Chapter Three
My calling meant I could not take a lover.
What might have been for us if I hadn’t been chosen for this most honorable and noble position? And if he had not been a prince…
Just above the faraway mountain-line of the barren Grim Lands the moon began to rise, an eerie, orange egg. I came to stand at the window beside Night. He smelled of rose blossoms and salt wind. He’d obviously been groomed for this evening.
He snarled and moved a step away from me. “Don’t even get close to me!”
“I won’t.” My voice came out an unsteady whisper.
“You’ll try. It’s the game and we both know it.”
“Not a game. A sacred rite.”
“It’s a stupid rite!”
“It’s not a stupid rite,” I countered. “It’s a beautiful rite.”
“Yeah, seed of creation, it feels good, all that. But I don’t agree to this. Especially not with you.”
“When we were ten—“
“Don’t do that,” he interrupted. “I’m not strolling memory lane with you.”
“There was something between us.”
“There was nothing and if you don’t shut your mouth I’m going to shut it for you!”
“What happened to you?” I pushed the conversation on purpose. At least he was talking.
“Nothing. Are you saying something is wrong with me? Are you insulting me now?”
“No.” I watched the flexopters flit about the city’s rooftops, their zigzagging lights making purple plaid designs against the dark as their auto-systems pivoted them endlessly to avoid crashing into each other.
“Then why are you asking what happened to me as if I’m somehow damaged?” The question, spoken in angered resentment, held a tone of loss as well.
“I would never insult you. We were best friends. I loved you.”
He turned away from the window and stalked across the room. “Shut up and stay away from me.”
I angled my head and watched him stalk the couch, then the bed. His motions were jerky and unrefined. He snapped the goblet in his hand straight up to his face as if he was going to hit himself, and downed the rest of his wine in a loud slurp. Then he threw the glass against the floor. Pieces of it shattered as far as the table, little drops of scintillating light broken, dying.
“If we could just talk. Nothing more—“ I began.
His head came up, mouth a grimace, brows narrowed. “I warned you.”
He rushed me fast. I backed up against the cold flat plane of the window, thinking he was just trying to scare me, sure he would stop. But he didn’t stop. When he reached me, he butted his head against my chest, hands catching me around the waist, and threw us both to the floor.
My silks made a crackling sound as they tore. I turned to take the burnt of the fall on my shoulder, afraid of hitting my head. My shoulder hit hard, jarring me out of my mind for a moment so that I could barely comprehend the squirming body on top of me struggling, bucking, pummeling. Fists flew in my face. I raised my arms up to protect myself.
There was a ringing in my ear. I heard myself yelling. Not words. Just the sound. And Night was muttering, “You fuck, you want to play? I’ll win. I’ll win!”
My hands pushed against him, one on his cheek, and the other against his right shoulder. But he was strong. Crazy. Did he want to kill me?
He’d called me his archenemy at twelve. But he couldn’t still believe that now. He was a mature man. We both were.
“Stop. Stop!”
But he wouldn’t. He kept trying to hit me. I shoved upward, knocking him to the side, trying to move away. But he reacted faster than I could, and wrestled me onto my back. This happened over and over.
I had never heard of such a thing happening during the sacred rite. Violent offenders in our society were kept from the rite. But Night was a prince. And no rumors abounded that he was dangerous, only defiant. Only unhappy.
But now I wondered. Had the king hidden more serious past discretions of his son? Was Night insane? And what would it take before they broke the seal of the chamber door and rushed in? Would it take him killing me to get them to interrupt us?
I looked up through the tangle of my own hair and silks and Night’s battling hands to see the placid blue lights on the walls and ceilings. Watching. All of them watching. As if this didn’t matter. As if I didn’t matter.
With a final rush of adrenalin, I shoved with all my might and watched Night sprawl backward on his ass, looking up at me through slats of brown hair.
I jumped to my feet and ran to the table, picking up the half-full wine bottle, hefting it at shoulder height. I didn’t want to hit him with it, but neither did I want to die. Wine sloshed over my shoulder, spattering the floor. My slippered feet crunched broken glass.
Night was already standing, swaying, fists in front of him. He approached me.
I backed up until the edge of the table hit my ass. “Night! Why are you trying to kill me? I’d never harm you. Never!”
“Fuck you. Fuck you.” He kept repeating the phrase as if he were mindless, heartless. As if there’d been violent transgressions between us. There hadn’t been. I’d answered my calling. That was it.
This was not the boy I’d known.
“Stop!” I yelled. “Just stop!”
As if coming out of a trance, he glanced at the bottle in my hands, then down at the wine on the floor. He shook his head as if to ward off an insect. I heard him murmur, “You made me mad. So mad.”
I kept the bottle at ready, still not trusting him. “I don’t know what I did to you, but get over it!” I was loud. Yelling. Scared.
He sneered. “You don’t know?”
“No!”
“Bastard!”
“I really don’t know,” I yelled. “Tell me.”
“Fuck, why should I?”
“Because I’m asking.”
“You really want to know?”
“Yes!”
“You left me!” he growled. Then softer, as his eyes filled. “You left me and you broke my heart.”
Slowly, I lowered my arm. I dropped the bottle. It landed on the floor, bounced twice, and rolled unbroken under the table. It seemed like it was the only unbroken thing left in the room now. Including us.
My throat burned tight with shock. Too tight to speak.
He’d loved me. Now he hated me.
I looked into his eyes so bright with fury, remembering his dancing brown gaze, his smiles from our youth. All that was gone.
All that was left was him standing before. And me blinking, traumatized, my heart jerking in my chest as if it was weeping.
Unmoving, we stared at each other for a long time.
Finally, he spoke again. “Your silks are shredded. I can see your whole body. What a disgrace.”
I looked down, unable to curb the impulse. My body was not a disgrace. Why would anyone think that, especially Night? It was good. Strong. Lean and hard. I glimmered with health and vibrancy. My skin glowed like it was manifested from golden stars. From my very name.
He should have been proud of me—my best friend. He should have supported me. I was lovely. I was smart. I was chosen for the most revered of callings.
But I was learning now why he wasn’t proud of me. Why he seemed to resent the very air I breathed.
Tears blurred my vision for a moment. I blinked them away.
Hissing, Night turned and went back to the window to stand. The lights from outside surrounded him, making him look unreal.
I grasped my shredded tunic and veils and tried to tie them together to hide what he seemed not to like. True, the rips had exposed me. All of me. It should not have been a crime. But he made me feel dirty.
I wove and knotted the material the best I could to hide the lower half of my body. Why I cared so much at this point, I wasn’t sure. I had loved him, yes, loved being the operative word. For both of us.
Now everything was different.