21. 20 #2
He didn’t answer for some time. Long enough for me to decide he wasn’t going to, and retrain my gaze on the passing city.
I stared out of the window from the darkness and anonymity of our unlit cabin, confident that even those staring back—for there were a number who stopped and stared as this funeral coach glided through town—would not get more than a glimpse at the side of my face.
I had always loved watching the city like this.
Seeing it from the back of a carriage, or a cart.
Moving through it as it moved around me made me feel apart from it, like I was some grand observer to the world.
Like a God observing its creations, in a way.
I watched people more brazenly than I would on foot, seeing them stumble out of tavernas and return back from a day’s work.
Finding joy in seeing a smile on a man’s face as he whistled to himself, or wondering why the little boy looked so moody, kicking at the rock outside his house.
It settled my nerves, the reality of everyday life making the unbelievable events of the last few weeks fade to the edges.
“I used to live there.”
“Where?” I said, flicking my eyes back to Davian. He was not staring out of the window. His eyes were on me, and only me. I blinked and made the connection: why he might be nervous about tonight. “You mean the House of Wisdom?”
He nodded.
“Why were you living there?” I asked immediately.
What did he do before joining Samiscus? I realised I hardly knew.
I often forgot that most devotees were not selected by their Gods until they were much older.
Only Love, War, and Merriment truly valued youth, and prized it over other traits.
I made the most obvious assumption. “Were you serving the devotees?”
Davian smirked, but it didn’t ring true. He looked a little queasy, but quickly suppressed the emotion. He reached up, and touched his hand to his silver mask. I froze, not breathing.
He only hesitated for a moment. Then he gripped the mask and lifted it up.
I had imagined his face many times over the weeks.
How could I not, when he had consumed so much of my mind?
Some nights, I thought of his face as a perfect mirror of the other side with no blemish nor injury whatsoever.
Nothing more than something to spark mystery, and intrigue.
To give rise to rumours and legends, when it was nothing but smoke and mirrors.
Other nights, I imagined scars. Burns. Some disfigurement he was desperate to hide.
I had never imagined this. His face was remarkably perfect, with symmetry across the cheekbones and eyes that levelled me.
But at his right temple there was a mark.
A dark and blackened thing, breaking across from the hairline two inches above the top of his ear and carving cursive loops across his cheek. The whole mark was the size of my palm.
Only devotees of Wisdom were marked on their heads. And only those who had broken from them had black marks.
“Ekris above,” I whispered. He had lived in the House of Wisdom, as a devotee, before he was chosen by Samiscus. That was what he was hiding. “But I thought—”
“That I was a street kid, or some common thief,” he said. His eyes had gone cold, his expression flat. “Most of the sunners think that. Most of Dytho probably thinks that.”
I recalled now what Petros had said before.
Davian is his name. Served time for theft, then wormed his way into Samiscus’ den.
But they must have taken his mask off during the Oath of Light.
There were some amongst the sunners who knew he was truly a former chosen of Wisdom.
And yet, I had never heard that rumour. Either someone in the House of the Sun was protecting that information, or someone in the House of Wisdom didn’t want it to come out. “Why don’t you correct them?”
He shrugged. “The rumours are more interesting.”
It was flippant, glib, and I could tell it wasn’t the truth. “Why did you leave?”
His expression shifted, from grey reluctance to something entirely closed. “That is a simple question with a very complicated answer.”
I nodded. I appreciated that he had told me the truth in any capacity. I could sense he had debated the decision. But if we were visiting the House of Wisdom now, he would surely be recognised.
“When did you last visit the House?” I asked instead.
He stared down at my clasped hands, drawing in a large breath and releasing it in a heavy sigh. “It has been years.”
I had seen his emotion on myself enough times to know it in a heartbeat, but I hadn’t seen it often on the man before me. It was fear. He was dreading this visit. Whatever nerves he had been calming with wine and ale, it had only taken the edge off.
I leaned forwards, and his eyes slipped back to mine. I reached for his hand, and held it in mine. For a second, his hand was limp, and his jaw was tight. Then he released another breath, and held my hand back.
