Night Shine

by Tessa Gratton

  Kirin studied her for a moment; then he said, “Yes, or part of its name, at least. I won’t know its true name until the investiture. But I was told, under great secrecy, that the prosperity of the empire relies upon the bond between the empress and the great demon. Part of the bond is the continuation of the line, and when I was born I was marked for it. The investiture is the next point of the ritual, when I am accepted pure and strong by the Moon.”

  “You risked more than yourself when you—this summer with Sky.” Nothing wasn’t sure if she admired his brazen courage or was horrified.

  “No,” Kirin said firmly. “I have spoken at length with the demon itself, though it rarely answers well, but I know—I know in my heart, Nothing—that what we have come to define as purity is not something that concerns the great demon at all. My secrets are dangerous because of the rules of our people, not the Moon.”

  She stared at him, believing him. He was radiant in his certainty. That made him easy to follow, to believe in. “I’ll get you home, Kirin. In three days, we’ll be free.”

  The prince’s luster faded. “I don’t want you free of me.”

  She lowered her gaze to the hem of his dark-red gown. His bare toes sank into the rough grasses. The beds of his toenails were bluish.

  He said, “I don’t know how to break a binding I don’t remember creating. And do you know what else the great demon has told me? That a demon can be mastered, but a great demon must agree.”

  “You’re making excuses. I’m not complicit in this bond. I didn’t know—I couldn’t have agreed.”

  Kirin lifted his brows as if to say, I didn’t know, either, so…

  Nothing pursed her lips. “We need to get inside. Did you bring slippers?”

  He had, and put them on. They dragged the rest of the discarded clothing and their old tatters with them. Kirin wrapped his pearls around his neck again.

  “You gave the imposter the bracelet of hair.”

  Kirin skewed a glance at her. He opened his mouth to say something scathing, no doubt, but paused. Glancing at their feet, he seemed to summon courage, and met her gaze again. “I had to save Sky.”

  Nothing nodded, hurt but still understanding.

  “I had to,” Kirin said again. “I don’t need to worry about you, but I always worry about him.”

  “He’s strong.”

  “I wouldn’t be, without him,” Kirin whispered.

  Nothing wrinkled her nose in disbelief.

  “Don’t tell him, please.”

  “You should.”

  The prince grimaced, but didn’t disagree. They continued on, and he said, “You weren’t born of a mother, were you? So the hair was just between you and me, not a mother you never had.”

  It hadn’t occurred to her. She stopped in the shade of the chapel cavern, surrounded by gods and monsters carved of crystal, obsidian, sparkling granite. They all stared at her, judging.

  “It mattered,” she said.

  “It was a love token, I know that,” he insisted. “And it saved Sky. Thank you.”

  Nothing hooked her finger under the black strands encircling her own wrist and jerked with all her strength. It cut into her skin painfully, but snapped. Nothing let it fall to the floor of the cavern.

  TWENTY-TWO

  THE DRAGON SLEPT IN its dragon form, twined several times over around the base of the altar. It woke the moment they entered, lifting brow ridges to reveal its spectacular water-gray eyes.

  Kirin stopped, lips parted, unafraid but desperate. Nothing realized he was looking past the dragon at Sky.

  Had he even noticed the river spirit?

  Nothing said, “Selegan, do you remember Kirin Dark-Smile? May he approach?”

  But the prince was already crossing the floor. The dragon’s scales rippled, and its wings unfolded, drawing in two wide arcs over the altar. It lifted itself upright, claws against the stone, and crouched across Sky. It did not threaten, merely watched Kirin curiously as he halted.

  “The prince,” the dragon said.

  “Hello, Selegan River spirit,” Kirin said coolly.

  The dragon vanished, replaced in the very instant with the youth, wide-eyed and silver-blond. They tilted their head sideways.

  Kirin bowed shallowly, and the dragon returned the gesture. To Nothing it seemed two powerful spirits greeted each other as equals.

  “He fought me for you,” the dragon said.

  “He shouldn’t have, but I am glad you both survived.”

