Chapter Fifteen
Have you two done that before?
It was the next morning, and Tem needed to know. Caspen’s head was nestled against hers, his arms around her waist. They’d had sex twice more after the banquet hall, and Tem was so sore she could barely move.
Would it bother you if we had?
No.
That was true. Tem didn’t care whether they’d done something similar before. But it would bother her if they’d enjoyed it more with someone else. She wanted to be the only one they loved—the best one.
No one could compare to you, Tem. That much I can promise.
Tem didn’t know what to do with that information.
It meant more coming from someone who had lived a life as long as his, someone who had slept with more people than she could ever fathom sleeping with.
Tem hadn’t grown up hearing that she was special.
When she was a child, she could have been told it a thousand times and never believed it.
To be told it now, as an adult, healed something in her that she hadn’t known was broken.
It feels like you want Apollo to steal me from you.
Nobody could steal you from me.
“Caspen!” she yelped as his fingers dipped between her legs.
Tem. I am not angry that you have a connection with Apollo.
But you seem jealous.
I am.
I don’t understand. Do you…like being jealous?
He stroked her clitoris. Tem was finding it rather difficult to concentrate.
Occasionally.
Was this all a game to Caspen? A play for power? If his brother wanted Tem, that meant she was something worth wanting. Tem could understand that—she felt a similar stab of pride and jealousy whenever other basilisks looked at Caspen. They wanted him. But he was hers.
Tem watched him as he fingered her, his eyes never straying from between her legs.
“How many women have you been with, Caspen?”
His eyes flicked up to hers before returning to the task at hand.
“Many,” he said.
“I want a number.”
He slid his fingers deeper.
Tem tried not to gasp. She was so sore.
“I do not know the number.”
“Really?” She fought to keep her voice steady. “I thought all men kept track.”
“Who told you that?”
“Vera.”
Tem had learned nearly everything there was to know from Vera—that all men kept track of how many women they’d slept with, that it was unladylike for women to do the same.
Most of her wisdom was baffling at best, sexist at worst. But Vera had been Tem’s only source of knowledge on men, and she still found herself drawing on it, even now.
“Hm.”
She could tell Caspen wasn’t listening. He was doing something new down there—something that was making Tem forget why she’d bothered asking anything in the first place. But she had to know.
“Caspen.” She grabbed his wrist, halting his motions. “Tell me.”
He sighed, looking up at her. “I do not know how many women I have been with, Tem. I do not keep track as the humans do.”
Tem narrowed her eyes. There was only one reason why he wouldn’t keep track—because he’d been with so many that it didn’t matter. Unfortunately, his answer did nothing to satisfy her. “If you had to guess?”
Another sigh, deeper this time. “Hundreds, Tem. Perhaps more.”
Tem nodded. Caspen had been with hundreds of women. Perhaps more. And he had chosen her. She released his hand. “You can keep going now.”
The corner of his mouth twitched. “If you insist.”
Caspen’s tongue joined his fingers. Tem’s head fell back onto the pillow, and for a long while, she didn’t think about Apollo.
But she thought about him the entire next day.
Apollo was all she saw no matter what she did to distract herself.
Somehow, he’d managed to sneak his way into the deepest canals of her mind, and her basilisk side nurtured his presence.
Tem thought about how she’d touched herself in front of him.
She thought about the vision he’d shown her: him holding her down by her wrists, her moaning his name.
It was unbearably tempting. But the action was impossible.
Tem couldn’t live like this. Between Apollo and Leo, her self-control was at an all-time low. She was drowning in desire.
Caspen was no help. He was off hunting again, and Tem no longer cared to be angry with him for it.
She couldn’t blame him for putting some distance between them after what happened in the banquet hall.
Seeing him was a reminder that she was out of control—that, at this moment, she was not the architect of her own life.
Besides, Tem had other things to focus on.
The weeks leading up to Mother’s Night were always a big deal in the village.
The celebration would begin tonight—on the night of the full moon—with a tradition wherein the villagers set up tables in the town square and ate an abundant feast together.
In principle, it was similar to the feasts that occurred in the banquet hall, when all the basilisks were in attendance.
But the similarities stopped there. The full moon celebration would be vastly different than the meals Tem experienced underneath the mountain.