We sat like that, hand in hand, not speaking.
I stared at his face in its entirety, and tried not to focus on the mark.
It was easier than I expected, to find all the new things about him; the tiny mark—a mole, maybe—near his mouth, and the way his eyebrows were just as unruly as each other and not quite matching, with the tail of the right one pulling higher.
In return, I felt his eyes roaming my face, my neck, my collarbones.
We both shifted, and the moment became charged. I hadn’t realised how much we had both leaned in when the carriage slowed to a stop.
Davian moved swiftly, dropping my hand. He returned his mask to his face as I lamented the loss of his palm’s warmth. He opened the door and hopped easily down to the cobblestones. I might have read his quick exit for rejection had he not immediately offered me his hand again.
“Here we are,” he said, his silver mask gleaming. “My lady.”
My heart thundered as I placed my hand back in his, and let him help me down.
The House of Wisdom looked like any other from the outside.
Standing outside of this one, I could have been outside of any House; the same columns, the same stairs and triangular roof.
There were a few distinctive features that set it apart from Love, or even Pain, as I had come to know the latter House better than expected.
This House was better lit than both of those, with iron lamps on either side of the stairs and lining the path down to what I presumed were grounds at the back of the House.
Wisdom had heavy golden curtains in the windows, and the door handles and window latches were gold, too.
The front doors were curtained, too, covered floor-to-ceiling to keep the cooler air inside and bar our view of the event.
Beside the curtains was a man waiting, with his hands behind his back.
This was the biggest sign we were at the House of Wisdom.
With any other Household, the butler would have a list of names. Here, he had them memorised.
Camriel had jumped down from the carriage ahead of us, and was now nearing the top of the empty staircase. From the sounds of music muffled by the fabric, the ball was firmly underway. We were two hours late, as intended.
“Now,” Davian said. “I have to do something you might not like.”
“What?”
With his other hand, he pulled a ring from his pocket. Not just a ring. The ring. The tungsten band and glittering gemstone. A House of Wisdom ring. Seera’s ring.
He took the hand still in his grasp and slid the loop of metal over my ring finger.
I looked down, aghast, as he pushed it over my knuckle. “What are you doing?”
Davian grimaced. “It’s the only way she’ll let us in.”
I tried to understand this. It must have been an exclusive enough event that simply being his date wasn’t enough to get me on the list. But I had worn this ring before as Robar’s betrothed, and Davian must have given it to Seera.
This piece of jewellery held too much uncomfortable association for both of us.
But Davian was staring at me with an imploring look, and I was already here, so I nodded. “Fine.”
With my hand still clasped in Davian’s, he led us up the staircase.
He went slower. I initially believed it was for my benefit, though the heeled slippers were not uncommon to me.
Talia had taught me to walk in them comfortably from the moment I entered Ekris’ service.
Then I realised it was for his. He clutched my hand tighter as he stepped with his right leg, and despite his so-called improved healing, I knew it was a fight for him to conceal the limp.
I pushed back when he pushed down for support.
It helped me, too, giving me the balance to hold my dress up with my other hand.
“Leader Camriel,” the butler said as Camriel reached the covered doorway.
The butler was a middle-aged Craeteran man with a nose too large for his face that suited him anyway.
As he parted the curtain, I saw a flash of wooden floors and candlelight.
“Please make your way inside. Theolis is expecting you.”
Davian cleared his throat and stopped a step below his Leader. “Actually, she’ll be speaking to us.”
“Who—” The butler looked past Camriel, who had already followed his invitation and was making his way through the curtain.
His eyes fell on the man holding my hand.
Apparently, a former devotee of this very House. The butler paled, and his composure broke, and it was obvious he recognised him even with the mask in place. The surprise and fear rippled over him like a rock into a pond, violently and swiftly. “Gods.”
I felt Davian tense, his hand squeezing mine, but read none of it in his posture. He looked assured, prepared. Uncaring. Only our touch gave it away. “Very kind of you. But I’m Davian, and this is my Annabelle. I don’t think we’ll be on the list.”