Chapter Twenty #2
I dip my chin into the water’s coolness before answering. “Maybe we deserve each other’s company.”
“You realize I could force you to tell me anything I want.” He grins, one of his earrings catching the light. At least I can tell he’s playing with me now.
That, I can use.
“Because you will cast me into the Sands if I refuse? Doubtful. You don’t have the heart for that.” I realize we’ve glided deep, my toes no longer grazing the slick rock beneath.
He threads a hand through his soaked locks, flipping them off his forehead. I watch the motion—the flex of his muscles, the curve of his ribs. “You are missing the point of trading answers, miscreant.”
“You’re the one trying to convince me to stay,” I say. “Shouldn’t I be asking the questions?”
“And yet we agreed.”
“I didn’t actually verbalize that. Perhaps you should pay more attention next time, Sire.”
“You infuriating little thing,” he says with a laugh, pulling my arm toward the waterfall. “Come with me, then we’ll see about those questions.” He disappears beneath the waterline. A moment later, a hand comes around my ankle—
I’m dragged under, down—
We come face-to-face underwater. He’s smiling, and it’s a free thing; meanwhile my eyes are shot wide. But he taps a finger to my lips. “You can breathe.”
His voice: It’s audible. But that can’t be right. Still, I hold air within my chest, my lips sealed shut. Sensing my panic, he keeps hold of my wrist. “Vasalie, trust me. I still have my mortal body as surely as you do.”
Trust me.
Without even meaning to, I thread my fingers into his, as if that alone could grant me the strength to try it—to sacrifice my air and hope that water doesn’t drown me. I hold on to his sea-green gaze, there between ribbons of dark hair that sway in the water, and clamp my hand on his palm—
My lips part.
It’s not like breathing air.
It’s as if I don’t need it at all, or like it never left.
“I don’t understand,” I say.
“This realm does not follow the rules of our world,” he says. “The elements, down to their very core, are made for this place. You might have noticed a few differences.”
Like the air being heavier, harder to move through. “Admittedly, it’s been difficult to adapt,” I say.
“It takes time—especially for us. Gravity is different here, as is the food and everything else. Look around.”
I release his hand, batting away my own hair, but still it drifts in front of me like seaweed, coiling into spirals around my neck and chest. With another swipe, I see what I hadn’t before.
The water shimmers under the light of the aurora, gold and cerulean falling around like glitter.
The base of the pool is blue rock, softened near the dip of the fall, though clusters of vibrant kelp emerge from the gaps.
And I don’t have to try to float. The water carries my weight with ease, thick enough that I remain suspended. So much so that I can simply…rest. No fighting, no kicking, no pushing.
This is what he meant for me to do.
“Close your eyes,” he says. “Trust me one more time.”
So I do. My lids close, though ovals of light scatter across them like raindrops on foggy glass. The water feels cooler by a degree.
His hand gathers mine into a gentle squeeze.
“Slowly,” he says, “relax one muscle at a time. Imagine them releasing a breath. Exist without trying, Vasalie, for once. Even I can see the effort you exert.”
One limb at a time, the pressure eases. Even the feverish feeling lessens until it, too, vanishes. I wonder if it’s the atmosphere of this place that causes these strange new headaches—a pressure I haven’t yet adapted to.
His fingers tug softly at mine, a subtle pull. My hair glides over my shoulder, like heather in the lightest breeze, and when I open my eyes again, I feel as though I’m drifting in a sea of stars.
Maybe we should never surface, I think.
If only I could stay here with him. Forget the world above.
But then there’s the waterfall, a muted roar battering through the pool to our right, louder the closer we float. It’s there that Anton tugs me now, and I realize he means to pull me into it.
Instinct has me yanking in a breath and holding it, though a little squeal slips through as we drive underneath, the sound deafening. Thundering. It pounds against my flesh and pulls my hair into a downward spill. Then the curtain falls away, and we pump upward and toward the surface.
The world is hazy on the other side, the air cool as fresh rain.
I gasp an inhale, brushing curls from my forehead and eyes, kicking my legs once more.
Then Anton is there, his large hand wrapping around my forearm and guiding me swiftly toward the rocks.
An upward push, then I’m planted on a rock, my legs dangling in the water as he settles beside me.
We’re in a cave, he and I, the waterfall a crystalline shroud that blurs the outside world.
My breath echoes in my ears.
“I come here when I want to block out everything else,” he says, his wet hair dripping trails of water down his shoulders and chest.
I itch to run my forefinger across his forehead, to coax the few wayward tendrils hanging past his brow back behind his ear. “Why bring me?”
His smile is soft in a way I haven’t yet seen here. “I appreciate the quiet, but I hate solitude.”
“So bring Dahlia.”
He slides a knowing gaze my way. “My jealous little miscreant, you needn’t feel threatened. Can’t you tell how interesting I find you?”
“Your interest is tied to curiosity. I’m a package you want to unwrap. Once you see what’s inside, the mystery loses its appeal.” I pull my hair over my shoulder to squeeze out the water, if only to have something to do with my hands.
“That’s a very narrow-minded way of thinking. A good mystery stands the test of time—even after answers.”
Fates, he sounds like Sundar. “I am not a good mystery, Sire. I am here for a reason, and you are distracting me from it.”
“I thought you might feel safe here,” he says. “We can speak without being overheard—or being watched.”
“Watched,” I repeat. “By the other souls? Or by Moranya?”
“Moranya does not lurk in corners. Is that what you think?”
I shrug, twisting my locks into a knot, only to unravel them again. “She could have eyes and ears everywhere. Or are you her lone watchdog?”
“I am someone she trusts to take care of her souls. Do not misunderstand.”
“Do you think she’s a fair ruler?”