Chapter 42
Foreign words were whispered—Alistair summoned a spark of light in his palm.
He had set me upon his bed, velvet blankets cool on my skin. The thread of silver light carried from his hand to the hearth, and the dry logs kindled in an instant. Lines danced upon Alistair’s body in the newfound light, pulling my attention in a thousand directions, only to watch him. To miss nothing in these moments.
Sitting at the edge of his bed, I leaned against a bedpost listening to my heart pound in my ears. And still, I was calm. Safe. The doorway was like an impenetrable barrier, dividing us from the nightmares beyond.
A gentle breeze scurried into the room from an open door to the balcony. Beneath the darkened moon, festivities continued to bellow in the distance, and the sea drifted salt into the air.
“You are breathtaking,” Alistair hushed as he neared.
My legs fidgeted beneath my gown, feet tapping. I was restless where I sat. Beneath his stare, I was near possessed to leap to him.
Alistair watched my legs writhe beneath the silken gown, and he set himself upon his knees at my feet.
“Do you wish to be here?” He asked, looking at me with devotion. He placed his palms upon my stirring legs, and they immediately consented to his touch, falling still.
My mind hushed, and the clattering party fell into nothingness.
There was only Alistair.
“Yes.”
“You are certain?”
My lips bowed.
“I thought you could tell when I was lying.”
He did not reciprocate my smile.
“I can, I only… I want you to be sure.”
I leaned forward, taking Alistair’s hand in mine. His heart hastily beat in his palms.
“Alistair, beneath this dark moonlight, there is nowhere else I’d rather be.”
Lines etched between his brow as he looked down, memorizing my gown’s silk. He set my hands upon my lap. Softly, patiently, his fingers drifted down my legs to my feet.
He spoke in a low, quiet cadence.
“It is a cursed light of a dark age, Miss Fallen.”
“One we must all live beneath.” My breath hitched, Alistair, lifting the hem of my gown.
Revealing my feet to the night air, Alistair’s hands grazed my ankles and slipped off my heels. His hands then stayed, guided by the path of my skin.
“I am a cursed man, Rhoswen.” Stirring deep within, Alistair’s words fell over us.
“I am spoken from Shadow, living as a lord in a fallen age.” Alistair rose and pressed his hands upon the bed at either side of my waist, casting a hard silhouette over me. His breath drifted over my skin. I smelled the sage as he spoke.
“Death follows me, finding those I care for. And you… You should not be beside someone such as I.”
I could feel it—a wall he was confessing, possibly built in the final shreds of truth he refused me. Though I, too, had a wall that had yet to crumble.
Something imparted conflict upon Alistair’s face, his demeanor cracked between searching eyes and furrowing brows.
“Alistair,” I spoke gently in the slim distance between us.
“You are neither cursed by Shadows nor a lord. Tonight, you are only a man.”
In a hush, he countered.
“And what if I was not? What if I were something you hated?”
I wasn’t surprised by his question. It was an alive question I wondered about myself. I thought of the horns I’d fashioned after sinking my cheeks and curling my eyelids. My haunting reflection, all while a disfigured god lurked in the dark of my mind.
“And what if I am the same?” I asked.
“You’re not,” he said with utmost faith, as though he’d already seen all the disturbance I had yet to show him.
“You do not know that.” I matched his confidence.
“I was born in the shadows, Alistair Raven. I’ve lived within them, my heart darkening in each passing day. I know well the age of curses and darkness, and I can say… That is not you.”
Alistair set one hand on my chest. On my heart. It was only here that I realized my heart pounded with the might of the seas.
“Your heart is not that of darkness, Rhoswen.”
I seized Alistair’s hand, tensing his touch on me.
“And I do not fear you, Alistair.”
My words struck something within him. Once stoic, near untouchable, that man was gone. Alistair’s lips opened in a quick breath, and his brows rose at the center. Whites of his eyes reddened softly, and each burrowed line of tension seemed to withdraw and leave behind—not a lord and not a Shadow—only Alistair.
“And these dark waters…” He paused as he wrapped his arm around my waist and delved nearer, his mouth a thread’s width apart from mine. He spoke in a gentle rasp between my lips.
“If they drown you?”
I wove my fingers through his hair and whispered.
“Then let me drown.”
Our lips crashed together, harmonizing in rapt perfection.
