“No.” Nothing shoved away, awake fast. The sorceress did not try to catch her, and Nothing slid to the hard ground, half rolling onto her side. She breathed quickly, holding herself still, eyes shut, hands flat to the quartz floor. What had happened? Had she fainted when she touched the sorceress? Why? Nothing swallowed. From her position, bowed over the floor, she asked, “What happened?”
“I didn’t mean to touch you,” the sorceress said.
“You didn’t. I touched you.”
A rustle of silk taught Nothing the sorceress stood up. “I need it. You. To keep the mountain strong, to keep myself alive. Without the demon, the mountain cannot hold. My power wants yours. I know you. I…”
Nothing got to her feet, her back to the sorceress. She looked toward the table: Kirin crouched there like an animal, not like Kirin. On his toes, knees bent, his fingers tented against the floor. She shuddered. He grinned. The fox was obvious in him now. “Take that face away from him,” Nothing said, and without glancing to the sorceress, she left.
In the corridor she tore at the bright-green sash and let it flutter behind her, then stepped quickly out of the skirts. She hurried, loosing the feathers from her hair, then untied the pale-green outer jacket, shrugging free. It, too, fluttered behind her: a shed skin, flapping wings.
Nothing ran in only the thin pink under-robe and silk slip, her shoulders bare and cold, her knees bare too. She passed her room, the library, Sky’s altar chamber. She passed everything. “Down,” she said, and found stairs.
She was not looking for Kirin now—she’d not been able to find him before.
Nothing was looking for herself.
The darkness, the flower, the pain. It was inside her but also here. Inside her mountain.
A string of power, razor sharp. When she thought of it too closely, it bit at her, and her insides seemed to bleed. She kept going.
Down.
The walls changed from granite to sleek obsidian, then layers and facets of huge crystal. There was no light, but she could see.
Nothing stopped. She pressed her hands to a flat face of quartz and pushed. Her hands sank into the crystal and she swept them aside: a door. She’d made a door. Of course she could do such a thing.
It was all hers.
The air froze, cold as death, and she walked through, into deeper darkness tinged with violet. Tinged red in the distance: she followed that.
She followed the string of razors inside her, the bleeding that drew her on. Down. Forward.
The heartbeat crashed into her.
Next, in the massive absence after that single pulse, Nothing understood that the heart the sorceress had used last to shore up the Fifth Mountain’s power was nearly dead. Spring’s heart, nearly dead. Without the demon come home, the sorceress would hunt again for a new heart. Or take Kirin’s.
Down. The violet darkness gave way to red, then to a shimmering greenish light, as though she were underwater.
The corridor opened into a chamber as huge as the third circle of the palace. Stairs curled around the edges, up and up, and in the center was a platform with more stairs leading toward it and away again. A plinth lifted in the middle of the platform, grown from the mountain.
Nothing walked up a set of stairs toward it, eyes stuck to the dark crystal. Inside, trapped like a dead butterfly, was a heart.
She stopped. To the left, far below, an archway glowed with a warmer kind of light. Firelight.
Making her way for that arch, Nothing felt the huge heartbeat again. It shook her bones and she nearly lost her balance, knees bending. But she stumbled on, caught herself against the arch, and everything righted itself.
Nothing stepped out of the huge chamber and into the firelit corridor. She could hardly think, knowing what lay ahead as she walked. Not as quickly as before, one hand touching the rough wall. It curved sharply and deposited her in a small chamber with glinting streaks of diamond veins and bursts of ruby. Behind a mouth of obsidian bars was Kirin Dark-Smile.
This time, it was him.
Torn and death-pale, he leaned against the wall, legs out before him. His velvety green dress was tattered, the red-black-silver embroidered flowers massive like bleeding wounds. Both his hands lay open to his sides, fingers curled loosely. His lips were drained of color, his cheeks hollow, and smears of blushing blue sank beneath his eyes. He was not beautiful. Streaks of ash smeared the left side of his face. His hair was lank.
