28
R EQUIEM T HEATER WAS LOCATED IN A DISTRICT OF Rojanea that looked like an entirely different city.
The streets were clean of both trash and people, the businesses ranged from custom tailors to jewelry shops, and the city guard that patrolled the area didn’t look as though they were eager for money or a fight.
The theater itself was a magnificent three-floor structure, with stucco walls and a glass dome over the lobby that must have provided a gorgeous light show at high noon.
Inside were carpeted floors and staircases that led below, to the orchestra seats, and above, to the balconies and boxes.
Marisol, Teo, and Bas had been given a box to watch the shadow play from, and she was curious to see what such a thing would look like from up high and done by witches.
She wiped her sweaty hands against her skirts and stepped into the box, freezing when both boys turned to look at her with a chair open between them.
A hysterical laugh bubbled in her throat. She forced it down.
“There you are,” Teo said, standing to help her to her seat. “I was starting to worry you’d be late.”
“I’m running out of clothes for these events,” she lied, instead of explaining that she had almost overslept due to emotional stress.
Her kiss with Teo didn’t haunt her the way her hug with Bas had…
and therein lay the problem. In fact, she had barely thought of the prince in the last few days, except as part of a team with an unfinished job ahead of them.
Instead, she cried herself to sleep thinking of Rodrigo and practiced her swordplay until she was too exhausted to keep thinking of Bas.
Bas’s hand on her cheek.
Bas’s arms around her body.
Bas’s heart in her hands—metaphorically or literally.
Bas gave her a small smile that made her stomach flutter as she settled in beside him, and she cursed her traitorous body for the involuntary reaction.
It felt as if these feelings were parasitic in nature, feeding on her heart the second it had escaped the cage of her hate.
She longed to go back to that hate. It was easier. It made sense.
Teo handed her a program, but Marisol didn’t have time to glance at it before the lights went low.
On the stage was a scrim. With the houselights down, a larger light illuminated it, and the shadow puppets bounced into view.
Instead of being on sticks controlled by puppeteers beneath the stage, the shadows were freestanding and shape-shifting, the result of magic rather than human ingenuity.
They were spectacular and impressive, swirling out of view in a cloud of shadows or appearing from the edges of the light as if they’d been hiding from the audience. Teo was enraptured from the first line.
Marisol continued to watch Bas from the corner of her eye.
She couldn’t tell if he was paying attention to her or the stage, and she couldn’t tell which one she preferred.
She folded her hands in her lap, clasping them tightly to keep from fidgeting.
He would notice. He always noticed everything about her.
The dancing shadows animated his blank face. She remembered the first time she saw him again, when his smile had been enough to send her into a murderous rage. Now she had seen him angry, she had seen him sad, she had seen him resigned to death and hopeful for life.
He had infected her mind. There was no other explanation for this. He had been there for her in her lowest moment, and now she craved his quiet strength. His presence was driving her to distraction. She needed to get over this.
Marisol stood. “I need to use the washroom.”
Inside the empty room on the first floor, she washed her face with cold water.
The mirror mocked her with her own beauty.
As conflicted as she was inside, her illusion held; she looked like a mermaid emerging from the waves, pretty and perfect.
It had been her weapon before, but now it felt like a blade pressed to her own throat.
She missed her own imperfect face. She missed her own imperfect life.
She closed her eyes. One plant down. One to go. Then this would end.
The door opened.
Marisol met Bas’s eyes in the mirror. “Is something wrong?”
He let the door fall shut behind him and then leaned against the wall beside it, his arms folded. “You’ve been preoccupied. I’m checking on you.”
“Maybe I’ve seen this play before.”
“So you stare at me instead?”
Caught, she dropped her gaze to the sink. Water droplets lingered across the porcelain, some escaping down the drain. She wished she could escape, too.
“You’ve been acting strange,” Bas continued. “If I said something to upset you, please just tell me.”
“You didn’t say anything to upset me. You upset me.”
A quick glance showed that his expression had darkened. “I thought we were—”
“What?” Marisol whirled around, tired of feeling like the cornered one in this conversation.
“You thought we were what? Past you killing my entire family and abandoning me to the streets? Past you living in luxury while I shared a hard bed with at least three other kids at the orphanage? Past you never looking for me, never thinking about me, never once taking accountability for all the ways you ruined my life?” Her hands made fists at her sides.
“I’m trying to get past it, Sebastjan , but I have to admit it’s a little hard. ”
The words burned as they came out, slicing her as deeply as they seemed to be slicing him. But they were a barrier between them, keeping him and these confusing feelings at bay. She would rather have his ire than risk anything else.
“No,” he said slowly. He took a step forward and then another, his eyes narrowed. “That’s not what it is. You haven’t looked at me like you hate me in days.”
