Chapter 48 #2
Liv went limp. He gathered her up, glanced at the window.
Dakshi’s guns were gone; he was reinforcing the invisible shimmer of sorcerous protection on glass, metal, and stone.
Soft orange snowlight feathered his hair, the ground reflecting a city’s electric stain; his back was wide open, exposed to the room while he concentrated.
It was an unintentional compliment.
Robert was still in the doorway, a sticklike figure with his signet giving a single harsh glitter, his sword dipping slightly as he decided, increment by increment, there was nothing to fight.
“The door,” she whimpered. “The fucking door, my God, my God, make it stop!”
“It’s stopped.” Robert, with the snap of command that made a Father polishing the edge of both words. “It is done, lirai.”
Silk moved. She liked the pajamas; they’d arrived in a plain white box with a small, exquisitely painted card from Sara.
Lirai knew what others of their kind would need, it was axiomatic.
Erik moved, getting his legs underneath him, and finally Liv settled against his chest, pushing a knifehilt out of the way so it didn’t dig into her cheek.
He propped his back against the headboard, wishing he could get his boots off the bed, and stroked her hair—but didn’t loosen his grasp otherwise, just in case the fear returned.
She couldn’t hurt him, but she might do herself some damage.
Liv trembled, and Erik stroked her back with soft fingertips. Low, soothing nonsense slid past his lips—it’s over, it was just a dream, it’s fine, shhh, I’m here.
He should have said we’re here. He was part of a trio, he wasn’t sealed, and yet the words wouldn’t shift. “Just a dream,” he repeated. “It can’t hurt you. I’m here.”
“What if it’s…” She shuddered again. Her ribs stood out starkly under thin silk.
“He can’t touch you, Liv. You’re a Dreamer, you’re immune. It’s all right.”
“You hear him all the time.” She quieted, but the trembling didn’t stop. “How do you fucking stand it?”
“Stubbornness, I suppose.” Erik glanced up. Dakshi had turned from the window, regarding the bed with bright interest. Robert’s sword vanished as he stepped inside, sweeping the door half-closed. It was standard procedure, but Erik wished they were both gone.
Oh, he could certainly do what they wanted. The persistent whispers, the lurking danger would cease and he could settle into his work, a new lodestar glimmering on his horizon. She’d be safer.
And yet, he was even more selfish. He could dress it up like conscience or honor, but truth be told, he longed for her to agree because she wanted to. As if he were somehow special, as if he had somehow earned as much.
He was risking a lirai for some stupid, silly schoolboy idea.
“I’m all right.” She pushed at his chest, and he could have kept her.
He could have done a lot more. But Erik slid aside, set his boots on the floor, and stood. He tucked her in, but when he would have drawn the bed’s curtains, she shook her head. “It’s too dark that way. You guys can go. Except…”
He waited.
“Erik can stay. If you want.” She huddled against snowy pillows, her dark hair a soft cloud.
Dakshi nodded, shot Erik a triumphant glance, and retreated. Robert didn’t linger, just shook his grey head and closed the door with a mannerly click.
Erik stood, head down, at the bedside. His eyes closed, and despite the presence of a lirai the god whispers were easily imaginable.
Sibilants took on a sharper edge, singing of putting his hands around a slim throat and squeezing, and the welcome granted him by the Mad God’s servants once he accomplished such a task.
I can give you much, the whispers always said. You know I can.
Sons owned nothing but their knives. Everything else was a gift from the lirai, and the interest on that debt mounted daily. To those who pleased him a mad god could grant luxury, power, conquest.
He could give them the world.
“It’s not like I haven’t noticed,” Liv said, finally. She swallowed, an audible drythroat click. “Jake told me about it, and Daniel, too. I know what you want.”
Do you? If I told you, it might be a surprise. “It’s not that, Liv. It’s what you want that matters.”
“Daniel said they’ve been losing unsealed lirai.” One of her arms slid from under the covers. He heard her fingers brush across Egyptian cotton, tiptoe across heavy velvet. “For a long time. And I was dreaming about my mother. I think one of the monsters got her, Erik.”
She needed sleep, not old traumas reopened. Erik settled himself a little more comfortably. “You should get some rest.”
“What if they’re right? I mean, I’d rather it was you than a… a stranger.”
“They won’t without your consent.” Stubbornly, to make her understand. “I won’t let them. You’ve already had enough trouble, Liv.” It was for your protection, and I’m not sorry. But I’m not going to add to it.
Not until I have to.
“But it’ll stop the whispers.” Her hand lay, outstretched and cupped. Was she hoping he’d reach for it? “For you.”
“Yes.” No point in lying. “That it would.”
“Do you not like me?” She sounded wistful, now.
“That’s not the problem.”
“What is, then?” Just like a lirai, asking a question that sliced to the bone. The Fathers were ruthless, but the Dreamers were gentle.
Which only made the cut that much deeper.
I want to believe I’d have a shot if I wasn’t just the best of a bunch of bad options. There it was, silly and selfish and stupid. Not to mention he could pretend to have a clean conscience, despite the god’s tempting, taunting teasing inside his skull. “Maybe I like you too much, beautiful.”
“That’d be a first.” She snuggled back into the blankets; finally he could feel the relaxation, a pleasant bath of champagne bubbles over his skin.
His lirai. Sealed or not, whether she knew it or not, the concept didn’t get much simpler.
“When you’re ready, Liv. When you’re sure, not before.
And if you choose someone else, fine. But I’m not going to let them force you.
Not this way.” Not if I have a choice, all right? Let me be as good as I can.
“Okay.” She inhaled as if she wanted to say more, but let the breath out with a sigh.
He waited; she said nothing else. If she moved, or made another sound…
Her breathing deepened. She fell back into sleep’s arms, that gentle solace denied Sons even if they achieved a simulacrum in frontier temples. With active lirai and an open Flame-mouth around, they didn’t need a lot of rest.
It was a relief in some ways, not so much in others.
He folded down, rested his elbows on the bed, his knees on pale hardwood. His fingers creaked as hands clasped tightly; he rested his sweating forehead on that bulwark. Almost like prayer, except he counted her breaths, one after another, and forced himself into utter stillness.
The others would be disappointed. The other lirai might be, too, and they’d be at Liv to do something, to choose.
Yet for this night, he could give her a gift, like an oneiros set in the old way, wrenched jagged and bleeding from a terrible dry shore past the borders of the waking world, polished until it glowed.
His lirai slept, and if she dreamed again, it did not wake her.