But the ropes of white and sea-green pearls around his neck glinted cleanly in the light of the single oil lamp in the cell with him. Beside it was a tangle of blankets, a bowl less pristine than the one in Nothing’s room, and an empty plate.
Nothing crept nearer, as silent as possible, that she might stare for longer.
Her prince breathed shallowly but evenly. Sleeping.
Relief stole her breath, and a crescendo of love grew so loud in her bones she ached with it.
She wanted to brush his hair, kiss him awake, strip the filthy clothing from him and take him to that cold mirror lake to scrub every speck of dirt and ash and tears off his skin. Feed him, hold him, make him warm again.
The string of pain that had led her here thinned and vanished. She felt herself again. Right.
Nothing gasped as she realized it was all true: she was not quite human, and Kirin had bound her to him years ago.
His eyes snapped open, clear and brown as crystalized honey.
She crouched before the stone bars.
“Nothing,” he whispered. “You’re here.”
“I’m here,” she said dully.
With a wince and a groan, Kirin pushed off the wall, struggling to his knees. He crawled to her and leaned his shoulder against the bars. “Nothing,” he said again. And he reached for her.
She gave him her hand. She couldn’t help it.
His fingers were dry, the nails cracked, and she threaded hers with his, pressing until their palms were flat together.
“I knew you would come,” he said.
“I’m sure you did.”
Kirin frowned at her tone but held her gaze. “Is Sky here? Is he well?”
Nothing lowered their hands. “He was injured when he challenged the Selegan River dragon, but he is here, and alive. She says he’s healing.”
“The sorceress.”
“Yes.”
“Can you get me out of here?” Kirin tugged at her hand.
She shuffled closer to the bars. “Maybe.”
“Maybe? Have you bargained with her? Or did you find your way here alone?”
Nothing remained quiet, studying him, sure it was him and hating how absolutely certain she was. It was all true.
“Kirin,” she whispered, yearning for him to tell her there’d been a mistake.
He nodded.
“I slit the throat of the imposter she sent.” Nothing paused at his hiss of surprise. “Then tonight I met another imposter, and I knew that wasn’t you either.”
He nodded again.
The pain was back, hot as a swallowed ember. “What am I?”
Kirin started to say, Nothing. She could see it in the shape of his mouth, in the pull of breath.
But he paused, and instead answered, “Mine.”
TWENTY
NOTHING STARED AT HER prince for a long time.
He allowed it, silent and still.
Eventually, she pulled her hand free of his. “How long have you known?”
Kirin sighed. “Known? Only since I came here. Guessed? Years.”
“You didn’t tell me.”
“What could I possibly have said? That you’d believe?”
Nothing sat back, hugging her knees to her chest. “You could have tried. ‘Nothing, you’re a demon. Nothing, I bound you to me. Nothing, I know your real name!’ ”
“Nothing—”
“No!” She stopped him. “I’d have had to believe you. Because it’s you.”
“I don’t think you’re a demon.”
Her scowl w
as enough to make him close his eyes. But he continued. “It’s true. Maybe you were, but you’re alive, and not possessed. You’re not like the great demon of the palace or any other demon I’ve ever met.”
“Maybe just because you bound me when I was a child.”
“Demons are never children.”
Nothing opened her mouth but found no argument.
“Don’t you see? If you were a child, you aren’t a demon. You might have been, before, in a different life, but you’re new. And that’s amazing.”
She ignored the thread of joy in his voice. The thread of ambition. “I’m still bound. Capable of being bound.”
It was Kirin’s turn to scowl. On him, so exhausted and pale, it was more of a pinched expression. “Everyone is capable of being bound. By duty or love or blood. I am to be your emperor someday. Wouldn’t you be bound regardless?”
“By choice.”
“Truly? You think anyone has a choice? Did I? I was born as I am. A prince. I must accept the Moon one day and be emperor. Where is my choice? I can’t be who I want to be, not all of me. Stop your self-pity and get me out of here.”
