To Bleed a Crystal Bloom

by Sarah A. Parker

  He hisses despite my placating tone that betrays none of my bubbling desire to kick the crap out of him, then finally does what I asked, mumbling something about being overpaid and underappreciated as he disappears from sight.

  Cainon’s features harden.

  He stalks toward me, and I shiver from his razor-blade perusal. “You don’t look so well.”

  “I’m fine,” I say, toying with the end of my braid.

  “You’re lying to me.”

  I absolutely am. And I probably shouldn’t start this relationship relying on my crutch of fibs, but here we are.

  He puffs out a sigh and glances around the room, striding toward my painting station—the long wooden bench that curves around a third of my wall space. The windows above usually spill light across the table and potted seedlings lining the sill, but it hasn’t for days because the clouds refuse to shift.

  He touches the cloth covering my half-finished piece from Whispers while assessing my collection of rocks, fingers skating over a mini rendition of reaching hands emerging from a lick of gray paint.

  My heart pinches, and I look away.

  The owner of those arms only lives in my nightmares.

  “You paint these yourself?”

  “I do.”

  He plucks one off the table—the practice piece I did before painting Kai’s stone.

  An island of jagged, crystal spires pinned to an otherwise empty ocean decorates the face. There are little birds in the sky and a cherry river flowing from the peak of a cone geyser in the center.

  He nods, and I can see some sort of reverence in his eyes as he weighs the stone in one hand. “This one. I know of an island that looks just like this. A place I used to visit with my father ... before he passed.”

  His words are heavy, creating a mournful tension that thickens the air and yanks at my heartstrings.

  “I’m sorry for your loss, Cainon.”

  “It was a long time ago.”

  I nod, unraveling my braid to keep my hands busy. “Well ... you can have the rock if you like?”

  I expect him to say no. It’s not customary for a female to gift her promised something in return for his cupla, but this seems fitting considering our ... odd circumstances.

  “Are you sure?” he asks, cradling the thing like it’s prone to shatter.

  “Of course.”

  The strong column of his throat works, a smile teasing the corner of his lips as he pockets the piece and advances.

  I glance out the window, finger-combing my hair until he’s standing right next to me. Taking the weight of my hair and splitting it off into three sections, he starts to weave a side braid with smooth, controlled motions.

  My spine stiffens, heart lurching at the unfamiliar contact.

  I watch Cainon’s hands work, a long minute passing before he finally speaks.

  “I must return to the Bahari capital. I received an urgent sprite, and my boat will be leaving on the next tide.”

  His tone is flat. Unyielding.

  Something coils inside me, like a snake preparing to strike.

  “And?”

  “You will accompany me.”

  It’s not a question.

  Blood rushes from my face, and I swear my entire tower sways.

  I’m not ready.

  “N-now?” I stutter, heart hammering, mind scrambling.

  What about Shay? And Kai? And who’s going to water my plants? I’m not sure I can trust anyone else to keep them alive.

  I steal a glance at that piece of cloth Cainon was touching.

  The lump it’s hiding ...

  My wall in Whispers isn’t finished. I haven’t even ground down my commissary bluebells and made the damn paint because I’ve been too locked in my own head.

  “Now, Orlaith.”

  The eviction notice is dropped on my lap like a boulder.

  I glance out the window, waiting for words to form on my tongue.

  He grips my chin, using it as a handle to turn my head. “You wear my cupla. You’re my promised. I know you’ve been ... sheltered, but for you to continue living under another male’s roof would be uncouth. Especially when that roof belongs to another High Master.”

  “I know all these things,” I mutter, glancing down at said cupla.

  A shackle or a ticket to free me from a cage I never realized I was living in? I’m not sure. I don’t know anything anymore. It’s hard to tell truth from lie when you’ve spent the majority of your life living under a veil of skin that never belonged to you.

  All I know is what I have in front of me. What I’ve always clung to. The thing that has always kept me on track ...

  The circles I spin.

  I have unfinished turns, and if I leave before they are complete, I’m convinced everything will unravel. That the world will be off-center.

  “I can’t.”

