chapter eighteen
MY LIFE AT THE ARC is now a structured rhythm of activity—a welcome change from the uncertainty I once knew—and the weeks melt into a blur of disciplined routine.
My days begin before sunrise with sparring practice against Vilder.
We then join Seniia for a shared breakfast before I dedicate myself to dance lessons under the expert tutelage of Reü, continuing until lunchtime.
In the afternoons, I attend the rigorous sparring sessions of the Accepted, while evenings are spent with Seniia, immersing myself in the intricate world of herbs and the art of potion-making.
The predictable schedule has brought a sense of comfort and purpose to my days at the Arc, a stark contrast to my life in Bronich.
“Sorry,” I mutter as I step on Reü’s toes for what must be the hundredth time this morning. He brushes off my apology. I meet his teal-blue eyes as he spins me around, and a blush creeps into my cheeks, deepening when I notice his questioning look at my flustered state. If only he knew.
“You’re usually better than this,” he remarks. His forced politeness is a tight mask, barely concealing the underlying tension between us. At least he tries. “Did something happen?”
“It’s nothing,” I say. “Poor sleep, that’s all.
” Forcing my lips into what I hope is a convincing smile, I let him spin me another time.
He’s right: I am better than this. A lot better.
The intricate Reān ballroom choreography has come easy to me, and I’ve begun to cherish my daily dancing lessons with Reü.
Although he may be barely tolerable, the music is anything but.
Growing up in Bronich, I never experienced music.
Like everything else that could create any sort of pleasure, it was forbidden.
Now the beautiful tones conjured from invisible strings of elēn—wind magic made audible, Vilder once told me—act like a drug, their captivating allure impossible to resist.
The music swells, strings of elēn vibrating in the air, and our bodies once again twist and turn in perfect synchronization as we glide across the floor.
We’ve been dancing together for thirty-three days straight—three weeks—our only day off every week being Eleventh Day.
And our consistent practice has paid off. Except for today.
“Sorry,” I mumble as I commit yet another beginner’s mistake. I know how much he resents giving up his study time for these lessons, so I should at least give him the courtesy of paying attention, but today my mind is anywhere but on the dance.
I didn’t lie to him. Not exactly. My sleep was bad. Well, “bad” may be the wrong word. “Distracting” is more like it.
For the past week, my vivid dreams of Astēr have only gotten more intense.
He won’t leave me alone, or perhaps I won’t let him go.
The dreams are both a sanctuary and a curse—a sanctuary because nowhere else feels as real, yet a curse because waking means facing the loss of something I can never have.
I bite my lip with a glance up at the mezzanine that runs along the right side of the ballroom.
It doesn’t help that the dreams are full of memories from the Arc; it’s clear that the two of them must have lived here for a great extent of time.
In my most recent dream, we were here in this very room.
Nana was standing on the mezzanine, gazing down on all the elegant Reāns twirling around the room.
It was a private alcove, partly in shadow, with walls on both sides and a heavy draped curtain in the back.
Still, the millions of soul stars blinking down through the glass dome of the ballroom made it feel almost as if being outside under the night sky.
Despite my best efforts to stay focused on the dance, I’m pulled back into the dream once again, remembering how Nana could sense his presence through their invisible bond long before Astēr pulled the curtain aside.
How she could smell his arousal the moment he laid eyes on her.
How he, as she rested her forearms on the railing, pretending to watch the dancers below, positioned himself so near her that there was no way she could ignore how much he wanted her.
My cheeks are flushed as Reü spins me across the floor in yet another series of twists and turns, and I pray that he’s too focused on the dance to notice.
If only that was the end of the dream. But no.
Astēr, taking advantage of the indecently long split of Nana’s dress, began to caress the insides of her bare thighs.
Heat pools low in my belly as I remember how she did her best to keep a calm face while his fingers slipped inside the poor excuse for underwear she was wearing.
How he let out a low growl as he felt the wetness between her legs.
How small whimpers of pleasure escaped Nana’s mouth and made her bite down on her lip so hard the metallic tinge of blood had filled her mouth.
How Astēr had slid first one finger, then two into her, moving them in and out of her at a leisurely rhythm, occasionally caressing her clit until her legs began to weaken.