She rather doubted anyone would be naked.
Tem had planned to meet Gabriel at the Horseman, but by the time she’d scrounged up enough clothing to keep her warm in the winter air, she was woefully late.
Instead, she headed straight for the town square, smiling when she saw the familiar decorations: round paper circles strung up on the buildings meant to imitate the full moon.
Tem remembered making them in school. Full moon was a time of gratitude, of feast and family.
The phase of the moon was symbolic of abundance, of excess—of appetite.
Of course, this year would be different.
It only took one glance at the town square to see that the tables were nearly empty.
In years past, they were covered in food—loaves of bread, baskets of meat pies.
Anything they couldn’t grow in their own fields was imported; Tem was used to seeing piles of vegetables and seafood shipped in from far away.
Now, with the shortage, the food on the tables was scarce.
Fear turned her stomach. A childhood chant came to her suddenly: full moon, full stomach.
Children used to chant it before the meal. No one was chanting it now.
She moved through the crowd, searching for Gabriel.
When she passed the church, she saw that the number of guards had doubled.
She also saw that the steps hadn’t been cleaned.
Feed us was still caked onto the marble, covered in a light dusting of snow.
The sight made her sick. Tem couldn’t believe no one had cleaned it up.
Then again, it was meant to be a message.
Leaving it there was certainly one way for it to sink in.
The town square was full of villagers. All around her she heard the same whispers:
“Did you hear they’re having their wedding on Mother’s Night?”
“On Kora’s birthday? How dare they?”
“Word has it the castle is sparing no expense. Even the flowers are dipped in gold.”
“Of course the royals are feasting while we starve. It’s shameful.”
“It’s our soon-to-be queen. She’s from one village over. Our queen never would have let this happen.”
With a jolt, Tem realized she was their queen. She’d spent her entire life as an outcast—chided and ostracized by the villagers. But now that there was a common enemy in Evelyn, they considered Tem one of their own. How quickly the tides changed.
Just then, she spotted Gabriel. He was by the mead, as he always was. But the usual flush on his cheeks from drinking was not there; instead, he was pale, greeting her with a somber wave.
“Gabriel,” she said immediately. “What’s wrong?”
“Why would you assume something’s wrong?”
“Because it’s full moon, and you’re not drinking.”
A small smile twisted his lips. “Maybe I’m on a health journey.”
Tem snorted.
His smile faded. “I can’t drink tonight, Tem.”
“Why not?”
But he didn’t answer. Instead, he looked out over the square, and Tem followed his gaze. The villagers were standing in groups, whispering to each other.
Understanding crept into her like frost. “Something’s happening tonight, isn’t it?”
Gabriel still didn’t answer. She stared up at his clenched jaw, wondering just how much had happened since the last time she’d seen him.
Gabriel was probably the head of the revolution by now.
He’d organized the last protest, and surely he’d organized this one.
He was growing into a person Tem didn’t recognize.
They’d always been close—even though Gabriel was a year older—but now there was distance between them, and Tem had no idea what to do about it.
“Gabriel,” she insisted. “Tell me what’s going on.”
“Tem,” Gabriel sighed, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. “You should go.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re—” He cut himself off.
Tem found she knew what he was going to say. “I’m what, Gabriel?” she whispered.
For a moment, they simply stared at each other, two best friends who no longer lived their lives the way they used to. “You’re one of them.”
Tem went cold.
One of them: the enemy. And he was right.
There were two enemies here—the basilisks and the royals—and Tem was associated with both.
She thought about her conversation with Leo, how he’d asked her if she knew who was behind the protests.
She could understand how that would put Gabriel in a difficult position, how being seen with her would cast doubt on his allegiance.
But she couldn’t imagine not being close to Gabriel.
He was her only friend—her last true sanctuary.
Even when things were going horribly with Caspen or when she was arguing with Leo, he was there. He’d always been there.
“I’m with you,” she whispered. “I always will be.”
He just shook his head. “I’m trying to protect you, Tem.”
“And I’m trying to do the same. But you have to tell me what’s going on.”
“I can’t. Not while you’re sleeping with a snake.”