Alistair’s arm cinched around my waist, taut and merciless. In one swift motion, he wrenched me from the bed, only to throw me back down. He followed closely, caging me beneath him as we sank together into the meadow of velvet.
My lips could not sever from his, and I believed his could not sever from mine. His touch was warm, hot, and searching. Searching each piece of me, fighting the fabrics that covered me and the corset that constricted my breath.
His hand lingered on my leg, scrunching and yanking where the insufferable layers of silk were without ends.
I hated this damn dress. It refused to let me go.
Alistair rose himself. I lifted as well, my lips sworn to his. His hand pressed against my chest, compelling me down. We divided, and I gasped for thin air, the corset leaving my ribs tight.
On his knees, bowing between my feet, Alistair stole the bloodred silk and twisted the gown away. My soul was devoured in his touch. His hands hurried up my legs with tense fingers. Grabbing my waist from beneath the dress, he pulled me towards him, the mess of velvet blankets dragging with me. On either side, Alistair opened my legs, my body suffering in ache. I could no longer see him beyond the curtain of the gown, but I could feel him. A breath grunted down his throat, swelling his shoulders between me.
His lips chased my skin, my blood sweltering with each kiss.
Alistair began tenderly, his lips carefully tracing my thighs. But lips quickly traded for teeth, and before another constricted breath could fill my lungs, all the air within me fled in a moan.
He fell into me.
I was undone. Completely, entirely undone.
My fingers tangled in his hair as I pressed him deeper. Deeper into me. A groan left his mouth, filling me. I could not hold still. I was possessed by him, and this possession caused his body to harden against mine. His fingers dug into the skin of my throbbing legs. I groaned, I moaned. Each and every piece of myself burned as Alistair Raven left all truths I knew in a broken heap of forgotten purpose. The gods, the Shadows, the evil hearts of men, the lies I’ve told, it did not matter.
As my ache edged in desire’s touch, nothing mattered.
Nothing, apart from Alistair Raven.
My moans turned to hurried breaths, my body clawing at me from the inside where his mouth searched. The ache clawed for escape.
He led me near the edge of myself, but he was not done with me. Not yet.
Alistair pulled back and watched my hastened breaths. I leaped to him as I had desired to for so long. I fell into his arms.
Fingers bore into the spine of my dress, Alistair unthreading the corset. Half way down, a patience snapped in two. As he bit my lip, Alistair ripped the final rows of threading. My jaw kicked back, my neck craned. I took my first deep breath of the night—breasts and ribs swelling as the fresh air finally filled me. That very air circled around my bare skin, chills carrying along my chest and stomach.
Alistair watched me breathe with something wicked in his eyes.
His fingers, course and rough, left my bare skin tender as he followed the line from my stomach to between my breasts. I reached out, lifting the hem of his shirt. He grabbed it and removed it in one effortless motion. My fingers then chased the silhouette painting his torso—the ripples of his abdomen, the tightness of his chest, the broad of his shoulders.
When I found his eyes, he was looking at mine.
In his dark gaze, he held something quiet and kind. A gaze that could offer no words yet made me feel seen in the dark. As though the lies I’d uttered, the deaths I’d inflicted, the secrets I kept could not amount to this. This, being with him, apart from the dangers of Andrael.
I melted beneath him. The ache burned in me, devoured me, consumed me.
Alistair grabbed my waist and pulled me to him, our bare skin pressing together.
“I want you, Rhoswen Fallen.” His hand followed the arc of my neck, his thumb grazing my skin to my lips.
“For all that you have shown me, and all that I do not yet understand.”
His thumb fell into my mouth as I said.
“Then take me.”
As though it was his last act in this damned realm, Alistair ripped off my gown, leaving me naked beneath the moonlight. Shadows hurried on Alistair’s skin, drawing carved lines. But, of all the lines forming in the backdrop of firelight, it was his dimple that drew me in. The marking that had never been tormented by the dark of this age.
Together, we fought against his trousers, leaving our fine garments as discarded rags strewn around us. Where I lay down, Alistair towered over me. It was infuriating how patiently he moved near. Piece by piece, our bare skin met—his chest pressing against my breasts, his waist upon my own. He was savoring this moment, I could tell—his heart rage beneath his sternum. And, for the last time this night, our lips fell into the other’s with intentions to never let go again.