  Nothing walked to the head of the altar and put her hands on either side of Sky’s face. He was warm and slept with the same deep peace as before. His face was less sunken, the color better, only a little darkened under his eyes and pale around his mouth. “Wake up!” Nothing commanded.

  Sky’s eyes flew open and he gasped in pain, wincing as he tried to sit.

  “Sky,” said Kirin, shocked, and Nothing reached for Sky’s shoulder. The warrior slumped back against her hands, one of his arms wrapping his left side.

  “Aren’t you better?” Nothing demanded.

  But Kirin was there, standing beside the altar with a hand barely touching Sky’s forearm. The prince breathed carefully, expressionless except the anxiety flaring his nostrils and the hope in his honey eyes.

  “Kirin.” Sky leaned back onto his elbow, propped there, and with his other arm reached for Kirin. He touched Kirin’s mouth, brushing strong fingers tenderly at the prince’s bottom lip.

  Nothing looked quickly away.

  “Is it you?”

  Kirin said, “It’s me.”

  The dragon came to Nothing’s side. It murmured, “That was chaotically done.”

  Nothing pursed her lips, annoyed. “I had no instruction.”

  Then Sky said her name, and she turned back to the altar, bracing herself.

  Sky put his hand on her cheek, cupping her face. His brow was low, his brown eyes intense. “Are you well?”

  She nodded. His fingers tightened briefly against her, uncoiling her nerves. He was glad to see her; she didn’t know why she’d been afraid.

  “I’m starving,” he said, swinging his legs off the altar. He groaned softly, favoring his left side. His back was bare, as was the rest of him. His muscles rippled as he perched at the edge, blanket draped over his lap. Nothing traced the line of his spine with her eyes, the broadening of his torso and shoulders; blotches of faded greenish yellow marked bruises, but there remained no scabs or remnants of open wounds. Only his old purple scars.

  She glanced up and met Kirin’s gaze over Sky’s shoulder. The prince had been doing the same, cataloging injuries. Nothing said, “There is plenty of food here, and we’ll find—or ask for—some clothes.”

  The dragon piped up. “I can go for such things. I would like to, warrior.”

  Sky hesitated, then dropped his head in thanks. “You honor me, Selegan River.”

  “You were a fool,” Kirin said sharply. “To attack it.”

  Sky tapped his fist against Kirin’s chest. “I thought…” He sighed gruffly and flattened his hand across Kirin’s heart. His fingers reached far, being so large, splayed possessively against the deep-red gown. Kirin covered the hand with his own.

  “Sky,” Kirin said.

  “What’s happened? How did we get here?”

  “You were asleep, healing, for… three days?” Nothing said.

  “Three days.” Sky glowered.

  Kirin’s whole body suddenly twitched, and he leaned forward to kiss Sky. The jagged movement spoke loudly that he’d been holding himself back the entire time they’d been in the room.

  Nothing left in the dragon’s wake, hurrying before either could notice and call out. She darted from the chamber and pressed her back to the rough wall of the corridor. Eyes shut, she swallowed the longing that threatened to overwhelm her again. Not for either of them, not for what they had, but for something. Something of her own.

  She wondered if the great demon of the Fifth Mountain had wanted anything.


  “I’ll have to ask the sorceress,” she whispered to herself.

  “I’m here.”

  Squeaking her surprise, Nothing flung away from the wall, whirling to face the sorceress.

  A private smile graced the sorceress’s lips. Nothing glowered, hating to be caught out asking for her.

  “Would you like to see my library now?” the sorceress asked innocently. She held out her hand.

  Nothing slid hers against the open palm.

  TWENTY-THREE

  THE SORCERESS’S TOUCH WAS cold and dark, and Nothing closed her eyes. There was a soothing note to the darkness that she enjoyed, like the tension of a delicious promise.

  “What does it feel like to you?” the sorceress asked.

  Nothing frowned and pulled her hand away.

