22. One Bed
One Bed
Upside down, concussed, and drugged, I mimicked a sack of flour as Tarantula stalked back to our inn, smoke rising behind us. Neck aching, I peered up at the canopy of spindly branches, shadows crawling toward me under the moonlight.
His thumb was still clenched between my thighs. A flush warmed my face, and it had nothing to do with the tropical climate.
“Zora, we’ve been looking everywhere for you!” Ella appeared out of the dark as she hurried through the street.
Tarantula shifted his hand away from my core.
Ella’s arm was draped over the shoulders of an injured Southern man. A wood shard protruded from his calf, but he seemed unconcerned, staring down at Ella with hearts in his eyes.
Axel followed close behind, disheveled and covered in dust but otherwise intact. He ripped the injured man out of Ella’s embrace and shoved him away. The man tripped, shouting in pain as he landed on his wound.
Ella gasped and moved to help him, but Axel held her back. “He’s fine.”
The man moaned in agony on the ground.
“Focus on Zora.” Axel pointedly directed Ella toward me, and she smiled with delight, cheeks red, clearly still drunk on fairy wine.
“How are the drugs feeling?” she asked as she poked at me.
“Nom,” I gurgled unintelligibly.
“Wow—that good?” Axel patted my back. “Do you happen to have any more on you? I want to try the—”
“What have I told thee about touching her, jester?” Tarantula cut him off as he shifted, moving me away.
I pointed at Tarantula, the razed building, and then myself, trying to discreetly convey the nuances of evil.
“Is she having a hallucinogenic episode?” Axel asked as he missed the message.
“Yes,” Tarantula said.
Someone cried out for help, and Ella turned to go to them, but Axel once again grabbed her arm and steered her attention back to me. “Did we get Sibrain?” Axel asked, grunting as he fought to hold on to a struggling Ella.
“The first mark has been handled,” Tarantula said coldly.
Axel nodded like this made sense. He had no idea Tarantula had skinned his face off with his magic, then decapitated him with my dagger. I tried to explain with my eyes.
“Do we know why the building collapsed?” Axel asked Tarantula, his gaze shrewd despite inebriation.
“An accidental fire,” Tarantula said, picking up his pace.
Axel scoffed as he followed, but he didn’t say anything. People screamed nearby, and he resumed pulling along a fighting Ella, who was desperate to get to them.
I nodded in agreement with her. “We should go help the Southerners—”
Tarantula cut me off. “We should rest for the night and go to the bathhouse tomorrow for Arcturus.” He paused thoughtfully.
“Or we could raze the rest of the city and flush him out now . . .” He stopped like he found another massacre alluring, and I could practically feel the bloodlust thumping through his veins.
He straightened like he was fantasizing about the carnage.
Axel rolled his eyes. “No. We’ll sleep.”
Squire cawed as he flew down from the trees and landed on my butt. “Zora, you dead?”
“Mmm-hmm,” I confirmed.
“My tragic heart mourns you,” Squire hooted solemnly, and I appreciated the dramatic phrase. He was the only one who understood me. Probably not the best sign. In a brave display of solidarity, he pecked my butt and screeched to the moon.
A disorienting indeterminate amount of time later, I still tasted colors and saw smells while Tarantula carried me into my dark room at the inn. The twins had already disappeared into theirs for the night.
“Put me down now and leave,” I demanded, hitting his hard muscles, hating how warm they were beneath my fingers.
“Thou art drugged . . . I would never leave a lady alone in her room in such a state. ’Tis dangerous. Thou could asphyxiate on vomit.”
Charming.
A fountain gurgled pleasantly in the corner as long shadows stretched across the single canopied bed, barely big enough for one person. Two people alone, stuck in an inn, I wonder what could happen?
The peculiar thoughts were chased away as Tarantula leaned forward and, with shocking whipcord strength, repositioned me. He held me in his outstretched arms, high over the bed. Somehow Squire ended up standing on my forehead.
“Hello, spider,” Squire said, ducking his head bashfully.
Tarantula nodded back. “Greetings, mini fledgling.”
I shook my head at him. “Don’t you dare—”
Tarantula dropped us both, and we bounced roughly on the mattress. Squire fell, his rotund body smushing against my face. Before I could get up and fight, Tarantula yanked the sheets up to my chin, covering me completely.
“Thank you,” Squire chittered, climbing under them. He curled into a ball beside me (not helpful).
“Sleep,” Tarantula ordered.
“Yes, spider sir,” Squire squawked happily and closed his eyes. Shocked at this unfathomable betrayal of friendship, I gaped at my already sleeping owl.
“Wait a second,” I said as his sudden turn in allegiance hit me. “Have you been the one giving him the seeds?”