I would breathe a final breath before drowning. Drowning with him, drowning in him, and—
Knock, knock, knock.
I ignored the beckon at the door, but it came again with a demand.
Alistair’s lips pulled from mine.
“Ignore them,” I begged.
Knock, knock, knock.
“Alistair,” a voice bellowed through the door.
“We are needed immediately.”
I groaned again, but in disappointment, knowing whose voice that belonged to.
“Fuck.” Alistair’s head fell in defeat. He looked me over once more, from hair to feet, and his own lips fell victim to his biting teeth.
“I have to go.”
“I know.” My lungs swelled another disgruntled waft of air, and I threw myself upward to collect myself.
Knock, knock, knock.
“For gods’ sake, Alistair, we are late!”
I stole Alistair’s shirt, wearing it as a gown, and scurried to the fire, away from the door.
Alistair tied his pants and clenched the knob.
The hinges grinded.
“Had you forgotten our meeting?” Evandor’s tone was curt.
An airy laugh left Alistair.
“Afraid so.” He leaned against the doorframe, keeping me hidden from the prince.
“Why are you—?” Clarity then glinted in Evandor’s tone.
“Oh shit, sorry to interrupt, but it cannot wait. I will meet you in the throne room.”
“As you wish, Your Highness.” Alistair granted his grace droll satire.
Evandor chuckled.
“You and Rhoswen can continue your adult activities at a later time.” Crimson burned my cheeks.
“Unfortunately, your entire stay cannot be drink and merriment. Obligations await us all.”
“I’ll be there shortly.”
Evandor marched with a princely stomp as he continued down the passageway.
Thrice, a discontent sigh evaded me, manifested from the ache that remained unsatisfied.
Alistair shut the door, and my eyes were once more drawn in endless directions where the firelight kissed his skin.
“Do not look at me like that,” he said, and in a breath, Alistair closed the distance and hoisted me to his waist.
“Otherwise—” He bit my lip.
“I will not attend the regal meeting and be disobedient to the crown. I’d be marked a traitor and run out of the kingdom.”
I glared at him.
“Alistair Raven, you are a traitor to me tonight.”
He pressed his nose against mine and hushed.
“I know, I’m sorry.”
I stole his lips, unable to keep mine at bay.
“You will make it up to me?”
Alistair looked down at his shirt draping over my body. Blush stained his jaw, and one edge of his lips turned into a grin.
“So long as you wear that shirt, I am entirely at your command.”
“Then do not leave.”
“I do not wish to.” He sucked my throbbing lips. Now, it was Alistair who released a long sigh.
“But, I must.”
He lowered me to the ground, my feet flattening upon the floor.
I asked with genuine curiosity.
“You are meeting with the crown?”
“Yes. The crown and all other lords of the land.”
My interest latched onto his words, coiling within me. It was an interest built upon my life as a god server. A true traitor to the crown.
His dimple showed.
“I’ll need my shirt back.”
I crossed my arms with a devious smirk. “No.”
Alistair measured me, similar to how he measured me upon our first meeting in Sariem’s meadery. Holding my arms, Alistair spun me around and embraced me from behind. My head fell back and rested upon his bare chest. His hands tensed around my hips and slid below my waist. Before I understood, the lands fell dark, and Alistair lifted his shirt over my head, leaving me naked before the hearth.
With eyes following the path of my form, his fingers grazed up my stomach and over my shoulders. He tucked my hair on one side and scraped his lips along the cord of my neck.
“I will make it up to you,” he spoke into my skin.
“I promise.”
I turned towards the Lord of Ravens, my neck arched to make his eyes.
“You are a man of your word?” I asked with a half-honest smile.
“Especially these words.” There was something rather cocky in his tone as his eyes fell prey to temptation, skimming over my curves.
Alistair threw on his shirt. We exchanged a final, long glance, and he left with quickened steps.
The door shut at his back—the one thing in all of Andrael I needed to be impenetrable for only one night. One night apart from nightmares. One night of safety. But, such was not a luxury in these days. Not for me, and perhaps not for him.
As I stood alone, it all came back to me in a swift instant. The crown, the Shadows, the gods, and those in the prisons. Trapped between winter’s brisk and the flames of the hearth, I looked at the bedding, thrown crosswise. And a guilt washed over me. I stepped from the flames, nearer to the cold of winter, feeling the air bite my skin. While I dined in luxury, my brothers and sisters were trapped within the prison’s cold.