She wanted to do what he said. She always wanted what Kirin wanted! Clenching her teeth, Nothing stood up and backed away for her own protection. “Sky chose you.”
Kirin sucked in a shocked breath. “Sky loves me. That’s different.”
“Do you deserve him?”
“Nothing!” Kirin stood up, gripping the bars. “I’m sorry! I should have told you.”
Her heart ached so badly as she stared at him. Her beautiful maiden who was also her prince. “What’s my name?” she whispered.
And he actually hesitated! Nothing made her hands into fists and bared her teeth, but before she could scream at him, he said, “I could tell you, but she might be listening, and I won’t give her that power over you. As long as you’re mine, she can’t force you to do anything.”
Nothing’s knees wavered. It was all too much. “I want to be my own, not yours or hers.”
“You should already know it—you were there when I gave it to you. You should remember.”
“You must not want me to remember,” she accused. “Or I would.”
Kirin shook his head. “It—I don’t think it works that way. I can command you directly if I use your full, true name, but the binding… I’ve studied it as best I can.… It’s not one-way, Nothing. I’m bound to you, too. I want you to be safe and happy and strong. We belong together.”
“Have you commanded me directly with my name?” Hysteria bit up her throat.
“Once.”
“When?”
Kirin did not speak.
“Kirin Dark-Smile, tell me my name,” Nothing demanded.
He kept his mouth shut.
“See?” Nothing clenched her fists. “It is not a two-way bond. You’re my master.”
“I’m human,” he murmured. “I can’t be compelled. Nor can a sorcerer. But I will tell you,” he added, hands sliding down the obsidian bars. “If you ask me again. But she might hear it and use it. My binding is… amateur. She is a real sorcerer.”
Nothing hesitated. “You didn’t tell her, not to save your life or to save Sky’s. You bargained other things.”
Kirin shook his head. “I told her about you to save my life, and I—I helped her make the simulacrum to save Sky’s. She didn’t want your name. She never asked for it.”
“Would you have given it to her?”
“I wouldn’t have wanted to.”
The truth tucked itself between his words, and Nothing nodded.
“Nothing.”
“Kirin.”
“I love you, Nothing. You’re my best friend.”
“Do I love you back?” she whispered. “Or do I just have to?”
The prince flinched. “I’ve never wanted you to love me because I said so.”
She backed away. “You let me believe for years that I’m nothing.”
“No, I never treated you like that! I didn’t know—”
Nothing left. She ran back down the obsidian tunnel toward the heart chamber.
As she reached it, she slowed, panting. She put a hand over her heart.
“What am I going to do?” she whispered. She was so hot, but melting.
Nothing climbed a set of stairs toward the massive crystal and its trapped heart. The staircase curved over empty air: a ribbon of cut black stone.
She reached the platform. The crystal grew straight, as tall as her chest. It was smoky quartz, perfect gray-brown, and six sided, the tip a hexagonal pyramid. Nothing touched the sharp tip. She traced that finger down the smooth facet. Deep within the crystal, the heart blurred vivid crimson.
Her finger tingled, and she flattened her palm against the facet, welcoming the vibration of power. It slicked up her arm and to her own heart, pulsing into every extremity. Even her tongue tingled, then tasted like lightning and blood. Nothing carefully breathed the burned edge of the cavern air.
The heart pulsed.
Nothing gasped.
She turned and slid down the crystal to sit at its base. It was cold here, but she was warm.
This was the core of the Fifth Mountain. It should have been burning with power. Not cold, not fading. Desperation did not belong.
Anger clenched her jaw, chased by yearning.
It was the yearning that remained when she closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the crystal. She’d believed in being Nothing. The prince’s nothing. She’d been content, at least, to exist in his shadows, small and unimportant to the world but intrinsic to him. Nothing would have lived in the palace forever, helping him with her information gathering, a support at his side. Knowing him.
