“I believe in what I can feel,” Amriel says slowly, his voice distant, like he’s thinking hard. “In connection, and in moments. In what my body tells me. In pain and sensation and…” He swallows. “Pleasure.”
I freeze, the next pebble cool against my fingertips. “Pleasure. Like…dessert? That’s what you believe in?That’swhat you worship?”
That earns me a burnt-out chuckle. “If bydessert, you mean sex, then no, that’s not what I worship. Not exactly. I haven’t had that in a century, anyway.”
My grip tightens around the stone. Iknowwe’re discussing philosophy, or should be, but… “You haven’t slept with a woman in a hundred years?”
Another laugh, this one as bitter as winter. “No.”
My breath comes too fast, too short. For some reason, I assumed Amriel regularly partook in dessert. Then again, I also assumed Calen and Ravenna barely knew each other. “Why not?”
“What would be the point? I can’t concentrate long enough to enjoy it. To even finish. I’ve tried, but it was never enough to drown out the curse. At least, not with anyone that isn’t…”
He goes quiet. I wait for the rest, not moving. I barely even breathe. “Not with anyone that isn’t what?” I whisper.
He lets a few heartbeats pass by. “Nothing. The point is, wine works better. So that’s what I use.”
A pang coils in my throat. I force myself past it, concentrate on testing two potential paths. I’ll need to make a ninety-degree turn to the right, and the drop will be bigger than the last, but as long as I orient myself properly beforehand, it should be doable. “So you worship wine, then? Being drunk?”
Amriel sighs. “No. I told you I wouldn’t be able to explain.”
“You’re explaining just fine.” I stretch on my side and inchworm down the steps. “You’re saying you believe in vice. In whatever sensation can hold your attention for more than a few moments.”
“No, that’s not…” Another grumble rolls out of him. “You don’t understand.”
“Oh, I understand. I understand that you worshipsin.”
A long, drawn-out sigh. “No. Sin’s your belief, not mine. The fae don’t assign value that way. We believe in experiences. In what we enjoy, and what we don’t. Like I said, if you ever come back, I’ll show you.”
For some reason, that makes my belly ravel tight, and I pause long enough to breathe through the ache. “I’m not coming back.”
Long seconds die away as I shuffle through the next gravity shift, landing clumsily but without hurting myself.
“Are you all right?” he says quietly. “That one looked risky.”
I fish more pebbles from my pocket. “I’m still here, for now. So just keep talking. Please. Tell me what you mean.”
He makes a gruff sound. I can almost feel him thinking. Hesitating. But then, “The mate bond. That’s as close as I can get. Because you’ve felt it. That it’s a force, like water or wind. One that exists beyond us, but also as part of us, connecting us.”
“I’ve feltsomething,” I admit. “But I’m not sure that really means anything. Until last night, I’d never kissed anyone before. Maybe that’s how it’s supposed to feel. Maybe all kisses are like that.”
“All kisses arenotlike that,” he growls.
“Oh. Sorry. I didn’t mean to touch a nerve.”
“You didn’t,” he snaps.
I proceed through one turn, then another, and glimpse an exit hallway ahead, opposite the entrance, if upside-down in relation.
But its plane of gravity doesn’t matter. I’ll gladly walk across that ceiling if it will get me out of here.
“I’m not just talking about last night, anyway,” he says. “You’ve felt the bond’s power well before you kissed me.”
My nose crinkles. “I’m very certain thatyoukissedme.”
Another growl. This one doesn’t even have words. “That’s beside the point.”
“What’s the point?”
