Eventually we reached a door in the rock wall that led to the Cistern. This wasn’t where we’d come across on the raft, but a little further around the giant circular body of water. There was a rocky ledge that jutted out a few feet above the placid surface. Ciaran conjured those twinkly little lights and sent them to float lazily above the water, then motioned for me to sit.
“What are those lights called?” I blurted out. I had seen him conjure them often, but I didn’t have a name for them.
Ciaran gave one of his signature half-grins. “Féerie lights?”
“Really?” I asked. I didn’t know what I expected. I supposed féerie lights made sense.
Ciaran snorted in response. “Yes.”
“Okay.” I pursed my lips, holding back a laugh.
We sat in silence, our legs dangling above the water. We were seated close—so close his thigh pressed up against mine. I felt every single place where our bodies touched. He had said he wanted to come here and talk, but he wasn’t saying a thing. Nervously, I picked up some pebbles and idly tossed them into the Cistern, wondering just how deep the water was. I had a passing thought that maybe I shouldn’t disturb it. Giant tentacled monsters flashed through my mind.
Ciaran seemed to be reading my thoughts as I watched the pebbles descend past the point that I could see.
“It’s a man-made structure—the Cistern. There isn’t a terrifying creature or anything in there,” he said, nudging my leg with his. I was reminded of our first conversation here, on the raft. It seemed so long ago—the night he saved me after the gala. I hadn’t known a thing about him other than he was wanted for terrorism. But still, I had been drawn to him. I didn’t quite know why, but I had trusted Ciaran that night. Just a few short weeks later, and I could hardly imagine my life without him in it. The words I did not want to admit or speak, even in my own head, darted out—flashing before I could wrangle them back into a dark corner.
“Tell me what you’re thinking.” Ciaran’s low voice carried out over the water, bouncing back off the high ceilings.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were a singer too?” The thought whooshed out of me, no louder than a whisper.
“I thought you of all people would understand why.” Ciaran shrugged.
Vulnerability. Damnit. It seemed that would be the word of the evening. And if he could do it? If he could sing the words he had written on stage in front of an audience? Then I could tell him this. If I could tell anyone, it would be him.
“Before my mother died, she made me swear that I would never sing in front of anyone except my father. I didn’t know why. But now I think… I think she knew about the magic. I think they both did. I think that neither of them told me about it for my whole life and now I’m here because I broke that oath.” The words slipped out over the still water of the Cistern, and now I could never take them back.
“Oh, Seraphina…” Ciaran inhaled.
“They should have told me.” I choked back a sob. I wasn’t going to cry. Not tonight.
“I know it doesn’t help at all, but I’m sure they were trying to protect you,” Ciaran offered.
“I know. But it hurts. So fucking much.” A tear slipped free as my own eyes betrayed me.
“I wish there was something I could say to ease your pain.” Neither of us looked at each other; we both stared out over the water.
“Hearing you sing helped, I think,” I admitted, in a small voice. “You were incredible. And the lyrics…” I trailed off.
“In my homeland, singing and storytelling are one and the same. Our songs are poems. They are always deeply, deeply personal.” Ciaran’s brogue came out stronger when he spoke of his native country. My stomach twisted at the musical lilt.
“What was it like there?” I asked, steering the conversation away from the subject matter of his songs.
The lights Ciaran conjured reflected off the scars on his face as he pondered my question. His brows knitted together, as if it pained him to think about his homeland.
“It’s beautiful. Very green. It rains a lot. I grew up in the countryside, close to the sea cliffs. Before the war, Rory, Fionn and I moved to the city, Cliatha, to go to the university there. I was studying literature and music when it broke out, and we were forced out,” Ciaran explained, “but Erinn has a richtradition of both. Writing and music—they’re in my blood.” He paused for a beat. Neither of us wanted to talk about the war.
“Have you ever been to Cliatha?” he asked.
“Never. What’s the city like?” I asked, genuinely curious. I hadn’t travelled much at all. I had lived in our seaside hometown until I was nineteen, and then I had moved here to Lutesse. The entire continent of Ereba was at my fingertips, but I had never been brave enough to explore it.
“Well, it’s much smaller than Lutesse.” He laughed sadly, as if it pained him to remember. “And it’s a bit chaotic at times. The streets go every which way. The city is built in kind of a crescent shape, around the bay. There’s a river that cuts through the city there too, but it’s honestly more like a little creek compared to the Sequana. It’s so small. But it feels like home. Well, it did. Before Scion came in with their missionaries and took over everything.” Ciaran paused again, clearing his throat.
“Do you ever go in?” I pointed my toes, still in those strappy heels, toward the water, changing the subject again.
“What? In the Cistern?” Ciaran sounded affronted.
“Yes, in the Cistern. I’ll have you know I was at a dance class before your show. I’m still all hot and sweaty. I could use a swim.” I couldn’t help the smile that spread across my face. I wanted to jump in. To do something silly and fun and frivolous after all this heavy talk. The urge was so strong. Tentacled monsters or no. I had lived my whole life by the ocean and I was a strong swimmer. It had been forever since I had a chance to swim.