And all while, she watched the Reāns dancing and mingling in the ballroom below as the souls stars blinked down on her from above.
My thighs involuntarily tighten, and I stumble yet again.
Get ahold of yourself, La?na. I give Reü yet another apologetic smile, and though he’s clearly amused, he continues the dance.
“I need to get some water,” I say as the final notes fade away, and he sends me twirling toward the entrance.
Once I stop spinning, I all but run the last couple steps toward the door and slam it shut behind me.
As I lean against the wall, my exhales escape in ragged, uneven breaths that have nothing to do with the dance.
I close my eyes, recalling the last part of the dream.
How Astēr, when I thought my legs would give out under me, grabbed my hips and slid into me from behind.
How I couldn’t help the moans escaping my lips as pleasure more electrifying than anything I’ve ever come close to even knowing existed pushed through my body.
How he fisted my hair and pulled me up toward him so he could caress my neck with his fangs, and how I tilted my head to the side to give him better access to drink from me.
How we both pretended to watch the show below while he slid in and out of me with lazy strokes, his movements well hidden by the rail.
And the best part, how we both came undone together without a sound, falling to our knees and laughing behind the rail, the love between us so tangible it could have been a living, breathing thing.
And then how I woke up with a longing so deep I was gasping for air in sheer panic when he wasn’t at my side, as if he should have been.
I stare at the small water fountain integrated into the wall across from me, willing myself to walk over and splash some of the cool water onto my face. Gulping down a cup, I push any lingering memories of Astēr’s touch out of my head.
The door opens and closes behind me.
“Shall we say we’re—” Reü stops mid-sentence as he takes me in: face flushed, water running down my cheeks and lips. Curiosity crosses his face, his mouth opening and closing several times while he seems to consider what to say.
“You better get yourself cleaned up before someone thinks we did more than dancing in there,” he says at last.
I blink at him. What is he talking about? Heat floods my cheeks as understanding dawns. It wasn’t only Nana in my dreams who could smell arousal. It’s all Reāns. “I . . . I mean . . . You can . . .” My cheeks are now ablaze, radiating heat like a blacksmith’s forge.
He leans a shoulder against the doorframe, smirking at my obvious distress. “Although anyone who knows me would surely know I’d never involve myself with a human.” He says the word “human” as if it’s a filthy thing he’d need gloves to touch. Which he is wearing, come to think of it.
Gods, he can be such an ass sometimes.
“Reāns who mingle with humans are . . . frowned upon.” He pulls his shirt up and wipes the sweat from his forehead, showing off the few glyphs he has scattered around his arms and upper body.
And now he thinks I couldn’t dance because I was lusting after him. “It’s not what you think,” I mutter. “I’ve had some interesting . . . dreams, that’s all.”
He pulls his gaze away from the mirrors lining the walls of the hallway and looks at me. “What did you say?”
“I said I’ve had some interesting dreams,” I repeat. “That’s all.”
He arches a brow.
“Not about you, you fool.”
He snorts, and I close my eyes. Could someone please create a hole in the ground?
“It’s not about you,” I say. “I had a dream about a very attractive man, and it made me distracted. But it. Was. Not. You.”
“If you say so.” He waves a hand at me, clearly not believing a word I say, and goes back to studying his reflection in the mirror. Finally satisfied with his looks, he turns back toward me. “Well, I have to go see my uncle. Same time tomorrow?”
I fight the urge to roll my eyes at the mention of his uncle.
The entire Arc is surely aware of him being the keeper’s nephew by now.
“Sure,” I say. It’s not like I’ve got anything better to do, and the ball is approaching fast. Besides, although Reü may be insufferable, I love the dancing.
And I have to admit, he’s a good teacher.
He gives me an almost invisible nod, and I turn to walk down the hall toward my quarters.
“La?na?”
I turn, expecting another snide comment.
“You’ll do just fine at the ball,” he assures me. “You are a natural dancer—except for today.” His cool stare lingers as he studies me carefully. “You . . . You truly have exceptional body awareness. It’s impressive.”
“Thank you,” I say. Although I can sense his discomfort—his praise is a tight, reluctant offering—I appreciate his effort.