Chapter 22
Amriel keeps me busy until morning. He shows me all the things he can do with his body, his mouth. Lets me find out what I can do with mine.
Many things, as it turns out.
When he finally falls asleep, he does it draped around me, his arm slung across my waist, his nose buried against the back of my neck. His warmth and solidity lure me into slumber, freeing me of the need for a blanket.
I don’t dream.
When my eyes drift open again, the buttery light of late afternoon slants through the window. I blink away my haze of slumber and wonder how I managed to sleep for an entire day.
I never did such a thing in Aethrolia. Back home, I always rose with the sun, then climbed the hill to the temple while the day was still new.
Which I haven’t done in weeks, now. Instead, I stayed up all night, sharing myself with the king of the fae—body, mind, and soul.
Heat shoots across my cheeks at the memory, but I can’t find it in me to regret. Last night was illuminating. It was everything I never knew was possible. And somehow, I don’t feel less myself because of it, but more. More me. More Sariah than I’ve ever been.
Amriel mumbles something unintelligible, and I turn in his arms to find his eyes still shut, his hair spread across the pillow, his features slack.
And goddess, he looks so innocent like this.
So unburdened. The smoothness between his eyebrows, the relaxed curve of his mouth—I don’t think I realized, until this moment, just how much he carries every day.
How much his pain must weigh, how I’ve never truly seen him without it.
Not until last night.
My gaze traces over him—the long lines of his body, the scar along his biceps, the way the muscles of his ribcage knit with every rise and fall of his breath.
Something warm and dense rises inside me, blocking off my airway. The longer I look, the more my vision swims at the edges, my lungs bereft of air.
I thought I’d know what to do when I woke up, but I don’t. All I can say with certainty is that what we did last night didn’t feel wrong.
It didn’t feel sinful at all, and now my lack of guilt inspires a guilt of its own. Who am I, anymore?
I don’t know. I barely recognize myself. I only know that if Amriel woke right now, if he turned those firelit eyes on me and reached for me again, I would let him.
But to my relief, he keeps sleeping, so I ease from his embrace, intent on finding my clothes. The moment my skin separates from his, a cascade of aches and pains pours into me.
I gasp, tensing against the sudden throb in my soles, the twinge in my joints, the deep, pulsating ache between my legs. When I glance back, Amriel curls in on himself, his brow furrowing.
I pause. Reach back and touch him again.
The moment my fingertips grace his skin, the lines of his body ease, painlessness flowing through both of us. I take my hand away, put it back. Again and again, my heart shrinking every time he hunches into a fetal position.
The brand-new feeling inside me now grows claws and teeth. I don’t like him hurting. I hate it.
But even in sleep, pain eats at him. Chases him. And as I stare down, I want nothing more than to throttle it from existence. To reach back across the centuries and hurt my great-great-many-times-grandmother the way she’s hurt him.
I withdraw again. Amriel tips onto his stomach, reaching across the bedsheets, seeking me in his sleep. This new angle shows me what last night didn’t—the dagger wound on his back, red and irritated, sewn shut with a line of neat black stitches.
The sight hits me like a punch to the gut.
We spent plenty of time talking last night, but he never once told me he’d had a needle put through his back, over and over. That he’d had to endure yet more pain because of me.
The nameless force inside me churns, gathering strength. A need, or a wish, or some deep knowledge I don’t yet have words for.
He’s done so much for me. Saved me. Given me last night. Initiated me into a whole new realm of understanding I didn’t know existed.
And now he’s freeing me. Letting me go home.
I could do it, right now. Take his gyre and go back to Aethrolia and be done with this. Only I can’t ignore the fact that I hold the power to grant him the same freedom he’s giving me. To give him a chance. A choice.
I’m the only one in the world who can.
My breathing grows harsh, my frantic inhales echoing in the quiet room. I have to finish, I think. Run the labyrinth like I agreed, break Amriel’s curse. Stand in front of those two doors at the end.
Because I’ll know, then. Which way to go. Which door to choose.
The moment I think it, certainty clicks inside me like a lock springing free. My thoughts move as one, everything in me aligning.
Yes. I’ll go into the maze at sunset, find the Shadow. Let him help me to the end, then break the hourglass before the sun comes up.
I can do it. I have just enough sand left to last me until dawn.
I tear my gaze from Amriel and ease from bed. If I’m going back into the labyrinth, I need to do it before he tries to stop me. How I’ll avoid the lake of acid, I don’t know, but already, wheels turn in my mind, ideas germinating and dying away, new ones budding in their place.
