Chapter 22
Phin
The mystery room’s door was open.
I hesitated, but I’d checked everywhere else, and Tap was nowhere to be found. I called out but got no response. Curiosity overwhelming sense, I pushed the door all the way open and stepped inside, finding a space that was much like my bedroom but smaller.
As I processed what I was seeing on the floor in front of me, I froze. I breathed slowly through my nose as I took in the sight, each bit I looked at more stunning than the last. He was made beautifully, to be certain, but he was also an artist’s canvas.
Tap was seated on one of the many cushions thrown around the space, his hair mussed like he’d run his hands through it over and over again. His muscular back was bare, save the tattoos in the old language that stretched across his upper back and disappeared over his shoulders. He wore loose linen pajama pants, but one side was pulled up as high as it could possibly go. That long leg was stretched out in front of his body and the other one was folded with the foot under the opposite knee. His lean stomach muscles bunched as he leaned over, using some kind of writing tool on his thigh.
Nearly all of the exposed leg was covered in ink, from thigh to toes, The arm on that side was the same, from shoulder to wrist; his long sleeves and cuffs had hidden it. Black whorls and dots decorated his skin, a complex network of curves, lines and shadows. The varying patterns all fit nicely together but it was clear innumerable little sections, most no bigger than a large silver coin, had been done separately over a broad span of time. The lettering from his back was a continuous mantle running across his chest, right under his collarbone and down his breastbone.
“Is this what you bought the ink for?” I kept my voice low and quiet so I wouldn’t surprise him, unable to contain the inquiry any longer. “Did I use too much drawing on the parchment?”
Tap’s head came up slowly, his silver eyes focusing as he took me in. It was like I was seeing him for the first time, and it took me a moment to figure out why he looked so different. It dawned on me as I noticed his thick eyelashes that he wasn’t wearing his spectacles. “No, I still have plenty.”
“Can you see clearly?” I blurted as I stepped forward, encouraged when he didn’t flinch at the movement or order me to leave. It was odd seeing his bare face—the round wire spectacles were a part of what made him… him.
“I do fine with this kind of close-up work,” he said quietly. “I actually find it easier to do it without them. They tend to slip down my nose too much to be of much use otherwise.”
“You could have them adjusted,” I suggested. “Perhaps put them on a chain.”
He shrugged one shoulder lightly. “Hardly seems worth the effort when I could just leave them off. Is everything alright?” He moved as though he might set the tool down, which provoked an odd twinge of sadness in my chest.
“Yes, everything is fine.” His hand relaxed. “Oh! The tea is ready.” The words felt almost silly once I said them aloudgiven what was in front of me. “I called for you but you never answered. So I came looking…” I flushed hot, realizing that I’d hunted him down in a room I’d never been invited into while he was doing something private. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come in?—”
“It’s alright.” He seemed far calmer than usual. His motions and speech which were normally quiet and easy were even more gentled, and slow. “If I were adamant about avoiding interruptions, I wouldn’t have asked for tea. And I would have closed the door all the way.”
Those words settled over me as I leaned a little closer. “This door is always closed.”
“Exactly. You have an aversion to going into rooms with doors that are completely shut. You’ve never once asked about this one, nor tried to come in. You never, ever close yourself in a room if you can avoid it.”
I blinked at him for several heartbeats, too stunned to even address how he’d pinned down and accommodated my subconscious habit.
“One day, perhaps you’ll tell me why that is. Until then…” He shrugged. “I’ve no complaint about leaving doors cracked. There’s nothing here that needs to be hidden from you. Similarly, I can only assume that locked doors would be an absolute no for you. So, there are none here.”
My pulse beat loudly in my ears as I absorbed what he’d said. Finally, I found my voice again. “You even made sure the doors were propped open when we visited the glade.”
“Yes.” Tap’s brow creased.
“The classroom doors at d’Arcan were left open as well.”
“I can’t claim credit for that, but I was very happy to see it. Were you anxious at d’Arcan? Or in the city?”
“A little in the carriage, only because it was so full. I don’t… It’s not on purpose, the doors. I don’t even realize I’m doing it. But you noticed.”
He blinked slowly, hair falling across his eyes as he nodded. “Yes.”
Tears burned in my eyes. I’d spent most of my life hiding, but Tapsawme. From the first moment, he’d been able to see past all of the layers faster and more clearly than anyone else in my life ever had.
I pulled a cushion next to his, trying to get my throat to work properly again as I blinked away the tears. I rubbed a hand over my chest as my heart squeezed and blood roared in my head. I breathed slowly, counting in sets of four and eight to try to settle myself. “How does it work?”
He fidgeted, rolling what looked like a modified quill between his fingers.
“It’s not much different than writing, though it requires more pressure. Plus a bit of enchantment, in truth. Vassago’s talent is dreadfully convenient for such things.” Tap resumed drawing the S shape he was working on when I interrupted, then made dots in the middle of the loops and drew a couple of complementary lines to tie it in with the art around it. After setting down the quill, he ran a damp, soapy cloth across the skin, removing the excess ink and tiny droplets of blood that had welled up.
“They’re beautiful.” I stopped myself just short of touching the fresh line.
