“They came and took her in the middle of the night—ripped her from her bed and dragged her into the town square, where they had a pyre ready and waiting. I was ten, asleep in my own bed, when I heard the commotion. I tried to stop them, but it was five grown men against me. I fought andshefought, but they took her anyway. When they lit the pyre, I…” He paused, catching his breath. He was clenching and unclenching his hands at his side and looking at the ground. “I threw myself on to try and free her,” he said, voice breaking. “I was not successful.”
“I’m so sorry.” I let out a breath. My instinct was to go to him—to touch him—but I stayed rooted to the spot. I wasn’t entirely sure what to do with my limbs. The thought of Ciaran, this seemingly assured and strong man, as a little boy trying to save his mother, was heart-wrenching. What he had gone through, the pain he must have endured. Those burns had to have been horrific. My fingers itched to trace the scars once more.
“It was a long time ago.” Ciaran cleared his throat. “I’m lucky to have had friends who took me in, after, I mean.”
“Your…” I began to ask, stopping myself briefly. I didn’t know this man—this wanted criminal. I shouldn’t have been so empathetic toward him—but I had lost a parent at the same age. And I knew what kind of toll it took on a person. “Your father was not able to care for you?” I finished the thought. We werealready knee deep in this vulnerable conversation. What was a bit more tragedy at this point?
Ciaran shook his head sadly. “I never knew him. I think he died before I was born. My mother never spoke of him.”
“Oh.” I chewed on the inside of my cheek, feeling the weight of his sadness then. To be so young and so completely alone.
“My friends were all I had after. They were magic wielders too, and they treated me like family. And when the Church finally took root in Erinn, and it was no longer safe for us to live freely there, we came here. This city of art and music, romance and magic. It would be a haven for us. For a time.” He shook his head sadly. I felt his sadness in a visceral way, like it was my own.
“I’m sorry. I lost my mother too. When I was nine. She was sick for a long time before that.” I don’t know what made me share that. I almost never spoke about her. About how it had been to watch her fade away. How the light and laughter and music had slowly left her eyes as the sickness spread, devouring her. “And then my father died in the war. I know what it’s like. To be alone.”
Ciaran swallowed, his eyes fixed on me as he looked me up and down. He nodded once.
“My friends at the opera. They’re all I have now.” My voice shook.
Ciaran took a step toward me. He reached out and gripped my chin, tilting it up to look into those depthless eyes. His warmth enveloped me in the small space; I hadn’t realized how cold I’d been. I didn’t back away.
“And would they stand by you? If they knew you had magic?” he demanded, his grip on my chin strong, his eyes burning into mine.
“Yes,” I answered right away, but I wasn’t sure. Not entirely. What would Seff say? My stomach clenched, an oily sick feeling spreading through me. He was so enmeshed with Scion.
Ciaran certainly knew the lie for what it was. But he didn’t press me further. He let go of my face and took a step back.
“Will they…” I wasn’t sure how to ask the question without sounding insensitive and overdramatic. “Will they try to do that to me? What they did to your mother?”
“Maybe,” Ciaran answered honestly. He’d given me nothing but honesty, actually. “Your beau and his family are deeply connected to Scion.” His voice was sardonic as he spoke of Seff.
“Seff loves me.” I was perhaps a little too forceful when I said it—perhaps protesting too much. “He would never do anything to hurt me.” It had to be true.
Ciaran bristled. “Okay. If you say so.” He shrugged.
“I’m tired.” The words came out flat and brusque. I’d had enough vulnerability to last a while. Inevershared this much with anyone. Not even Carlotta or Maren. It was exhausting. “Where am I to sleep?”
“You can take the bedroom,” Ciaran said, pointing to the door. “I’ll sleep out here.”
The sofa was cozy looking. It would be comfortable enough for him, but I should have offered to sleep there instead. I was too angry and exhausted to argue anymore, so I accepted the offer.
Ciaran left some clothes on his standard sized bed. His bedroom was barely big enough for said bed and a small dresser in the corner. It was also very tidy. The bed was neatly made, with a dark grey duvet and some cozy looking flannel sheets. The only light came from a lamp on a table beside his bed. Several books were piled there, and I couldn’t help but snoop: poetry, poetry, a novel, a biography about a famous artist and more poetry.
I changed into his shirt—too large for me—and soft linen pants that were perhaps supposed to be knee length on him, and padded across the apartment into the tiny bathroom. My makeup was still impeccable. I had done a great job with Carlotta’s array of products. It hadn’t moved or smudged a bit in the time that it had taken us to traverse down here. I splashed some water on my face and tried my best to scrape as much as possible off before heading to sleep. As I made my way back to the tiny bedroom, Ciaran was already setting himself up on the couch.
“Goodnight, Seraphina,” he murmured over his shoulder without looking back. “I’m sorry I had to kidnap you.” His dark chuckle echoed in the space.
I paused, still not sure if he was friend or foe; unsure if I was here willingly or being held against my will. Still confused about everything that had happened tonight. Still unsure of how I would face the consequences of all this in the morning, I said, “Goodnight, Ciaran. I’m sorry I had to be kidnapped.” And disappeared behind the bedroom door.
REUNIONS AND EXPECTATIONS
In the morning, Ciaran led me back through the dark staircase, across the endless chasm of the Cistern, and up, up, up the spiral stairs, back to the opera house. When we got to the backside of the mirror, he placed his hand over mine, palm flat against the cool surface of the mirror. That same creeping sensation down my spine landed me back in Carlotta’s dressing room, as if everything I had discovered beyond the mirror was a fever dream. The evidence of the men who had trashed it proved in the light of day that it actually happened—that it wasn’t a figment of my imagination but a real threat.
“You know where to find me if you need me, Seraphina.” Ciaran’s dark eyes locked on mine, stern, serious and true. Even so, I didn’t foresee myself going back down into those tunnels of my own volition any time soon.
“Thank you for bringing me back.” I turned and walked away without looking back at him.
Morning rehearsals had begun,and I could already hear Madame Giselle’s throaty voice hollering corrections from down the hall. The light in the opera house burned my eyes; I had spent so long travelling through those tunnels. I had no idea what time it was, only that I was about to be knee deep in shit for missing rehearsal.