I hurry to the dresser, where I pull on a fresh set of leather clothes. Jamming my feet into my old boots, I shift all my pebbles into my new pockets, then my gyre. I cinch my dagger around my waist. Then hesitate, because I need to make sure Amriel doesn’t follow me into the maze again.
I will not let this man get himself killed for my sake.
I find his pants and palm his gyre, tucking it away in yet another one of my pockets.
Then I snatch up my muddied leather garments, intent on stuffing them into the bottom of my dresser. But when the drawer slides open, I find my old dress still wedged in the back.
A beat passes while I stare at it, at the blood staining the rough-knit fabric. At the ugly, unassuming color underneath.
Goddess, why did I ever insist on wearing something so hideous? Then again, I’ll need this dress if I return to Aethrolia. I can’t go home in skin-tight leather, not if I want to have any hope of being welcomed.
I snatch up the dress and knot it around my belt, then bolt to the door, shutting it quietly behind me.
The corridor slides past, the floor springy beneath my feet. Ideas spin in my head, one in particular gaining hold. I think it can work, but I’ll need help. I’ll need Ravenna.
I scan each passing fae until I land on someone I recognize. A kind-faced woman with tawny eyes and intricate braids.
Rhialla. The woman from the kitchens.
I catch at her sleeve. She turns, her eyes widening as they wander up and down. “Sariah? What is it? Are you all right?”
“I need to find Ravenna.” I can’t resist stealing a peek at the hall behind me, letting go of a breath when I see that Amriel hasn’t followed. Yet. “Could you help me? Do you know where she is?”
“Oh. Sure. She’s downstairs in the performance hall, with Calen. I saw them earlier.”
The…performance hall? My confusion must show on my face, because Rhialla gestures down the corridor. “It’s that way. I can show you, if you want.”
I choke out my agreement and hurry after her. She seems to sense my urgency, because her steps are quick and light as we descend a stairwell and pass through the main hall. A meandering passageway leads to a pair of grandiose double doors, which open to…
I stop, my eyes wide, my head swiveling.
Vines drip down the walls of some kind of high-ceilinged auditorium.
Muted green light filters down from above.
Dozens of fae fill the space, their backs to me, their attention on the stage at the head of the room, where white light cocoons a woman playing the harp.
Her dress drapes around her like water, her hands flowing fluidly over the strings.
Ethereal music fills the space, a sound like rain and sorrow.
My hand lands on my chest and presses. It’s beautiful. Riveting. “Is this a…concert?”
Rhialla inclines her head. “Of course. What else?”
“I just… I had no idea this was even here.”
She takes in my astonishment, her mouth tipping into a secretive smile. “Well, it is. And look. I think that’s them, over there.”
Sure enough, I follow her finger to a pair of familiar silhouettes, seated off to the side.
“Thank you.” Emotion fills me as I squeeze Rhialla’s hand in mine. “So much.”
“Of course. Any time.”
She sounds like she means it. Her warmth stays with me as I hurry along the room’s perimeter. When I come close, I tap Ravenna’s shoulder. She twists in her seat and takes me in, her eyes wide.
“Sariah! What—”
“I need your help,” I whisper. Heads turn nearby, then swivel away again when I raise my hands in apology.
She frowns. “You mean now?”
“Yes, now. Please.” Because once Amriel wakes up, he’ll follow my scent, and I have a feeling that if I haven’t made it back into the labyrinth by then, I never will.
Ravenna’s brow furrows, but she rises and tugs at Calen, who peers over at me, his eyes glinting in the low light. “Do we have to leave?”
“Yes,” she hisses. “Sariah wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.”
A heavy sigh bleeds out of him, but he lets his mate tow him along as we make for the exit.
“Sorry,” she whispers to me. “He loves music. He gets cranky if he’s interrupted.”
I push down my surprise as we emerge into the passageway. The moment the doors swing shut behind us, I spin to face Ravenna. She has on some kind of elaborate red dress—a glistening, low-necked thing that sets off the brown in her eyes and matches the shade of her lips.
“Wow,” I say. “You look…stunning.”
She gives me a come-on look. “Please tell me you didn’t pull me out here to tell me that?”
“No, I just… You look good. Like, really good.”
Calen chuckles, and Ravenna delivers a half-hearted slap to his chest to silence him. “Sariah, what’s this about?”