“Death-priests. Complaining that someone had stolen their gift of flame. Do you know that one?”
I pushed his clothes to the floor as though planning to go back to sleep, although my chest tightened at the news of death-priests in the Summerlands. “Would you like me to set you on fire?”
Taran gave me another one of those charming smiles and set his pomegranate and knife down on the table next to him. Then in one smooth motion, he lunged to splay his hands on the cushion under my head and cage me in, nearly nose to nose. I tried to squirm away, but he dropped a leg to the floor to hold me in place. He waited for my panting breath to catch up to my racing heart, which stutteredat his body propped over mine. He was warm and close and more bare than he’d ever been when he touched me.
Maybe I could learn to hate him. He’d always praised me for being a quick learner.
After a moment, Taran sat back enough to let me tilt my head away but gave a pointed tug to my braid where I’d left it down for sleep.
“Right now, you’re what we’ll call an ‘indoor priest.’ Keep this up, and we will explore the concept of ‘outside priest.’ ” He nodded at the window, eyes as hard as emeralds where they glittered at me from only inches away.
He thought I’d flinch, like I did last night. But he could only betray everything I believed about him one time, and he’d already done that. Today I knew much more about him than he did me. Even if it was all a lie, or it was all for show, Taran had knelt in the dirt in front of dozens of witnesses and sworn to lay all he owned at my feet. I had seen him on his knees, and I would not bebulliedby him.
“Here’s an offer: you promise to take me to Wesha, and I promise you’ll never have to see me again,” I retorted.
He pulled up one corner of his mouth to acknowledge the parry, but didn’t concede. “Don’t you think you’ve already made too many vows, little priestess?”
It was a draw, as battles went, but my heartbeat didn’t slow until he stood up and stalked off to the tiled room in a huff. I got up as soon as he was gone to press my ear against the door, discerning the faint sounds of falling water. He was drawing a bath. I stuck out my tongue in his direction.
“What are youdoing?” Awi hissed.
I’d entirely forgotten about the little immortal, as distraught as I was, and neither Taran nor I had noticed her in the form of a small owl this morning, perched like a gargoyle on the top of a cabinet.
“Nothing,” I said, going to the door of Taran’s bedroom and finding it locked. I quickly sang the lock open and let myself in.
Awi fluttered to the ground and followed me in nervous little hops.
“Yes, I can see you’re doingnothing. Nothing to get us out of here, anyway. Why are you antagonizing him?”
I didn’t know what I had expected from Taran’s bedroom, but I was disappointed regardless. It was ostentatious, with rose quartz tiles accenting the black-and-white marble, but there was nothing unusual about the large, curtained bed, which was made, the rudimentary cot by the window, which was not, or the gilded closets and chests comprising the rest of the furniture. No weapons, no altars, no cages full of terrified mortal girls. I sighed and opened the first closet.
“I’m antagonizing him because he’s the demon who’s currently holding us captive in the Summerlands,” I said, beginning to systematically rifle through his things.
“And I’m sure it gives you a nice warm feeling in your tummy to be mean to him, but how do you expect to get me free?” Awi demanded.
I found nothing but fancy women’s clothes in the first closet and moved on to the next.
I didn’t have an answer for Awi. I had asked Taran to let us go and he said no, in a way that suggested that his reasons for not returning to Wesha were related to hers for wanting him there. I didn’t know enough yet.
“You could at least try to sweet-talk him into it,” the bird said.
A self-effacing laugh bubbled out of my throat.
“If you think I can use my feminine wiles on Taran to make him do what we want, I regret to inform you that I don’t have any.”
The bird looked me up and down, golden eyes assessing my straight figure.
“Yeah, no kidding,” Awi said, and I fruitlessly kicked in her direction before opening another chest of clothes.
It burned though. It made my throat ache. How quickly I’d believed that what someone like Taran wanted was a plain, celibate priestess with ash on her face and not a single thought of romance in her head. I’d been so surprised to fall in love that I didn’t stop to question why he wanted me. I was Iona Night-Singer, after all, fighting the very god of death. Taran falling in love with me hadn’t seemed any more unlikely.
“You said he wanted to marry you though. Why don’t you just do what you did last time? Did you sing? Did you pretend to listen to him while he’s talking? Are you good at sex?”
“He didn’t want to marry me. He wanted to infiltrate the mortal rebellion,” I said, jaw tight.
This chest’s dimensions didn’t make sense. It had to have a false bottom. I quickly took the blankets out of it and knocked around the edges until I found the catch.
“But regardless of his reasons, he would have had to do it, if you were betrothed,” Awi said.
