Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter
twenty-five
I hardly recall the long climb down the ladder that descends to canal level, my gown’s hem hiked high to keep from tangling on the rungs.
But suddenly, there I am, on a darkened bend at the base of the Westerly Beacon.
The roar between my ears matches the tremendous thunder of my pulse as I cut through the passage that leads outside the walls.
It is so loud, I’m surprised I can hear the faint stirring of strange musical notes that call out to me, ushering me forward.
When I emerge into the night, I find myself staring at a wide marble staircase, approximately twenty-five paces in length, leading straight down into the sea.
The steps are open at the fronts and hollow at the centers, allowing a rush of water to flow inside with each crashing wave, activating a cleverly designed network of organ pipes.
The result is a haunting song of the sea that changes with the incoming tide—each swell creating a new melody, each step producing a different pitch.
I blink at the sea organ, eyes sweeping along the length of it.
There is no one here.
Not a soul around.
I want to laugh. I want to scream. What the hell am I doing here? Gods, I was foolish to come, seeking answers to questions I’m too terrified to ask myself, let alone…
I turn to go.
“Planning a late-night swim?”
I spin around, eyes sweeping the area again.
It’s not until I walk to the edge of the musical steps that I finally spot him.
He is lying on his back halfway down, his supine form mostly concealed by the marble.
Just inches below him, waves pour into the lower half of the organ, producing deep notes of melancholy.
If he is getting splashed, he does not seem to mind.
“I must warn you,” Soren goes on, voice even more fluid than normal, “I am not in any state to rescue you.”
My eyes narrow as I sit cautiously on the top tread, several steps above him. “Are you drunk?”
“I was an hour ago. Less so, now. I should’ve brought the bottle along.” He frowns up at the moon. I cannot quite keep pace with his rapidly shifting emotions. Despite his clear intoxication, he is still successfully blocking me out. “How did you find me?”
“I was sworn to secrecy, I’m afraid.”
He mulls that over for a moment, then mutters, “Vaughn. Meddlesome mammoth.”
I’ve never seen him like this before—so cavalier, so uncalculated in his responses. I find it both unsettling and intriguing. “Is it wise to be lying there like that, on the edge, while inebriated?”
“Worried I’ll drown, skylark?”
“Can you drown?”
“Can you die of suffocation?” He snorts softly. “What sort of question is that?”
“I don’t know! You’re the Water Remnant.” My cheeks heat. “I thought maybe you could breathe underwater.”
The unbridled sound of his laughter rings into the night. When it tapers off, he raises his arms, knits his fingers together, and folds them beneath his head in a cushion. “It’s my half-sisters who have the gills.”
“Forget I asked.” I huff lightly, gathering the long train of my gown so it doesn’t slip down the steps. “Why aren’t you up at the villa celebrating with everyone?”
“I didn’t feel much like celebrating.”
My brows sail upward. “I thought you liked Alaric. I thought you supported this match.”
He is quiet for a long time. “That’s not why I don’t feel like celebrating.”
“Ah.” My mind races, considering all variables. “You’re upset about Arwen going away.”
“Arwen.” He nods. His voice is thick. “And you.”
The breath snags in my throat.
“That’s why you’ve come here, isn’t it? To tell me you’re leaving. To tell me goodbye.”
My tongue is not complying with orders to produce coherent words. “I…That’s not…I’m not…” I shake my head vigorously to clear it. “I’m not certain what I’m going to do.”
He sits up suddenly, planting his boots against a mostly submerged slab of marble. He does not seem to notice they are getting soaked. He does not turn to meet my eyes. He speaks to the sea instead, his words so hushed I can hardly make them out over the mournful soundtrack of the sea organ.
“But he’s asked you to return with him. Pendefyre. He’s asked for you back.”
“Yes,” I answer truthfully.
Tension ripples through his shoulders, quickly steadied. “If you’re planning to leave, just go. There’s no need for some long drawn-out goodbye.”
My features contort into a wince. He sounds so unlike himself. So…resigned. Almost defeated. I cannot bear to hear him like that. It causes me physical pain, sets off an ache inside my chest cavity I cannot endure for longer than a few agonizing heartbeats.
