Chapter Four
After a few minutes of silence, neither of us moving from our places in the room, I walked toward the window. I worried he might attack me again, but I’d risk it.
He’d ruined the sacred journey for himself, but he was still a human being. And so was I. I refused to ignore him until my replacement came to see him through this rite.
“You hate me. Communicated loud and clear,” I said. Rubbing a bruise on the side of my jaw, I went to the far side of the panoramic window about eight feet away from him. “You hate me,” I repeated. “Now that we’re firm on that, I ask that you refrain from attacking me until we both get out of here.”
He huffed as if disgusted and said nothing.
More minutes of silence passed. I looked into the darkness at the base of the mountain range and the loneliness of those lands swept me up. I knew there were a few scattered bands of people out there and wondered how they survived. Night had seen them first-hand, even lived with them. How could he do that?
Something fearful and desolate twisted in my gut.
The city below us pulsed with life. We couldn’t hear the hum in this chamber, but out there it buzzed and clicked and rumbled all day long. Life. Survival. A glorious accomplishment of a residence for the body-temple. But beyond the walls lay ghosts and the bones of ancient broken cities beyond repair.
At the base of the mountains, toward the south, something came alight, glimmered and grew into a line of multi-colored lights, then went out again.
I couldn’t help but ask, “What was that?”
Night took a deep breath. “I saw a pack of para-wolves once.”
“Was that what that was?”
As though he did not hear me, Night continued. “They were like an aurora lighting up the land as they flickered in and out of time. We could never get near them.”
Para-wolves. Called that because they shifted realities for themselves at will. They were paradoxes in this world. So rare. Anyone lucky enough to catch one could sell it for a fortune. I’d seen only one in my life. An old instructor at the Academy had one in his rooms, a caged phenomenon, a pet that glowed amber, amethyst, and garnet against the waves of time, appearing and disappearing through dimensions at will, but like any fancy breed of dog showed up for dinner on cue.
‘How long were you out there?” I asked.
“Five months.”
I pretended not to notice that he answered as if nothing had happened between us, as if the energy of hate that had destroyed any bridge between us had never been born.
I breathed softer. “That’s a long time.”
“I only came back because I had to. Because my father threatened my friends.”
So the prince had friends. Of course he did. Just like I did. I would not have expected otherwise. Still, something broken fizzled out in my heart to be replaced by resentment. By sudden anxiety.
“Were you trying to hurt yourself?” I wanted to move closer to him but forced myself to remain still.
He shrugged. “No. Just trying to get away. From this. From all of it.” He swept his hand through the air.
“And from me.”
He scoffed. “You were already long gone.”
“I wasn’t.”
“You might as well have been.”
I nodded. I was sorry. Sorry for his pain. But I didn’t dare say it out loud for fear he might become angry and attack me again.
The moon had popped free of the mountaintops, brim-full, and now gleamed like a gold coin upon a starry velvet backdrop. On any other night, when a sacred pleasure ritual fell on a full moon, I would have been full of words about the romanticism of it all, enticing my virgin partner with poetry and compliments.
Tonight I’d be lucky if I left this chamber with my ass intact.
Hesitantly, I answered him. “I did miss you. You never even tried to visit.”
“Neither did you!”
He was infuriating.
“You know I couldn’t leave the training grounds for five years. That’s the rule. But I could have received visitors,” I said.
I watched him put a hand to his forehead and rub as if he had a headache. After our fight, everything seemed numb for me except the pain in my chest.
Now my voice came out broken. “Did you think I didn’t want to see you?”
“I didn’t care.” His voice came out level and low.
That was when I heard the truth. Not when he yelled or scowled or hissed at me. Not when he lashed out. But when he held back, just now, I heard the unspoken, unvarnished soul of him. He did care. In fact, he cared so much it overwhelmed him. He wasn’t joking when he said I’d broken his heart. He wasn’t being glib or facetious or taunting. He’d become wild and defiant and rude not because he was a spoiled, petulant prince. It was because of loss. And grief. It was because of me.
“I’m sorry,” I said. Now I took a few tentative steps toward him.
“Shut up.” But he did not move away.
I came closer, the knots of my silks chafing my thighs and hips. “I’m sorry,” I repeated.
“Fuck you.”
“I’m sorry.”
“If you take one step closer, I swear I’ll end you.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Stop it.”
I reached toward his shoulder.
“Stop!” he yelled. “I fucking hate you!”
I froze, my hand inches away from touching him. It was strange that he didn’t back away. And there was pain in his face now, not anger. But the words he spoke still hurt me.
“You look ridiculous.” He wasn’t yelling now, his voice soft as if in a trance.
“I am what I am,” I said.
He took a huge breath, almost a gasp. “Star, you—“
“I’m sorry,” I whispered, interrupting his words.
In the flashing lights of the city-view before us, his face became dappled and shaded. He blinked quickly three times.
