Zephyrus offers me one long-fingered hand, which I accept. Even through the leather, the heat of his skin seeps into mine.
“Do your gloves serve a purpose?” he asks. “I noticed you wore them in your bedroom as well.”
I step to his side, toeing the edge of the spring. The wall of trees edging the clearing hoards shadows. “It is against our moral law to touch a man.”
“Why?”
“Because it is,” I snap. “Why is the sky blue? Why does water flow downhill? It is fact. It is known. There is nothing to understand beyond that.”
“Isn’t there?” How piercing that gaze is when resting wholly on me. “Tell me, Brielle,” he continues softly. “Have you ever wondered what a man’s touch feels like?”
An unexpected heat flutters through my stomach. This conversation has begun to slide into uncharted territory. I am not ignorant. The Text explains what occurs when a woman lies with a man. Purity—our second vow. To live a consecrated life, one cannot be impure of body. The Father would know.Iwould know.
“I have not,” I state. “Only a virgin may become an acolyte.” Despite the unnerving focus of his stare, my tone permits no argument.
When he speaks, his voice comes throaty and low. “Who said anything about losing your virginity?”
A sweep of chill bumps pebbles my skin. What he insinuates… No. I refuse to respond to such a ridiculous comment.
Zephyrus smirks and faces forward. “Originally,” he says, still fighting a smile, “Under had four entrances, each aligned to the cardinal directions. All cut into the mountain’s heart.”
I’m so relieved by the subject change I do not retreat when he edges closer to me.
“Over time, however, Under came alive and shaped new entrances. Today, only two of the four doorways remain.”
“This is one of them?” Knowledge. I encase myself in its armor, for I will need it.
“Indeed it is. The original doorways can only be accessed by the fair folk and those whom they have granted the right of passage. But they are not the only means of entering Under. You might wander a path and cross into the realm without realizing it, or an entrance might one day decide to seal itself off, never again to open. There is no rhyme or reason to it. Trees, springs, doors, caves, holes in the ground—all might lead to Under with the right conditions.”
“And what are the right conditions?”
Zephyrus shrugs. “That is for Under to decide.”
He turns to me then. A strange man standing in an even stranger place. “Can you swim?”
“Yes.” My attention flits to the water. I cannot see the bottom.
A cunning little grin ghosts across his mouth. Beautiful teeth for a face that is anything but. “Here.” Zephyrus offers me a small white shell. “Place it between your teeth and breathe through your mouth. It will prevent you from drowning.” He pulls me closer as I follow his instructions. Our shoulders brush, and even that brief touch brings a dryness to my mouth. He smells of the mountain. “Don’t let go of my hand.”
What awaits me beneath the surface? Salvation, perhaps. Or the ruination of everything I hold dear.
“Trust me,” he murmurs, slow and mesmeric.
I do not.
A sharp tug drags me forward, and we free fall into the spring.
Frigid water engulfs me. Then—panic.
A wave of heat branches down my limbs, and I begin to flail. My shoulder rams into hard substrate; the rush of bubbles blinds me.I will die here. I will die in this watery grave, alone, without a proper burial, forever denied the Father’s divine gates of respite. As my lungs seize, I kick in the direction I believe is up, only to slam my face into stone, its edge slicing my cheek open.
Someone grabs my arm, halting my frenzy. Zephyrus. He is close, overwhelmingly so. Short tresses float from his scalp like brown river grass. The clarity of his crystalline eyes in the murk has an odd, calming effect on me.
Recalling his instructions, I inhale through my mouth, salt bristling on my tongue from the hard, spiral shell clamped between my teeth. Water tickles my nostrils, and when my throat opens, air rushes in.
By the Father, he was right. What is this sorcery?
Darkness yawns beneath, and the underground current tugs us farther from the surface. My fingers twitch, deepening the contact with Zephyrus’ hand—the only warmth in this airless, lightless place.