And I was perhaps their only hope of escape.
Royalty called for nobles this night, the crown and lords, an army within the throne room. Where men of importance often lie, a horde of guards was summoned to follow. This night—as the lords convened with my father—was perhaps the night I might save the guild from their fated death.
Naked, standing within my father’s house, I traded romance and desire for gods and oaths.
With haste, I captured Catriona’s dress and flung it around myself. I abandoned my dreams with Alistair, not offering the bed a final glance, and I repressed the ache that would meet no fulfillment this night.
…
Ivory adorned my body in underwhelming linens.
Catriona and Freya had yet to return from the dining hall, our shared quarters forsaken. Standing before a mirror, my skin burned and altered into an ancient face of sagging skin and stabbing bones. I became old and feeble. Within the reflection, I witnessed the very woman who followed Lucien Brine in Tharen Crest when he purchased poisonous petals.
This woman was long forgotten, being one I recalled from my childhood years in Sariem. She was a beggar who mindlessly followed the same streets each day, as though her feet aimed to carry her to a home she did not have. She’d stumble through the streets, chanting the names of three. I only assumed the three names were souls she once loved before her mind had deserted her heart.
Beyond her death, she lived as a mask. Walking, breathing, thinking.
If a guard were to question me, demand reason for my wandering, I would feign confusion and retreat as a misguided servant who had merely forgotten her way.
Youth was lost to wispy hairs, and smooth skin was traded for aged wrinkles. My lips became tattered, my teeth yellowed, and my neck seared as skin began to dangle.
My breath fogged the reflection, distorting my distorted appearance.
Something to hate, something to fear. I was she.
My reflection, my bitter deception, stared back at me.
Spine cracking and hips crunching, I secreted my dagger in loose fabric and twisted for the outlet.
My hand reached for the iron knob, knotted knuckles bending in the faint light, but I stopped. Something distant lingered in the dark behind me. It was like a cold breath that turned dense, forming as it scraped around me, then within me. It filled the void in my mind with tattered skin and serrated nails and horns that scraped my skull.
The forgotten weight of the god nearly sent me crashing to the floorboards.
He did not speak. He only breathed slow breaths, hissing through sharp teeth.
You’ve come back. Relief could only drift so far while I now carried the heavy afflictions of a god—the sickness of his soul that left his desires for mankind in Oldurem, to forever walk the endless sands.
Tap, tap, tap. The creature marked my mind with his talons.
Where have you been, Deceit? I reached for him, there in the dark, but he curled further into the hollow. You have been gone for weeks.
The god’s hiss was sour in my mind. He gave no explanations.
Will you not speak? Have you come back only to haunt me?
My wrinkly hand lifted to the back of my head, stroking the dead, white hairs. An insufferable pounding was near rupturing my skull.
Your memories… Deceit said quietly, but I could clearly hear each disturbed utterance. They are disgusting.
The god pluck my memory of this night—a lord cursed by Shadow standing before me in his quarters. But in that moment, he was not a lord cursed by Shadow. He was simply Alistair. Only, as the god held my memory, it became tainted. Infected. Within the eyes of my mind, Alistair’s quarters fell dark, the hearth was vanquished, and blackened veins trailed the lord’s skin. Blood was on his hands.
Leave my memories be, I snapped at the god.
Why? Deceit skulked. His tail grazed my mind, coiling around the memory. Can you feel it spoil in my touch? His laugh was vile. Or perhaps I am only shedding the truth of who he is.
I held my throbbing head in my hands. Why have you come to me, if only to condemn me?
You condemn yourself!
I shook at his quake, the fortitude of my skull crumbling. My skin snapped in the abrupt cry, the old woman vanishing from existence. Deceit hissed in the dark, lengthening the echo of his voice.
The God of Deception then fell quiet, and his bind lessened. Tongue slithered. You seek to save the guild.
My jaw clenched. I will try to save them.
Deceit took my illusion of the old woman, burning my skin and fortifying the mask. In the god’s summons, my dark hair became snow. The folds of my skin draped and sagged.
Then I am with you, child. Deceit anchored himself within me.
At this promise, the god and I ventured into the dark bowels of my father’s house.
We stalked the passageways, drawn to the depths.
A god of dark gospel, and his princess crowned in bloodstained petals.