  A sly smile brightened the sorceress’s face. She reached slowly toward Nothing, and when Nothing didn’t reject it, the sorceress’s fingers gently skimmed her jaw.

  Darkness flickered and snaked along the edges of Nothing’s self, in her peripheral vision but also somehow in other senses. Something in her reached for it, and she told herself it was curiosity. But it was more than that: it was aspiration.

  “To me your touch is warm,” the sorceress said. “And full of firelight.”

  “Oh,” Nothing whispered, longing. She liked it.

  “Do you like it?”

  Nothing gasped and pulled away again.

  The sorceress nodded and turned to lead Nothing down the corridor.

  “Sorceress?”

  She paused.

  Nothing asked, “Where does my power come from?”

  “The aether. That is where all magic comes from.”

  The sorceress turned to go again, but Nothing said, “I thought demons were cut off from the aether.”

  “Not great demons,” the sorceress called over her shoulder.

  Reeling a little, Nothing tried to walk as smoothly as the sorceress, who seemed to glide through the obsidian corridor. The sorceress wore a long, elegant gown in pink and black, her arms hidden in trailing sleeves, and tiny heeled slippers on her feet. She’d left her tricolored hair down but for a few pieces wound with creamy orange orchids. The flowers were exactly the size of her mouth.

  Nothing wrinkled her nose and forced herself to think about eleven murdered girls before she thought about kissing the sorceress.

  Before too long the sorceress brought her into the library with its vaulted ceiling, narrow wooden shelves, and long tables displaying massive books, skulls, elaborately carved boxes, jewelry, and weapons. More, but Nothing was overwhelmed at cataloging it. She drifted down between two shelves that reached nearly to the toothy, glittering stalactites of the ceiling and touched the spines of many books: some leather bound, some cloth, some bound in metal and scaly skin and possibly worse. Magic books, she thought, though others were thin and marked like accounting books. Some were stamped with the empire’s sigils, others text and characters Nothing did not recognize.

  “Where did you get all of this?” she asked.

  “Here and there, what is mine. But much of it is yours and collected before I ever set foot inside the mountain.”

  Nothing whirled. “None of this is mine. Your demon is gone, and so, as its wife, it all belongs to you now.”

  “Yes, it—”

  “No.” Nothing shook her head and stood her ground as the sorceress stepped close. “No matter what I might have been before, I am no longer that. I was reborn. I was born. I was a child and grew up, and I am not your demon consort.”

  “Your heart, though, is half of mine,” the sorceress murmured.

  Nothing couldn’t dream of how to answer that. She stared, wide-eyed.

  The sorceress studied Nothing, standing so near Nothing could see hints of gray and yellow in her bone-white eye, like ancient cracks in old ivory. The green eye had gray in it too, like cemetery stones overgrown by the rain forest. Long-forgotten dead. The sorceress said, “Very well.”

  Then, politely, she stepped back. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Nothing of the Great Palace—or is it Nothing Dark-Smile?”

  Nothing swallowed nerves and nodded firmly. “ ‘Nothing’ will suffice.”

  “Nothing will suffice!” The sorceress laughed three times, ha ha ha. Each sound was a deliberate choice.

  “It has my entire life.”

  “Then welcome to my mountain. I am the Sorceress Who Eats Girls.”

  “Why not Sudden Spring Frost?”

  The sorceress let her face fall into a gentler expression. She said, very softly, “That has not been my name in quite some time.”

  Nothing turned away to hide her feelings, picking a book at random. It was thick, bound with a soft dyed-blue leather. She dragged it out and had to use both arms to hold its weight. The cover was blank, offering no clues as to the insides.

  “That is a complete journal of King Lithex of the Hintermarsh, one of the out-kingdoms the empire conquered centuries ago,” the sorceress said. “Before the Fifth Mountain died and the empire’s boundaries withdrew inside the circle of mountains.”

  “Heavy to write in.” Nothing balanced the corner of the book on the edge of the shelf so she could use one hand to swing open the cover. The front page was yellowing and illustrated with several scepter-like objects.