Before I know it, I am sliding myself down the steps one at a time, my silken skirts slipping against the marble as I make my way to sit beside him. I do not say anything as I come to a stop. I merely lean my side against his, pressing my bare shoulder to the thick fabric of his ornate navy tunic.
He takes an audible inhale as he feels my weight. “What are you doing?”
“I told you, I don’t know yet. The ship—”
“I don’t mean tomorrow,” he clips. He still does not look at me, not even for a moment, keeping his spine ramrod as he stares out to sea. “What are you doing right now?”
“Sitting here with you.”
“I don’t need your pity.”
“Good, because you don’t have it.” My eyes bore holes into the side of his face, willing him to glance over. “You’re angry with me.”
His jaw tightens. “No.”
“And you’re lying about it.” My voice turns incredulous. “I thought you promised never to lie to me. I thought you claimed you would always be truthful.”
His expression twists into a bleak mask that, even in profile, makes me uneasy.
When he finally shifts his focus to me, I almost reel back.
The full force of that look is terrifying.
A Soren I have never seen before. No levity, no mirth.
No easy laughter. He shows me the deepest fathoms of his pain, his fury, his frustration, holding nothing back as his eyes pierce mine.
I am suddenly grateful the bond is muted. I do not think I could bear to feel those emotions firsthand.
“You want the truth?” he mutters, the words hoarse. “Truly?”
My heart thuds harder, faster. “Always.”
“The first night you arrived here, I told you I would always be honest with you, but you had not yet earned my secrets. Do you remember that?”
I nod.
“You have earned them now.”
My heart stumbles. I have?
“But the things I want to say to you, Rhya…These words I keep locked inside my heart…I fear if I allow them to the surface, you will run from me and never return. I fear the last glimpse I ever have of you will be on the bow of a brown-sailed ship, fading into the distance, forever out of my reach.”
Shivers of trepidation move through my bloodstream.
I push past them, determined not to shy away.
“You cannot know that. I have never run from you before, no matter what you told me, no matter how far you’ve pushed me.
And you have pushed me greatly, these past few weeks.
Mentally, elementally”—I swallow hard—“physically.”
His eyes flash, silver joining the sapphire in a way that suddenly reminds me of the gown I am wearing.
As though he shares my thoughts, his gaze moves down my body, taking in the plunging cleavage, the exposed whorls of my Remnant…
Moving past the flowing fabric that hugs my curves to the delicate silver sandals on my feet where they rest on the step beside his heavy black boots, periodically splashed by warm waves.
“Physically,” he repeats, the word nearly a growl.
I had meant it in regard to the water globes he is constantly battering me with, or the way he sometimes uses his broad frame to corral me down a path, or his propensity for grabbing my hand and tugging me along behind him.
But as our gazes hold and hold, all those physical acts are pushed aside as the memory of that night at the Kettle threads its way into my thoughts.
My teeth score my bottom lip as I recall the way he drew pleasure from my body without ever once putting his hands on my skin. It is a memory I have replayed again and again, this past week, late at night when no one is around to see the flush of my cheeks or hear the rapid patter of my pulse.
Soren reads the direction of my thoughts instantly. His eyes go half-lidded as they drop to my mouth and lock there. “I thought you did not want to talk about that.”
“I don’t,” I breathe.
“Good. We’ve talked enough.”
“What—”
His hand slides behind my neck without warning, jerking me close in one smooth tug.
Our foreheads bump together with a jolt that might’ve been painful if I could feel anything except shock.
My lips are still half-parted on a word I can no longer remember.
All I can think about is the hairsbreadth of space that separates my mouth from Soren’s.
I wait for him to close it, to crush his lips against mine.
He doesn’t.
When I manage to peel my attention from his mouth, I look directly into his eyes. They are pure silver, like starlight shining on the sea. Our breaths mingle in the space between our faces, both of us breathing like we’ve just run the length of the ramparts.
“Is there something you wanted from me, skylark?” he whispers, so close I feel each word form before it reaches my ears. “Another lesson? A bit of insight?”
He will not be the one to make this leap, I realize as I hold his stare. He has made all the rest. This one—this choice—will have to be mine. With that realization, I shift slightly forward and, as I do, I allow my maegic to shift as well.
My mind brushes his, a hopeful question; his brushes back, an irrefutable answer.
The one I want.
The one I need.
Yes.