  He lifts a caramel brow, the line of his jaw hardening.

  Hands stilling.

  Something flashes in his eyes that makes me feel utterly defenseless.

  “Not yet,” I quickly add, painting my lips with a smile. A mask atop a mask. “I have unfinished business I must finalize before I can leave. It’s important.”

  To me.

  He whips the hairband from my wrist and ties off the braid, then pushes back, stalking toward the western window that overlooks the bay. He plucks a dead leaf off one of my magnolia saplings and flicks it to the floor. “You’re wilting here, Orlaith. It’s obvious to an outsider looking in.”

  I hear Baze clear his throat, and my cheeks burn.

  I wonder how much of this conversation will be relayed to Rhordyn. If he’ll even care that someone else is taking such a keen interest in my well-being, or if he’ll be more concerned about the fact that he’s losing his blood bag.

  Looking at my feet, I twiddle my thumbs ...

  I am wilting, but only since I discovered Rhordyn has been lying to me all these years. Since he told me he only did so to maintain a pledge to a dying woman, and I realized I’m more than just a burden.

  I’m a thorn in his side.

  “So, you want more time?” Cainon asks, jarring me out of my reverie. He sounds open to compromise, and that’s not something I’m used to handling.

  I lift my chin and attempt to fortify my spine. “Yes.”

  His hands tighten on the windowsill, knuckles whitening, and for a moment I think he’s about to deny me. But with a long sigh, he spins, a silky smile hooking one corner of his mouth and exposing that cheek dimple I’m beginning to grow fond of.

  He’s a very handsome man. Deeply masculine, stacked with smooth, confident sex appeal.

  This forced pairing could be worse.

  He grips the leash of my braid again. “Two days, Orlaith. No more.”

  My heart plummets.

  That barely qualifies as a compromise ...

  “I’ll leave a ship and two personal guards to escort you to my territory when you’ve ...” he clears his throat and glances around, “finalized your affairs.”

  I try to ignore Baze’s distant muttering.

  “That’s”—ridiculous—”generous of you,” I say with a loose smile.

  He pulls my braid until I’m leaning forward and his breath is hot on my ear. “Tug those roots out. Cut them off if you have to. This is not the right place for you.” He drops my hair and spins. “Two days. Or you can expect the escort of an entire fleet.”

  My mouth pops open as he stalks through the door without a backward glance.

  Why would he make such a ridiculous statement? Perhaps he’s trying to impress me with all his pretty boats. Either that or he thinks the threat will help me pry me from this tower.

  All it really makes me want to do is punch him.

  His footsteps fade and I finally relax, resting my cheek against the cool kiss of the window while I study the forest far below.

  From up here, it looks like a blanket of moss; soft and inviting compared to the jagged edges of Ca
stle Noir. Yet here I am, staring down on that forest as if it’s about to crack its maw and devour me.

  “Come in,” I mutter, voice monotone.

  Heavy footsteps advance, pausing not too far from me.

  Letting my anger simmer until it’s a gusty firestorm, I peel my cheek from the glass, only to be scalded by Baze’s own cinder stare.

  My head snaps back. “What?”

  “You know what,” he spits, stance widening as if we have swords in our hands and he’s preparing to duel. “What about your training? What about your life and all the people who care about you?” His hands bunch at his sides, knuckles milky. “The ones who would rather die than see you revert back to that small, silent child who never knew how to smile?”

  I glare at him for a long moment before shaking my head. “I don’t remember that.”

  “Exactly.”

  We may not be wielding weapons, but he lands that word like a strike to the back.

  He takes a step forward, jerking his chin at my painting station. “Who do you think made your first paintbrush, Orlaith?”

  My heart misses a beat, but I maintain my sealed lips and stoic shield, giving his omission something to bounce off.

  He points out my western window, arm outstretched. “Who do you think planted that wisteria and sowed your love for growing things? Then watched you smile for the first fucking time when you planted your very first rosebush in the grounds downstairs? The one you grew from a seed? Who, Orlaith?”

  Him ...