  “Collected works, put together after his death. There are translation notes in most margins, but if you cannot read Feril characters you won’t get far. Let me show you the shelves in our tongue and those based in Old Gaulix that you might sound out.”

  Nothing turned a thick page and touched the lines of Feril characters in columns down the page. She slammed the book closed and hefted it back into place. The sorceress led her to the next row of shelves and said, “Here are histories and biographies of the empire. Many you’ll be able to read, though there are a few externally sourced. I find such perspectives relieving sometimes. And next”—she gestured on—“books about places and people outside the mountains, but written for the empire. Those are the shelves with the highest volume of texts you’ll be able to read right now, though there are many throughout the library. I don’t divide by language in the other sections, for magical studies or philosophy, flora science, and the study of spirits, demons, and living creatures.”

  With each term the sorceress pointed in a general direction, and Nothing marked what she could, though didn’t think in three mere days she’d have much time for reading. “Do you read Feril?” she asked.

  “I was learning and have kept up my studies, though they are more tedious than they had been.”

  Nothing began to ask why but realized: the demon. The demon had been teaching the sorceress languages, history, and anything she’d liked to know. When the demon disappeared, she’d lost more than a consort.

  The sorceress had moved on, toward the far wall where something like a hearth was cut into the stone. It gaped empty like an arched mouth, tall as the sorceress and without a grate for wood or any iron stove. She touched a protruding crystal and the hearth began to glow soft yellow, lighting up the smoky quartz coins and jagged crystal teeth inside. “This is where I like to read,” she said, glancing back. A single chair waited beside her, low and plushly cushioned, wide enough to curl her legs up with her or to share between two.

  Staring at the chair, Nothing imagined falling asleep there, book in her lap, head snug against her own arm. She had a pile of pillows in her abandoned bath in the fifth circle of the palace and two books all her own. One was filled with spirit fables; the other told the tale of a long-dead princess, Heir to the Moon, who went on a quest to each of the then–Five Living Mountains. Kirin had given them both to her and had insisted she could borrow anything from the empress’s library. But Nothing usually read only snippets hiding in corners of the library itself, rather than bring books into the damp old bath. Besides, what were books when she could listen to Kirin tell stories, Kirin recite what he’d learned from his own reading, from his tutors
?

  Would Nothing have liked books better if she hadn’t been bound to her prince?

  The sorceress was watching her patiently.

  “Is knowing my name all it will take?” she asked. “To be free?”

  “No, but it is a necessary piece. Your name is merely the key to the bond. You must know it, deep inside you, or it would not bind you together; it could not command you. You must remember the name—the key—in order to unlock yourself. For like a key, it has the power to lock and unlock under the right circumstances. If you are strong enough to fight him.” The sorceress spoke as if it did not matter to either of them.

  “Why do names even matter?”

  “We use names, some words of power, to manipulate the aether. Our voices are the most powerful tool any of us have. What is something if it does not have a name? The stronger the name, the more true it is, the stronger the thing it names. Priests can send ghosts to Heaven with true-name amulets because the amulet focuses the name better than the poor ghost possibly can. Sometimes a name’s meaning can change, especially with complicated creatures like humans or demons or sorcerers. Witches bond with their familiars by their names, or master demons with the same.” The sorceress licked her lips thoughtfully, making Nothing’s pulse pick up, and she said, “A name is the ultimate house—it is where our essence lives.”

  “That is why demons can be mastered by their names, because they don’t have real houses of their own? And ghosts, too?” Nothing guessed. “But spirits choose their own names, and… greater demons, too? That is why spirits and great demons must agree to be mastered.”

  “You let them make you into nothing,” the sorceress said gently.

  “It protected me more than it hurt me,” Nothing said, and when the sorceress’s mouth dipped grimly, Nothing realized she’d said it like it was over. That name had protected her in the past, but no more.

  “Names can change,” the sorceress said gently. “If a person chooses to become something new, to transform. That is a magic we all share.”

  “If you won’t tell me your name, will you tell me what the demon called you?” Nothing asked.