A flush traveled up Tarantula’s neck from under his collar. “Maybe,” he muttered, looking away from me.
How dare he try to corrupt my most faithful ally?
Overheating, I kicked the smothering layers off, leaving them all for Squire. Magic nipped at my sweaty skin, silky material sliding gently, and I sighed with relief. My limbs spread wide.
The flowery vines hanging from the ceiling caught the moonlight in shades of pink and green. Beautiful. I tipped my head back, savoring the spinning euphoria.
“Ravenal,” Tarantula said hoarsely. “Cover your shoulders.”
I turned my head, and it felt like lifting heavy bricks. Wait, he’s still here?
Pearlescent eyes glowed eerily. He loomed above me, chest heaving, lips slightly parted as he stared at my . . . clavicle?
“It’s just my shoulders?”
Eyes widening, Tarantula turned abruptly. He stalked a few steps to the wall and brought his arm up. Mumbling in his strange tongue, he hit his forehead against his forearm.
Squire hooted happily in his sleep.
“Are you having another . . . ankle episode?” I asked cautiously, not sure what was happening but knowing that I needed to bully him for it. “I think you need to look at me and get over this—”
SLAP.
Tarantula slammed his palm against the wall above his head.
“No,” he said with a predatory baritone, still not glancing at me. “I shall never look . . . ’Tis disrespectful.” The archaic magical symbols moved on his muscular back as he tensed—snowflake, fire, lightning, wind, water.
A low, tortured sound escaped his throat. Distant screams sounded far off in the humid night, traveling through the open window. I inhaled deeply. The strange scent of ruination mixed with yearning filled my lungs.
“Just to be clear,” I said tentatively. “You’re completely losing it right now over my shoulder—right? This is about a . . . shoulder. Two of them—”
“Ravenal!” SLAP. He hit the wall harder, my name falling from his lips like a desperate prayer. “Do not test my control right now.”
Undoubtedly this was the funniest thing I’d ever experienced. Also, the man had lost his mind, and he needed to die. All three things were true at once.
SLAP. His fingers flexed, nails digging into the stone wall.
“You can touch one of my shoulders if you want—but only one,” I blurted. Why did I just say that? I blamed the drugs.
Tarantula went impossibly still, frozen like a statue, elegant fingers convulsing where they were spread against the wall. “Thou . . . do not mean that.” Nails scraping, he turned to face me. “Take it back,” he whispered darkly.
“Uh—no?”
“Take.” A long, elegant finger rose, glowing silver. “It.” He pointed at me accusingly. “Back.”
“Still no.”
He prowled toward the bed, shadows gathering around him like dire moths to a bonfire. Asphyxiating, I choked on the peril—him. Panic mounted. I had to do something. I had to save myself from this man. I have to save the world from him.
I lunged and twisted.
CRASH.
He paused, staring down at the shattered glass and the single flame dancing around his boots, then back up at me. “Ravenal, did thou just throw . . . a lantern at me?”
We both looked over at the empty space on the right bedside table. The lantern on the left no longer had its mate. I might have panicked and thrown the oil lamp. Fire slowly spread across the wooden floor.
“I did, and I’ll do it again,” I said as I inched across the bed toward the remaining lantern.
“Don’t thou dare, Ravenal.”
In slow motion, we both glanced at the remaining lamp, then back at each other. The corner of his lips curled up, and we lunged at the same time. Air whistled through my empty fingers. He snatched the lantern away and chucked it. I threw myself off the bed as it whooshed past my head.
CRASH.
The lantern exploded against the wall above the headboard, shattered glass and fire raining down. The artful canopy caught flame.
“SQUIRE!” I screamed with horror, diving toward him, but a shimmering silvery bubble of magic appeared around his feathers, shielding his sleeping body from the falling debris.
Whoosh. I backed away as more of the bedding caught on fire. The pillow Squire rested on was the only part completely untouched by the chaos. He chittered happily in his sleep.
I turned, fists raised. “How dare you! You almost killed him!”
“I would never hurt the ugly, useless bird.” Tarantula looked genuinely outraged at the accusation.
“You ignorant cad. He is beautiful.”
He didn’t look convinced.
“So,” I continued. “You would spare him but harm me?”
His ears turned pink as he ripped his hands through his still-wet hair. “I never would have damaged a single hair upon your glorious head. I would have shielded thee too.”
I pointed back at the growing blaze. “Then why did you throw a lamp?” Pink petals slowly fell from the vegetation on the ceiling, catching fire.
“Thou threw one at me.” He held his head.
“Of course I did, Empire scum—and I’ll do it again.” I punched at him. Air whistled as he leaned back, just barely dodging the blow.