“I…” His breaths were coming fast, panic blooming in his eyes. They hovered, her hands at his waist, her eyes on his.
Ana touched a finger to his cheek. “Say it.”
He swallowed, his throat bobbing, fear freezing his features. He opened his mouth, and words tumbled out. “I’m sorry.”
For what?she wanted to ask. Ana trailed a touch down his neck, remembering the last time they’d kissed.I’m sorry,he’d said, over and over and over again,I’m sorry, all right?In the nights she’d spent away from him, she’d turned those words in her mind. And it had occurred to her that perhaps, all this time, he’d been meaning to say something else.
Who was this boy who had learned to sayI’m sorryin the place of three other words? What piece of his past drove such fear into those clever eyes at the thought of giving himself so utterly and completely to another?
Ana cupped a hand to his face, pulling him in for a soft, long kiss. He yielded to her touch, his lips melding perfectly against hers, and she found that she…she wanted this. That, in spite of everything she’d tried to tell herself, there was a part of her that was selfish, too. A part of her that desired, as well.
If there was one moment in which she would allow herself to be selfish, Ana thought, looking into those familiar hazel eyes, pupils dilated and utterly vulnerable as they drank her in, this wasit. The single person in her life for whom she’d let herself go. For whom she’d allow her heart to speak over her mind.
Just for this one night.
“I know,” Ana whispered, her voice breaking. “I’m sorry, too.”
Afterward, she only remembered the tender way his lips brushed kisses against her, the hiss of his leather belt as it slipped over the edge of the bed, the warmth of his touch as the fire in the hearth flickered low, moonlight draping a hundred moments left to the dark.
Linn was both light and heavy, floating and falling at the same time. She was adrift in a warm coil of winds, held in their arms like a mother’s embrace. She could smell the scent of citrus, chrysanthemums, and incense all in one.
Her awareness began to surface from a deep, deep sleep, swimming up toward the light.
She opened her eyes. The darkness flickered with the glow of candles, illuminating a ceiling arced with wooden rafters that crisscrossed over the rough roof of a cave. Slowly, she became aware of the lapping sensation of water over her skin.
She was afloat in a spring of sorts, carved into the stone ground of the cave itself. Linn righted herself and stood, her toes touching the rocky bottom. Steam curled around her as droplets traced gentle paths down her skin. Someone had stripped her of her clothes and bandages.
Looking at her right arm, she realized that the wound had healed.
“We call this the Spring of Miracles,” came a voice. It was low, soothing. Linn turned to see a woman sitting at the edge ofthe pool. She was dressed in the same silk shifts as the Temple Masters, and she had no hair, no eyebrows. There was a calming loveliness to her face, an effortless grace to the way she made stirring motions with her fingers, causing little ripples in the waters of the spring. Behind her, the cave itself seemed imbued with a soft glow, glinting against the steam and the edges of plants and vines twined against the walls. The woman might have been an immortal from the storybooks, ensconced amid the plants and rocks like this. “When this temple was built, thousands of years ago, the first Temple Masters brought a ladle of the waters from the Northern Sea of Whispers to this room.” She smiled. “You are reborn, child of the winds.”
Linn examined her body. Her skin was soft, the wounds from the last few days reduced to pale white scars.
Wounds.
Blood, oil-black hair and chiseled features, red spilled upon the ground.
Linn looked up sharply. “My friend,” she breathed. “Is he—?”
“You should be thankful for Ruu’ma shi’sen’s generosity. It is not every day that a foreigner may enter the sacred Temple of the Skies.” The face had not moved. “Your friend was brought to the Spring of Miracles before you. Would you like to see him?”
Relief spiraled up her throat. Linn breathed in the warmth of the steam. “Yes,” she whispered.
The Temple Master stood, handing Linn a thin cotton shift. The girl shrugged it on and followed.
The Temple Master held a paper lantern, shedding light onto the room around them. They looked to be in a sanctuary of sorts, the ground made of uneven, natural stone. Patches of moss tickled Linn’s bare feet as she padded across, passing trees she hadnever before seen. The flora looked like they had grown from another time, another place. Ancient relics of the past.
On the ground, on a ring of soft grass, was a sleeping boy. His hair curled at his temples, his eyelashes sweeping dark crescents beneath his eyes. His cheeks were full, the gash from earlier already healed into a scar. And the skin on his abdomen was smooth, corded through with muscle, the gaping wound she had seen earlier gone. The sight of his bare chest somehow made her feel guilty, as though she were intruding on something private.
Linn turned her eyes away, heat blooming in her neck and cheeks. Examining her own scars, she suddenly thought of something. “Excuse me, shi’sen,” she said. “This Spring of Miracles…can it healanyone? My friend—she is a wielder whose power was taken away from her.” She remembered the dark circles beneath Ana’s eyes, the hollow grooves to her cheeks. “Her health was declining.”
“Ah,” the woman said. “That is a question for Ruu’ma.” She spread her hands. “The Temple Masters await you. Once you are ready, follow the lights.”
With a sweet smile, the woman turned and walked farther until all that Linn could see was the ghost of her shadow.
Behind her came a stir of breath against her winds. Kaïs’s voice, rough. “Linn?”
She peeked over her shoulder, saw him sit up. “You are awake.”
