded over his shoulders, winding into his hair. He let out a sharp intake of breath at her proximity, her exhale colliding with his.
“Would you like to kiss me, Nightshade?” she whispered into him.
Yes, was his immediate response. No was the smarter one.
Because she was drunk, and so was he, and Viola didn’t seem like the sort to stop at a kiss, and he had a poor idea of what to do when he was sober, and he knew—deep down, he knew— that she didn’t really want to kiss him.
Not in the way he wanted to kiss her.
She wanted to kiss him because she was lonely and heartsore and wanted to get back at her ex-paramour. He wanted to kiss her because—
Well, because. Because she was bright and lovely and shadows can’t exist without the sun.
You can’t kiss her, a voice reminded him. Not like this. Not when—
I know! he wanted to yell back .
But who the fuck cared? He was the villain, after all. He’d sliced people into parts and slept well that night. He lied and cheated and stole. He could kiss a girl who said she wanted to kiss him.
And maybe he would have… if it wasn’t her.
“I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” he told her, hating every syllable as it stung his tongue.
Viola drew back, pouting. Shadows of old, the pout didn’t help. He wanted to kiss it out of her. “Why not?”
“I am not in the habit of kissing drunken girls who’ve tried to kill me.”
“I promise to be gentle…”
Nicodemus’ insides pulsed. “If you mean it in the morning, I’ll kiss you all the way into next Aurasday,” he told her, with no idea of how he would accomplish such a thing.
“Fine,” she said, forcing herself off his lap with a scowl that suggested she was anything but fine.
As he watched her sashay away, Nicodemus wondered if he’d lost the only chance he had to ever experience what it was like to kiss someone he actually liked, and how much it would have hurt to know when her lips met his that she didn’t feel the same.
The sunlight never longs for a shadow.