Chapter 18
Eighteen
When I opened my eyes, I was aware that I had slept deeply, without dreams. The first full night of sleep I'd gotten since Rift Mother was murdered. The second fact I became aware of was that I wasn't in my bed. The faint scent of citrus lingered on the sheets.
I sat up, the blankets falling away, the soft light of a candle flickering. A blue hue came from under the door. I started, realizing that I'd fainted from exhaustion, and Airen must have lain me in his bed for the night.
How much time had passed? In his kingdom, there appeared to be neither day nor night. And he wasn’t in the room.
As I climbed out of bed, a bit of panic struck me.
There was only one doorway now; the hallways were a maze of doors that opened and closed. I wondered if it were random, or if it were at will. His will. I followed the shadowed hall, the blue light guiding me. It was taking me deeper into his kingdom.
I thought of our conversation before I'd fallen asleep and wondered if the world held more layers than I had ever let myself imagine. Wasn't it foolish to be so sure of myself, to think that what I knew of the world was everything when there was always more to learn and discover?
What if there were demons a layer below the demigods? What if the gods had never forsaken us but lingered still, waiting for sacrifices, prayers, and rituals that pleased them? What if magic was still waiting to awaken in other ways, other than with dance?
What if everything I'd been taught was wrong?
I walked into another room, dome-shaped, and there stood Airen. He was writing, furiously, bent over a slanted desk that rose as high as his chest, papers spread across it.
He set down the pen when I entered, and the look on his face, torn and desperate, settled into something else.
“What hour is it? I have to get back.”
“Still early. Before dawn.”
Relief filled me. I glanced around the room. “What do you do with all this time? Down here, alone, waiting.”
“I prepare. Practice. The same as you.” He set the pen down.
“My kingdom has been asleep for a long time. Waking it, mending it, will come slowly.” He held my gaze just a beat, and something flickered behind his eyes that made my breath come short.
“I am in need of an ally. One who can walk the mortal world.”
“Are you asking me?”
“You feel our connection, don’t you? It’s a logical choice. Think about it as you dance.”
“I will.”
“I will give you something else to think about, to imprint the memory of this place on your mind. Then, if you are willing, next time, I will give you my mark.”
I drew nearer, thinking of the mark I’d seen on Rift Mother’s hand. “What is your mark?”
He lifted a sheet of paper and held it up. “It serves two purposes. I’ll tell you the second later since you have somewhere you need to be.”
I studied it. At first it read as a single music note.
Then the note turned inside out as I looked, folding into a chord, a progression, a whole phrase of music collapsed into one mark-- and at its heart a small emptiness, a hollow the eye kept falling into.
Curious. Unlike anything I’d seen before.
I had the unsettling sense that it was looking back.
“Thank you,” I told him. “I’ll come tonight. And thank you for letting me sleep here. I’ve never slept so deeply in my life.”
He nodded, then placed his hand at the small of my back and led me across the room.
The stones shifted, opening a way, something I was beginning to get used to.
Before I stepped through, he caught my arm and spun me back to face him.
His fingertips ghosted up my arm, beneath my chin, lifting my face to his.
A breath. His eyes on my mouth, mine on his. Then he closed the space between and kissed me. Not gently. His mouth took mine like he had been starving for it, like the restraint of the night before had finally snapped. The heat of it went through me to the soles of my feet.
Everything dropped away. Nothing existed, no thought, no memories, no reasons I’d built to keep him at arm’s length.
There was only his mouth on mine, the wine and citrus taste of him, one hand fisting in my hair to angle me closer.
I clung to the front of his shirt and kissed him back, wanting to sink into him, let him sear the memory of him on my skin.
He released me before I was ready, and while I stood, stunned into silence, he went back to his desk and bent over his writing without so much as a glance over his shoulder.
I stood in the doorway, my lips tingling, my limbs weak. It was another moment before I forced my feet to walk, to take the climb back to my room.
The stones closed behind me, and I leaned against the wall, breathing in and out.
That had been my first kiss. Wild and warm, the taste still imprinted on my lips.
Even as I untangled my thoughts, I knew what he’d done.
His goal was to bind me to him, to ensure we were unified in our decisions.
How furious he’d been with me last night, and how fast the fury had turned.
Or had the desire been there all along, under the anger, waiting?
Was he using me? I didn’t think I cared. Using me and taking advantage of my ignorance. But it had served its purpose. He had distracted me.
I took a step, and my bare feet sank into something wet. Sticky.
I looked down and screamed.
Blood. A pool of it spreading across my room, leaking from under the doorway. It must have been flowing for a while, for it pooled everywhere. Something terrible had happened on the other side of that door. I ran to it, bile rising, and turned the knob.
Locked.
Of course. I was still locked in.
I pounded on the wood, shouting, screaming for someone, anyone.
Surely someone would see the blood. It was nearly dawn, someone had to be awake, someone had to come.
I beat on the door until my hands ached, until I lost track of time.
But at last came answering shouts, running feet, and, finally, the scrape of the lock.
The door opened, and I was pulled out into the hall.
The Veiled Warden lay on the floor. My Warden. The one who paced outside my door each night. His throat slit. Again, the same symbols were drawn around him along with that same phrase: The dancer bleeds so the dark one feeds.
The scent of death crowded my senses. I was a child again, screaming, gripping the leg of a table, praying for death to pass me by.