But had she ever even wanted anything for herself?
She couldn’t remember a time she’d wanted at all. Not adventure, not a title, not love or family.
“Nothing.”
The sorceress.
Nothing opened her eyes.
The Sorceress Who Eats Girls waited on the floor of the cavern, far enough down Nothing would break her neck if she fell. Even in the dim, even from the distance, she could see the dark-green eye and the bone-white eye staring up at her.
“I found him,” she said.
“I know. It isn’t the only thing you found.” The sorceress made no move to climb the stairs. She wore a simple black sleeveless robe that fell past her knees and close-fitting black trousers. That was all, but for the bloodred gem that hung at the hollow of her throat. Her hair was still elaborately knotted and braided, wound like tentacles. But no paint darkened her lips or her eyes. She was almost—almost—normal. Beautifully so, at least, with her round cheeks and long nose and wide, black lashes.
The sorceress folded her hands together before her.
Nothing said, “Spring’s heart is dying.”
“When you’re here, I feel stronger.”
“Because I was your demon. I was the great demon of the Fifth Mountain.”
The sorceress nodded. “I know it.” She touched her chest below the red stone. “Here.”
“You don’t know me. You can’t love me.”
“My heart is broken, but you can repair it.”
“What spell did you do?” Nothing stood up. “To make life for your demon?”
“I used my own heart, of course.”
Nothing gasped, hands flying to her chest. She laced them over the hidden flower-brand.
The sorceress said, “With my heart, my demon had to live. No sorcerer that I know of, in all the stories and lore, in all the books, has done what I did. I split my heart, one half to keep, one half to my demon. Mine struggles to beat, to keep all this”—the sorceress spread her arms—“alive with power. I need help. Other hearts to bolster mine. Until I find the missing half of my heart.”
Nothing’s pulse shuddered but remained strong. She slid her hands away, let them fall to her sides. How strange, how thrilling, to be told your heart is half of someone else’s.
A gift from a woman who loved you once. But Nothing felt whole. She said, “I’ve never had a broken heart.”
“It isn’t meant to seem broken.” The sorceress smiled tenderly. “Neither is mine. We’re meant to be together. Beating in rhythm.”
That was so close to what Kirin had said! Nothing closed her eyes. “I don’t love you.”
“I don’t love you, either.”
Something akin to offense shocked Nothing into looking again. She stared down at the sorceress.
“Yet,” the sorceress said. Then, “Will you marry me?”
“Are you joking? After…” Nothing scoffed and turned to flatten her hands on the heart-crystal.
“Stay, and I won’t have to hunt another maiden’s heart. Stay with me.”
“Why didn’t you ask for my name? He’d have given it to you, for Sky. Then you could make me stay.”
“I don’t want to be your master,” the sorceress called, sounding almost angry. “I want to be your wife.”
Nothing parted her lips, as if she could taste the edge of the sorceress’s words, the slice of them as they sank into her heart after all. She liked the feeling. She liked the sorceress’s plain seduction. But Nothing didn’t know what she wanted. She never had known. It was the only question that mattered.
She said, “I am going to stay with you for three days. You’ll show me everything. Magic. Power. The secrets of the Fifth Mountain. And then I will take Kirin Dark-Smile and The Day the Sky Opened and return them to the empress. You won’t stop us from leaving. That is all I have to offer; otherwise steal my name and compel me.”
“I accept your bargain,” the sorceress said instantly.
TWENTY-ONE
SHE LEFT KIRIN IN the cell.
Nothing returned to her chamber with the red-and-pink door, needing to be alone in the only space that felt almost like hers. Insistent Tide waited. She clucked her tongue as she helped Nothing out of the thin robe and slip, into wool pajamas. It wasn’t cold enough to need them, but Nothing found their comfort perfect as she curled in the nest. Insistent Tide blew a gentle breath up at the bat-bone chandelier, and the candles snuffed. “Good night,” the old woman said.
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