“It’s nothing.” I glance askance. Avoiding those piercing eyes allows me a moment to compose myself and hide my inward anger.
“I don’t want…” He trails off.
“Don’t want what?” I demand when he doesn’t pick up the thought.
“I don’t want to force this upon you.” He lowers his hand slightly.
That brings my attention back to him. Every muscle in his face pulls with tension. He almost looks in pain.
“Then don’t,” I say, matter-of-fact. “You never had to. You are very much in control of this situation.”
He leans forward, hand hovering still between us. “You think I’m in control?” There’s accusation in his tone, woven with anger that doesn’t feel entirely directed at me.
“You’re the one who brought me here. Who holds my life in his hands. Who could let me go if he wanted.”
“You honestly believe I had enough power on my own to save you that night without marking you—and you alone—as the anointed, the offering? That I could stave off death itself without marking you for it?” The closest thing I might know to hatred flashes across his expression. A note of bitter laughter tickles across the back of my mind. “Oh, Victoria, how IwishI had that much power. If I did, my people wouldn’t be starving, rotting away, or falling prey to wraiths. If I were truly powerful, would I be resorting to sacrificing a human in the hopes that it might abate our hardships?”
I don’t have an answer, so I say nothing. Part of me wants to think he’s lying. But to what benefit would that be? He already has matters in hand. He doesn’t need me to sympathize with him. But…I do. I know the kind of desperation that comes from trying to wrench back control from a situation turned sideways.
“If I was in control then I would’ve—my mother would’ve—” He keeps stopping himself short. Then, he continues after a moment of gathering his composure, “None of us are in control so long as Lord Krokan rages, threatening to kill us all. The Eversea is the last barrier between his wrath and rot permeating all of Midscape, perhaps all the mortal world. I must do everything I can to protect my people and stop that from happening.”
The sentiment stills me. That, too, I can understand. It’s a want I know all too well: protect the people that you love most.
Perhaps he can be reasoned with. If there’s a way I can use his needs to serve mine…
“Then, do what you must do.” I take his hand in mine and slowly bring it to my body. Being the one to cross that line offers me some sense of control. A sense both of us so clearly, desperately need. His fingers splay across my chest above my corset. My heart is a tiny bird trying to escape its cage and I hope he doesn’t feel it.
“I am not supposed to touch you,” he murmurs.
“Why?”
“No one is. The offering must sever all ties to this world.” Yet, even as he says those words, his focus is solely on his flesh against mine.
I release him, feeling a little silly in my assumption of what his outstretched hand was intended for. “Do what you must, then.”
“Very well.” He hums as his fingers pull away from my skin. The small orbs of light that had appeared before collect on his fingertips like dew on leaves. He moves them over me, the light creating lines of color that land on my skin with the warmth of sunlight.
The song that guides his hand is rich with sorrow. I heard it that first night, all those years ago, too, and I see it now. As he sings the markings upon me, the emotion fills him to the brim, threatening to overflow into me. His fingers sweep three arcs on either side of my neck—markings reminiscent of the gills of a fish. They trail down both my forearms, circling my palms. With one index finger, he draws a line down the bone of the center of my chest. Every marking comes to life, pulsing and undulating with his song, taking shapes of lines and swirls I don’t understand.
I never realized howalmostbeing touched could drive someone almost as mad as the actual thing.
Finally, he stops, and the light fades, but the colorful new markings on my flesh do not. “That’s enough for the first day.”
“What are they?”
“Words of the ancients—their songs and stories as music given shape. It is a language nearly impossible for mortal minds to comprehend,” he answers. I half expected him to say that it’s not my business to know.
“If you can’t comprehend it, then how can you mark it?”
“All life came from the hands of Lady Lellia, Goddess of Life. Her mark is still upon our souls and hearts. Even if our minds cannot comprehend the ways of the old ones, the eternal parts of us remember,” he answers. “Lucia can explain more if you would like to know. She studied at the Duchy of Faith.”
A moment passes where neither of us say anything. His statement sounded like a dismissal of any further inquiry and a conclusion to our conversation. But he doesn’t leave. Instead, he continues to stare at me. As if…he’s waiting for something?
“I shall return later for further anointing,” Ilryth says quickly and swims through the whale bones that make the birdcage. With a few flaps of his tail, he’s gone, disappearing among the buildings of the manor that spread out beneath me. Almost like he’s running away.
That’s…it?The question hovers in the water around me. Begging an answer I don’t get.
I wait to see if he’ll come back. I expect them to. Foolish of me or not. I can’t believe they’re actually going to leave me unsupervised and without any further explanation. I swim over to one of the openings between the whale bones, taking stock of my position.
