I saw his shoulders rise with his deep breath, the metal through his nipples flashing with the movement. I forced myself not to look at the small, distracting, intriguing things.
I rose from the bed, feeling that my being in it was too strange, too intimate. But my legs were wobbly when I stood,and Alaryk caught me against him when I stumbled, water sloshing over the goblet.
“I’m fine,” I said, pushing him away, trying to forget the shocking heat of his skin. “Just…just tell me why I’m here. What happened?”
“At least sit down,” he said, nodding his chin toward the lounge. Deep cushions were sprawled across the floor. It reminded me of illustrations I’d once seen ofvolikilayouts in the old hordes. Sitting close to the earth, to feel more of a rooted connection with Kakkari, our goddess.
Dakkari kept our beds on the floor. Our tables were low to the ground so we could sit while eating. The only thing high in Dothik, for my family, had been our home. We lived on the top floor, only reachable by a winding staircase, and that was because we’d been too poor to afford a lower unit.
But from my week in Grymia, I’d discovered that the Karag didn’t sit on the earth as the Dakkari did. They had tall chairs, tall beds, high tables. Even their stone homes were raised from the earth on a stone foundation, a small set of stairs leading up to the front doors. As if they wanted to be closer to the sky, closer to their Elthika.
It might’ve been more comfortable, but it was certainly less…grounding. Stabilizing.
So I stumbled over to the lounge area in something like relief. And when I sank down onto the floor, I nearly sighed in contentment, my free hand spreading across the soft rug beneath me, pressing my palm into it wide. A cushion was at my back, and I finally took a sip of the cool water from the goblet, letting it quench my dry throat. I drained the contents in three swift chugs.
If I’d been asleep for two days, I certainly felt like it. Dehydrated, hungry, and dazed.
Alaryk refilled my goblet without a word, taking me by surprise. Only after my third did I shake my head, and he finallydropped down across from me, the long cloth around his hips lifting dangerously high. As he settled back into the cushions, he looked perfectly at ease. Like a hedonistic god of pleasure and flesh. Arrogant and patient, because he knew he would eventually get exactly what he wanted.
“You’re here because I don’t trust anyone but myself,” he said quietly.
I frowned, licking my lips. “I don’t understand.”
“If you can do what you claim,” he said, “then you just became very important to me, Amaia of Rath Savenal.”
My shoulders hitched up at the sound of my name falling from his lips, like a mere caressing whisper but edged like a blade.
“You mean Samryn,” I clarified.
“You were right,” he told me. “He is dying. But you claim you can heal him. Perhaps I’m desperate enough to hope you might.”
My brow furrowed. I remembered whatever was plaguing the poor creature. Heavy and poisonous. I’d never felt anything like it before. The deeper I’d tried to root out the seed of it, the more intense the pain had become. I thought I might have siphoned some of it away, giving some relief to the Elthika…at cost to myself. But there was always a price to pay.
“I said I couldtry, not that I could,” I told him. Perhaps I was afraid at what I’d felt within him. But I couldn’t stand that he suffered when I could help him.
“Tell me what your ability is exactly,” he ordered.
My spine stiffened. “So you can use it, you mean.”
He didn’t even flinch. “You would be rewarded. Whatever you desire.”
I glared, though it made my head throb even harder. “A simple thank-you would be nice.”
Alaryk scoffed, a dry humorous sound. His arms spread over the backs of the cushions beside him. “Endrassa,” came the velvety purr of a Karag word I didn’t understand. “Thank you.”
But his voice was dripping in what I thought was sarcasm.
“I don’t need this,” I said, beginning to rise to my feet.
But Alaryk moved like a serpent, so quick he was like a blur. I felt the warm strength of his hand on my throat, making me gasp and still. He was on his knees before me as I stood over him…but there was no mistaking who held the power.
His thumb smoothed down the side of my neck. Back and forth. I was certain he could feel the wild thumping of my pulse. His grip wasn’t hard, but it was firm, meant to catch my attention. We regarded one another with mistrust, bordering on glares. When I moved to jerk my neck from his grip, he tugged me down so I stumbled to the cushions.
“Why, youbastard?—”
“If Samryn dies, my soul dies with him,” came his gentle hiss, hovering over me.
The words made me freeze. He was close, pressing me back into the cushions, his long forearm pressed between my breasts, his hand still on my neck, though it was to keep me still more than anything. He was heavy. Hot. Water from his bath dripped against my dress. His thigh was pressed between mine, keeping me still.