“Oh?” Marisol went for airy, even though the sink was digging into her spine from her failed attempt to back away. “Enlighten me. How have I been looking at you, then?”
Bas stopped when there was only a handsbreadth between them, not even room for a second person to squeeze through.
His eyes were the color of tea steeped just a touch too long.
He placed his hands on the counter on either side of her, preventing her from running, from thinking.
His quiet intensity pinned her in place as surely as his arms did.
He leaned down until those eyes were all she could see. His voice was feather soft. “You look at me like I’m the answer. So what’s the question, Leya?”
The sound of her nickname sent a shiver down her spine. She straightened, tilted her chin up to project a lack of intimidation.
“What do you want?” she snapped. “That’s the only question I have.”
“I can’t answer that.”
“Why not?”
He swallowed. “You know why. Tell me you know.”
“I—” She faltered as his expression caught fire, the heat in his eyes igniting one in her body. She couldn’t breathe, not with him so close, not with him looking at her like… like… “I thought you were in love with Teo.”
Bas chuckled, a frayed and bitter thing.
“I do love him. I’ll always love him. But I loved you first. Since I saw you again, it’s been impossible for me to look away.
” One hand came up to cup her cheek. The touch of his callused palm made her swallow.
His gentle fingers chased the line of her cheekbone.
“I told you in the woods: Kill me, and end this.” He leaned even closer, until the slightest wind could send them careening into each other.
“Or kiss me,” he whispered, his eyes on her mouth, “and ruin us both.”
Marisol kissed him.
Foolishly. Happily.
He grasped her sides and lifted her onto the countertop, stepping into the space she’d left behind.
She had to tip her head back to meet his frenzied kisses.
Her hands moved with equal fervor, unsure where to settle: his hair, his shoulders, his chest, his back.
She could feel his muscles moving beneath his shirt as he stepped impossibly closer.
Someone was whimpering, weak and breathless mm-mm-mm s that didn’t seem as if they could possibly be coming from her.
And yet he sighed her name like a revelation, his hands sliding from her hips to her thighs, and she realized that it was her.
She wanted him. She couldn’t pinpoint exactly when it started, but she did.
It was not like with Teo, that bright spark of attraction that made her feel powerful.
This was a need, something that made her feel raw .
Every time he tried to pull away, she chased his mouth and swallowed his half-bitten curses.
Every time she tried to lean back, he did something with his tongue that made her gasp with pleasure.
“We can’t,” he whispered into her mouth. “We can’t .”
“I know. I’m—” She exhaled shakily as he bit the line of her jaw. “I didn’t mean for—”
“You’re supposed to hate me. You have to hate me.”
“I do hate you.”
That was the problem, after all. Even when faced with the reality of Teo’s feelings, Marisol could think only of how Teo worshipped her.
She was attracted to him, but how could she love him when only one boy had ever made her feel an emotion as powerful as love?
Her hatred for Bas had kept her warm on chilly, lonely nights, and now, with her entire body burning at his touch, she realized that this was what true passion was.
It was not just two bodies colliding but two hearts.
It was the thorny, warring emotions she felt when she looked at Bas, remembering what he’d done and what he’d been through.
Her desire to protect him and her desire to make him suffer.
It was all-consuming, and Teo did not have enough of her to consume. He never would.
It was right here, with Bas. The boy she couldn’t want. The boy she couldn’t have.
Traitor. Victim. Lover. Enemy.
Marisol locked her legs around his waist. He was just as affected as she was, and that made her want to abandon all reason—except he was looking at her, panting, and there was something off about his expression. Something that made her feel less wanton and more exposed.
“I miss your real face,” he admitted, thumb brushing against her pulse. “This isn’t… you. I don’t want to—not until I can see you. Really see you.”
You’re the only one who ever has , she wanted to say. Instead, she whispered: “Kiss me.”
Where their first kisses had been devastating, this was soothing. Their mouths met as if they’d been doing this for years, and his thumb gently massaged her pulse point as he explored her mouth. This time, she let him pull away, his forehead on hers, their lips still in dangerous proximity.
“We can’t,” she reminded him.
He inhaled shakily. She lowered her legs. He stepped away.
Marisol cleared her throat and slid off the counter, swaying only slightly on knees that didn’t seem to want to hold her. She turned back to the mirror, bringing her breathing back to normal, and stared at herself again.
Now she almost recognized herself in those wild eyes and swollen lips. She looked like trouble. She felt like trouble. She was trouble.
It was the most like herself she’d felt in years.
She washed her face again, letting the water drown out the sounds of Bas piecing himself together behind her. She didn’t want his guilt or his obligations to take away from this stolen moment. If she could only have these few ruinous kisses, then she would keep them close to her battered heart.
But by the time she had washed her face, straightened her clothes, and reapplied her makeup, the washroom was empty and Bas was long gone.