Page 31
What if she never lets me in again?
I bite into my own slice of bread, regretting that its sweet taste is lost to my sadness. My pendant rolls along my sternum, reminding me to center myself again.
There’s a technique I use when I’m desperate to keep something private from Zephyr. I used to be better at it, but I’m out of practice.
Somewhere along the way, I got used to them dropping in on my ugliest moments, and I stopped fighting our bond as hard as I did in the beginning.
I start by blocking out the sounds around me and tunnel into a memory of my mother holding me above the surface to watch a festival of floating lanterns off the coast of Seshly.
“See how gently they move, my little tempest?” she asked as I reached for the orange flames dancing across the deep purple sky, a whole galaxy above me. I was sleepy, but nothing could quiet my impossible longing to know the world outside the ocean. “Whenever you feel that storm building, I want you to pretend you’re one of them.”
I imagine I’m a lantern now, floating above myself until I’m looking down at the table. I can see myself drinking tea as the two women talk around me. The porcelain is hot, but I’m so numb I don’t even feel it.
Darcy makes a comment about the crowd gathering below the castle, and I watch as Dee—not Cordelia—takes her arm and waves from the railing.
“Thank you all for coming out to greet my bride-to-be,” the Duchess addresses them, telling an embellished story about how I saved her from drowning. “I know everyone is getting frustrated with the curfew, but with my betrothed by my side, I’m confident we’ll find a way to lift it soon.”
Cheers burst from the crowd, and I see how we must appear to them—a beautiful couple, blessed by the sea. The evidence is in our love story and the pretty priestess poised at the back of the balcony. I stuff enough of myself back into my body to blow kisses to the hopeful villagers.
Yes, we must seem so lovely.
The days pass in a haze.
Darcy and I dine on the balcony for most of our meals and take trips to the village, greeting shopkeepers and fishwives. I accept gift baskets filled with fresh flowers and bread. She buys me several new dresses, always making sure we’re seen together for several hours before she runs off to plan her excursion to hunt the stoor wyrm.
Her mood has turned cold since I agreed to her arrangement, but I don’t overthink it.
My smile doesn’t leave my face until I’m locked away in my bedchamber. That’s when I come back to myself again, my fingers wandering between my legs until my lower abdomen tightens with a warning that I’m about to tip over the edge of something.
Tonight, I pull away and continue trailing my fingers along my waist to cup my breasts. My pendant falls over to one side. I grab it and tip the vial, watching the stagnant aether run down its sides.
I can’t believe I’ve gone this long without activating its magic. Zephyr asked me to give them a couple of days, but three have passed.
They might have forgotten their promise. I’m not angry about it, though. This mess is mine, not theirs.
It turns out I was worried for nothing, anyway. No one seems very interested in my past or asks me any questions that would raise suspicions about who I am.
I don’t need their help when I can detach myself from everything.
I stroke the glass and tuck it back under my nightgown, rolling myself into my nightly cocoon. It feels wrong to miss someone who’s trying to get away from me, but Zephyr is the only person I can actually talk to.
A heavy thud against my door sends my heart racing, and I hear a man’s laughter echoing in the hallway. I unroll myself from my blanket, listening as Darcy rebukes him inaudibly.
“Could you open up?” she asks, rapping her knuckles on the mahogany. “My old friend is dying to show us something.”
“She lost a bet, and now she has to pay for it,” he quips.
My human vision is still new to me. I don’t like the idea of meeting a strange man in the middle of the night when I can’t see well. I pull my covers over my head, pretending to be asleep.
“I heard the bed creaking. I know you’re awake in there,” the man says, his light tapping persistent enough to pull me away from my warm mattress.
I pad over to the door with my lit candlestick and crack it open. A ruddy face appears in the gap that he widens by wedging his boot in.
“I’m Ross.” He extends his hand. “Darcy told me I couldn’t join her crew unless I proved myself as a hunter, so I brought you something special as a betrothal gift.”
“It could have waited until the morning,” Darcy says, rubbing her eyes.
“But I sailed all the way from Little Crab Island, and you lost our bet, so right now it is.” Ross leers at my sheer nightgown, and I’m hit with a blast of his hot, alcohol-laced breath.