“Ah, you’re so beautiful—“ His voice shook. “And you were supposed to stay—you were supposed to—“ He gulped. “I could never have you after you left. The Academy doesn’t allow--” His dark eyes glistened. “I hated it here after you left.”
“I know that now.”
He lowered his gaze. “You should have known it then.”
“And then what should I have done? Ignore the honors bestowed upon me? The calling? I was so proud.”
His lips curved down. “Maybe too proud.”
I sniffed once. My heart was racing. “You didn’t tell me not to go.”
“I couldn’t.”
“Why not?”
He looked up. Our gazes locked. “Star, you idiot. You were so happy.”
“I wasn’t happy without you.”
“Well,” Night said, “I wasn’t chosen like you were, was I?”
When you’re twelve and you are still trying to find your identity, and you are given great honors and a destiny unfolds before you, you tend not to question it. I had thought my friend would understand. He was a prince, after all, and he already had honors enough for ten people. I never believed he might be jealous, or resentful enough to choose never to see me again.
I always told myself he had made the split between us, not I. I didn’t think that at the age of twelve the honor of becoming an artist in the initiation of virgins into their pleasure rites might be seen as betrayal. It was, after all, only my body I was giving away, not my heart. At the Academy we were trained to keep emotions at bay. As I stated before, Guides who took lovers were sent away.
I’d lived the last nine years of my life at the Academy. I could not imagine living anywhere else. It was my home now.
But I had had another home once. Deep in my heart. The home that had been created by Night’s side.
“I couldn’t understand back then,” I whispered.
“What?” The question was almost cruel.
“Just listen.” I lowered my hand. We stood before each other, lights sparking between the six inches of space between us. “We were only twelve. How could I know what I wanted that young? How could anyone?”
“I knew.” Those two words floated on the air so light and casual as if they almost could not be heard or felt or understood. But I heard them. I heard the tone and cadence and pleading that held every single thing unspoken between us.
My fault lay in my uncertainties. A boy of twelve might not be held liable, but Night had known and I had been unsure. And the pain for him had been unbearable.
I wanted to hold him. Wrap him in my arms. The ritual be damned. This was altogether a new realm for me, a new rite. One we, together, were in the process of inventing.
“You knew, maybe, but I—I—“
“You were given praise and glory and you forgot about me.”
“I didn’t forget—“ I protested.
“That made me hate you even more.”
“And you still hate me.”
“Of course I do.” He pursed his lips. His nostrils flared. He’d never looked at me that way when we were kids. Quite the opposite. And I had simply walked away.
I thought he’d visit me at the Academy. I believed we’d still be friends.
“You cut me out of your life,” I said.
“That’s not how I—“ He gulped. “—how I saw it.”
“You did, though. But I don’t hate you.”
“You’re turning things upside down. Making me the bad guy?”
I shook my head.
Night took a deep and breath, and then jerked his body back, turned and headed for the couch across the room opposite the big bed. He flopped on the cushions, crossing his legs, putting his hands behind his head. His lean, long body made a graceful curve against the pillows, lovely if casual.
Not to be outdone, I followed him. He looked away as I sat at the other end of the sofa. I rearranged my silks to cover myself the best I could. My body was in top shape, a work of art, but it was obvious he didn’t wish to see it. This was not about me anymore, or my body, or even my calling. This was about us. And what went missing between us and became misunderstood.
“I don’t think you’re the bad guy,” I finally said.
He adjusted his shirt cuffs. He fiddled with his hands.
“I hate that they’re watching us. This is all so stupid,” Night said.
I looked up at the blue lights. “Ignore them.”
“Easy for you to say.”
“It should be easy for you. You’re royalty. You’re watched all the time. Aren’t you used to it?”
“I never got used to it. The roles and rules and rituals, the stupid customs, the expectations,” he said.
“You sound so ungrateful.”
“I am. But you wouldn’t understand.”
I had not meant my comment to be judgmental. “I do understand. You don’t like the roles put upon you. You don’t like being told what to do, or that your every action is watched with perhaps too-critical eyes. I do hear you.”
Night leaned his elbow against the arm of the couch and rested his face against his up-turned palm.
Softly, he began to do the very thing he said he did not want me to do. He reminisced. “It was all so much easier when I had you. You were always there. I didn’t care about being seen or judged because you were there seeing the real me, never judging. It made everything feel like a long slide into a fresh and welcoming existence each day. I barely felt the bumps and bruises along the way because you were there and we could laugh about them, and move along without a passing thought. You made the pain of real life go away. You made paradise for me. And when you left—“ His voice trailed off.
It was a lot of pressure to put onto another person. Relying on them to keep you happy. But then again, this ventured into territory that at twelve we knew little about. Love. We loved each other. But we had not yet realized the extent of it. Or I hadn’t. That love had become a force, an atmosphere we breathed, and a foundation upon which we walked. I took that away from him when I was chosen to go to the Academy. I had the Academy to replace that toppling feeling of the floor being removed out from under me. He had nothing.
“Why should I have been surprised,” he added. “Your heart was always a bit on the icy side.”