CHAPTER THIRTEEN #2
The issue is Everest and I are like…like prescription medicine to an ailment.
Good in carefully measured doses but potentially lethal if combined inappropriately.
In the current paradigm of our relationship, we mostly ignore everything that makes us so different, but the incident at the Mughal court proves that little has changed.
I’ve watched his attitudes shift with the wind, and while he’s made his desire for me apparent, I wouldn’t be surprised if it dissipated once I give in.
Meanwhile, I would grow deeply, irrevocably attached, which is a risk I cannot take when I’m actively working on returning home.
No, anything with Everest would be too much for me to handle, and after almost five centuries of no experience, save for a hasty eclipse kiss, I’m too scared to take the risk.
“For such a keenly observant person, sometimes you are very ignorant,” Keshav sighs into my ear.
“I don’t see you and Geneva making any progress in that regard either,” I can’t help but say.
All this focus on me and my relationships, which I’ve very carefully let live in manageable capacities, when these two have been mooning over each other since day one.
Even now, Geneva’s watchful gaze bores through my skin.
To my surprise, Keshav chuckles. “Not that you’re aware of.”
I pull back an inch. “You and…wait…when?”
He twirls me around. “We’re old-fashioned, Ryka. Not everything has to be out in broad daylight.”
“You sneaky little ghosts,” I say, unable to stop from smiling. “I’m happy for you, Keshav. For both of you.”
And I mean it. They’ve had difficult lives, difficult pasts, but I’ve watched them grow closer year after year. For all their bickering in the archives, they’ve carved out a space of their own. So different, but so beautifully compatible.
“You deserve to be happy too, Ryka,” Keshav says quietly.
I don’t respond, focusing instead on our steady movement. That is, until Geneva appears to our side out of nowhere.
“Time for eclipse preparations,” she says hurriedly.
I let go of Keshav, then assess the sky, where the moon is still very clear. “What preparations? We still have a while.”
“Oh, we have some matters to attend to,” Keshav says.
“But I do feel bad for making him leave you mid-dance,” Geneva says, raising her voice to a frankly unnecessary level.
“That’s alright–”
“I’d be happy to take over,” Everest says, materializing out of thin air in the middle of my sentence.
Keshav looks all too thrilled, taking Geneva’s hand in his. She tilts her head on his shoulder in the most un-Geneva like display of affection and winks at me. “I will see you both for the scrying.”
“Wait, no–”
But they’re gone, disappearing like those old cartoons that left puffs of air in their wake. Everest steps in front of me, one hand sliding over my waist and the other taking my hand in his solid, warm grip, and everything dims around his brilliant face, glowing with victory.
“I thought our annual dance went to Valentin,” I say, hoping to conceal my jitters with snark. All I can smell is the cypress clinging to the fabric of his shirt, the scent alone enough to pull me back to the night of my first eclipse.
Everest smirks, as if he knows exactly what I’m thinking about. “Our deal was one dance every eclipse. I didn’t realize it was transferrable.”
He spins me around to the slow drum beat before pulling me back to him with an ease that liquefies my insides into something soft and golden.
“I didn’t realize this was that important to you,” I joke.
He doesn’t crack even the slightest hint of a smile. “I can’t think of anything I wait for like this.”
And it’s this moment, when he’s so close that if I pressed up on my toes, loped my arms around his neck, I’d be able to kiss him. Instead, I tuck my head against his shoulder, because it’s easier to listen to his heart than to look at his face.
“Are you nervous?” he murmurs. The sound raises the hair on the nape of my neck and shoots straight to my core. I’m so discombobulated by the question, by the brush of his lips against the top of my head that I barely hear when he adds, “About the scrying.”
The butterflies in my stomach disintegrate. Of course, he wants to talk about the scrying. About what should be at the top of my mind.
“A little bit,” I admit, grateful for the change in conversation. I can get through this song, through being so close to him for a few minutes. “But I’m excited, too, you know? This could be the first step to…to uncovering something new.”
“To finding a way home” is what I wanted to say, but for some reason I can’t get the words out. He hums in agreement, but I can sense that, just like me, he has more trapped inside him, begging to be voiced.
At the last strum of the vintage guitar, I look up at him. The smile he returns is arresting. I’m still as stone when his hand comes up to my face, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear, static as powerful as lightning between us. His fingers linger, brushing against the hoop in my ear.
He looks at something over my head, and a small crease appears between his brows. Just like that, the moment is over, and it’s so cold when he takes a step back.
“I think it’s time.”
Geneva’s gesturing wildly at us. Everest is already walking in her direction, but I’m rooted in place.
We’d gotten close, far too close to repeating the mistakes of the first eclipse tonight.
I’ve been diligent in avoiding giving into his charms, and I should feel relief that we’ve parted ways unscathed tonight, but I’m filled with something else in turn.
And I’m sure that every inch of me that he’s touched still burns.