“It is the height of irony. I am forced to care in order to heal. I’ve spent my whole life not giving a damn.”
“You are such a fool, brother.” Lark smiled to soften her words, but they still stung, and his eyes shot up and his jaw cracked. Lark was his queen, but he didn’t have to like what she said.
“Kjell,” she soothed. “You care too much. And when you commit, both you and Tiras are just like your father. No half measures. All in, to the death. But Zoltev committed himself to power. You commit yourself to people. It is significantly more painful.”
His shoulders slumped, and he rose from the bench. He was a fool. And he had a sneaking suspicion the queen was right. She was often right.
“Tiras will be back soon. You should speak with him, Kjell.”
“Where is he?”
“Somewhere abusing his power.” Her smile was rueful, and she commanded the book to rise and open.
“Flying?”
“Flying. I will tell him you seek his counsel,” she murmured, allowing him to continue on in his search. He took a few steps before he spoke again, tossing the question over his shoulder.
“Is she well?” he asked.
“What?” Lark replied, clearly confused.
“Wren. Is she well?”
“Ah,” Lark sighed, and her voice smiled. “Yes. She is perfect.”
“She has grown since I last saw her. She is beautiful,” he admitted, surprising himself with his sincerity.
“Thank you, brother.”
He was almost through the garden when Lark called out to him.
“She is in the library, Kjell.” He quickened his step and heard her answering laugh. Curse his obviousness.
Kjell had never liked the library. Endless knowledge and obedient words, everything in its proper place, everything with a beginning and an ending. Tiras loved the rows of shelves. Kjell just wanted to knock them down.
Sasha was perched on a ladder, one arm clutching the top, one arm stretched high, wielding a duster made of goose feathers, her tongue caught between her lips in concentration. Either she didn’t hear him coming, or she was too intent on her precarious position to spare him a glance.
He reached up, wrapped his arms around her legs, and toppled her into his arms.
Her small squeal became a smile, and she sighed his name as he stepped behind the tallest of the shelves, hiding them from the wide, double doors and from anyone who might come to check on the new maid. Sasha twined her arms around him, looking at him like he was the sun and she’d been lost in the dark. She pressed her lips to his cheek so sweetly that he moaned and let her feet find the floor. Then his fingers were in her hair and on her face, touching her nose and her chin, touching the freckles he saw when he closed his eyes.
“What are you doing?” she asked, her voice catching, her body pressing into his.
“I’m counting your freckles to make sure you haven’t lost any.” He felt her teeth on his shoulder, as if she wanted to get closer, to consume him. He bundled her hair in his hands, nipping at her chin and her throat, following the path where his fingers had been.
Then he was kissing her, telling her all the things that he couldn’t say, listening for all the things he needed to hear. His hands cradled her hips and slid up her slim back, tracing and retracing, reveling in the feel of her and in the knowledge that she welcomed him.
“Thank you,” she sighed into his mouth. He withdrew slightly, just enough to glower down at her.
“You are thanking me for kissing you?”
“Yes. Every time you do it, I’m afraid you will never do it again.”
“Why?” he asked, incredulous.
“I can’t explain it,” she whispered. “It isn’t something I see. It’s something I feel.”
“How can I make that feeling go away?”
“You must promise to never stop kissing me,” she said, her face solemn. “You must kiss me relentlessly and never cease.”
He nodded, every bit as solemn, and immediately obeyed.
“Sasha!”
She was trembling, her eyes open, but something about her gaze and the sounds in her throat convinced him she wasn’t awake.
He shook her gently, kneading her arms and stroking her hair.
“Sasha, wake.”
One moment she was somewhere else and the next, with him. He saw the light come back in her eyes, the awareness, but her trembling continued and her mouth struggled to form words, still caught in the place where the mind was a contortionist and the body was paralyzed.
“I s-saw you,” she stuttered.
“And do you see me now?” he asked quietly, making sure she was with him in the present.
“Yes.” Her eyes closed briefly, but there was no relief in her face. He released her, moving away. When she slept near him, he kept his distance. He had to.
“I saw her.”
He didn’t have to ask who she meant.
“She will not hurt you. I will not let her,” he promised.
“It is not me I am afraid for,” she murmured.
“If she wanted to harm me, she could have done so many, many times. Yet she hasn’t.”
She nodded, agreeing with him, her eyes darker than the night outside his window. But he knew she hadn’t shared all she’d seen, hadn’t told him all she feared. Sasha told stories, but she never told lies. Maybe her dreams felt like lies. Or maybe she simply didn’t dare speculate on what she didn’t completely understand. Lark would tell her that was wise, that words could be spoken into reality.
He didn’t kiss her or pull her close to comfort her, and she didn’t seek it. Alone this way, with nothing to stop them, the only thing keeping them apart was never coming together in the first place. He did not touch her and she did not touch him, not in the dark, not in that way. Not yet. And pleasure did not belong in the same bed as fear.
She didn’t return to sleep but lay quietly beside him until dawn, as if staying awake would allow her to see the threat before it came to pass. Just before daybreak, she crept from his bed, and he let her go, feigning sleep so she wouldn’t worry that she’d disturbed him.
Before she slipped out the door he thought he heard her whisper. “I will not let her hurt you.”
***
Kjell was not the only Healer in Jeru. Healers who had kept the secret of their abilities for longer than he, who could wield and heal with little thought, lived among the people of Jeru. Spinners, Changers, and Tellers too. They had congregated in Nivea, near the ancient seabed, among artisans and craftsmen, just beyond the Jeru City walls. When Tiras passed the edict protecting all people, even the Gifted, they had not seen fit to venture out. Change was difficult, even for those who could change at will. Instead, Jeru came to them.
At Lark’s urging, Kjell brought Sasha to Nivea to see if the old Teller and diviner of Gifts, Gwyn, could unravel the mystery of Sasha’s past. Like before, his presence was noted immediately and looked on with some trepidation. His past had not been forgotten in Nivea, and his gift did not greatly impress.
He found Gwyn in the garden of the small home of Shenna the Healer, sitting with her face tipped to the sun, drinking in the rays as if they sang to her. And maybe they did.
“The Healer returns,” she greeted, not opening her eyes. “I knew you would.”
“You’re a Seer. I’m not especially impressed. And Shenna told you I was coming.”
“Still so prickly. In a world of Changers, it is good that some things stay the same.”
Kjell sat across from the woman, knowing what she expected. The stool had been placed there for him, he had no doubt.
“She is lovely, the woman you brought home from Quondoon. Where is she?”