Tem hated the way he said it—like it was an insult. But of course Gabriel said it like that. He didn’t know the basilisks like she did. He only knew their cruelty, their cunning. He had no idea that they were not so different from humans—that they were exactly like humans.
“Gabriel,” she whispered. “When did you stop trusting me?”
He sighed. Everything she’d told him at the Horseman ran through her mind: how she was a Hybreed, how she was powerful, how basilisks lived and existed under the mountain. Was that information safe with him? Was she safe with him?
“Tem,” he said quietly. “I’m trying to protect you.”
The same thing he said before. It hurt even worse the second time.
The wind rustled his golden-blond hair.
Tem reached for him, brushing a lock from his forehead. “I can’t lose you, Gabriel.”
He placed his hand over hers, holding her palm to his face. “You’ll never lose me, dearest. But you can’t stay.”
Tem opened her mouth to argue again, but at that exact moment, a cry came from the square. Gabriel’s head snapped up.
“No,” Tem said, twisting her hands in his jacket. “Gabriel, whatever you do, don’t—”
But he was already running. Tem ran after him but it was no use; he was far faster than her, and he always had been.
By the time she reached the square, the church was already burning.
Guards sprinted from the steps, dispersing into the crowd as the flames grew.
Batons swung. Fists flew. Tem was rooted in place, unable to move, staring in disbelief as pandemonium ensued.
She’d already lost track of Gabriel. Was he near the church, feeding the fire?
Was he in the crowd, in danger of getting trampled?
The villagers were screaming. Smoke billowed in the air, thick and acrid. It choked her throat and seared her lungs, forcing tears to her eyes. She had to find Gabriel.
Tem pushed into the crowd, dodging flailing limbs.
Cries of grief filled the air—whether over the church or the injured, Tem didn’t know.
Ash fell on the town square, dusting everything in a layer of gray, including the tiny paper moons.
The guards were beating people she’d known her entire life—innocent people—until they bled.
Tem was finding it difficult to breathe. This was wrong. So wrong.
She groped for Caspen with her mind, but their connection was closed. Panic rose in her chest. Without thinking, she searched for someone else.
He answered immediately: Temperance? What is the matter?
I need Caspen. Where is he?
Apollo’s presence loomed larger. He is hunting. Are you hurt?
No. Not…really.
Where are you?
The village. But I—
Then she saw it: Golden-brown hair. Gabriel.
Tem slammed her connection with Apollo shut, running forward with her hands outstretched. He was bleeding.
“You’re hurt,” she cried, reaching for him.
Gabriel scooped her into his arms, pulling her away from the crowd. The church was ablaze behind them, the flames swallowing everything in its path.
“I’m fine,” he panted, still hauling her along. “But we have to get out of here.”
“Gabriel, what did you—”
Her words were cut off by the loudest sound Tem had ever heard.
Gabriel pulled her immediately to the ground, throwing his body over hers as the cobblestones rattled and rubble rained down over them.
Tem knew without looking that the church would be gone, that the damage from the explosion would be devastating—that things would never be the same.
As quickly as Gabriel had pulled her down, he yanked her back up, sprinting down alleyways with intuitive direction, only stopping once they reached the edge of the village.
The screams were muted from here. But Tem could still see the blaze, a huge column of black smoke disappearing into the night sky.
“How could you do this?” she cried. “The church?”
Gabriel was out of breath, his curls stuck to his forehead with sweat. “It’s just a building, Tem.”
“But it’s…it’s…it’s Kora’s home—”
“We don’t need a church to pay our respects to Kora. What we needed was to send a message.”
Tem was speechless. They’d sent a message, all right. That they were willing to fight. “People got hurt, Gabriel. The crowd—”
“People are already getting hurt, Tem. We’re starving. What do you expect us to do?”
Tem shook her head, staring up at him, trying to understand. “This isn’t working, Gabriel. You aren’t hurting anyone but yourselves. Do you think the royals care that the church burned down? This will only affect the villagers.”
“They’ll care soon enough.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“The royals are just the beginning. The snakes are next.”
A chill ran down Tem’s spine. “When will it be enough?” she whispered.
The wind was picking up now, howling down the alleyway. Gabriel stared down at her, his eyes gleaming in the darkness. “When they give back what they took from us.”
Then he turned and left her.