  The backs of my eyes sting, but I refuse to blink. Refuse to let my tears spill. His words are flaming barbs tossed to maim, and the old me would be nursing her wounds ...

  But she’s gone.

  Right now, his fire has nothing to catch on, because I’m already ash.

  I slide off the windowsill and raise my hands to the back of my neck, unclasping the necklace. It drops to the rug with a heavy thud, and that tightness peels off me inch by merciful inch, leaving raw skin that feels as if it’s just taken a life-saving breath.

  Baze stumbles sideways, hand darting out to steady himself against the post of my bed, all the color draining from his face as his mouth opens and shuts.

  He doesn’t speak. All he does is stare, and I can see bits of my brilliant reflection in his glazed eyes ...

  I hate it.

  I draw deep, then ask the question that sets a noose around the neck of our life-long companionship. “Did you know?”

  “Orlaith—”

  “Did. You. Know?”

  His shoulders roll forward, and he releases a jagged sigh that fails to sever me from the blow brewing in his beseeching stare. “Yes ...”

  It hits like a boot to the chest.

  Harder.

  It hits so hard I’m surprised I can still breathe.

  Part of me wants to hack the wisteria right off the balcony and watch it fall to the ground, because that’s what he just did to us.

  I nod. “You’re dismissed.”

  His eyes widen and his foot pushes forward. “Laith—”

  I reach behind my back, crack the drawer of my console, and tug out the talon dagger—the hilt branding my palm as I unsheathe the weapon and stake it in the air between us.

  His next step falters. “Where the fuck did you get that?”

  “Does it matter?”

  This talon is so much more than a threat, something I know he registers by the way his eyes go flat and defeated. By the way he casts his gaze to the ceiling as if my forgiveness is etched up there on the stone.

  It’s not.

  I’d rather handle my worst nightmare than accept whatever placation he has to offer.

  He’s lost me. Whatever I thought we had, it’s broken.

  “No,” he says, swallowing. “I guess not.”

  “I said leave.”

  He offers a curt nod, then turns and walks from the room, head down, shoulders hunched. I wait until I can no longer hear his footfalls before I sheathe the weapon and toss it at the wall, then fall to the floor and shatter.

  Seated half-way down the jagged staircase carved into the cliff, I watch Cainon’s ship cut through the choppy bay while plucking immature heads off a ridge posey bush and stuffing them in a jar.

  Patience has never been my virtue, and this poor plant is bearing the weight of that.

  I’m frustrated, restless ...

  I need to see my best friend, but I can’t do that while Cainon’s distant regard is heating my face and working hands, as if he can’t bring himself to look away. He’s standing on the bow of the slim boat—a tall, imposing figure, spyglass pointing my way.

  Can he see the agitated bounce of my knee, or how I’m tearing at this bush so violently my fingers are red and sore?

  I glance at the lone ship still parked at the end of the pier, deflated sail spun around its mast.

  Waiting for me.

  Two days ...

  “So dramatic,” I mutter, ripping a few more buds, putting a little extra bite into the motion. I don’t usually take the posies until they’re in full bloom, but that won’t happen for at least another month.

  I’ll be gone by then.

  Once the bush is bare, I close the jar, watching the grand Bahari vessel edge toward that line I’ve never swum across, strung between two points of the large, rocky bay. Not a physical line, but in my mind it’s so concrete that part of me expects Cainon’s ship to smash against it and sink.

  It doesn’t, of course.

  The bay spits the vessel into the open sea, blue sail bloated and boasting gold trimmings that stand out against the gloom. That regard peels away, and I draw a full breath for the first time since I started climbing down these stairs.

  The bulbous, gray clouds rumble as I unravel the braid Cainon so meticulously plaited, studying his cupla.

  The deep blue stone marbled with threads of gold sits snug around my wrist, held in place by a gilded chain that pinches the two ends together. Small grooves line one side of the stone, evidence of its separation from Cainon’s half.

  It’s frowned upon to remove them—an age-old custom that casts back thousands of years. So long as you’re coupled, a female is supposed to wear these things until the day she dies ...

  With a shrug, I unlatch the chain, then stuff the thing in my bag and stand.

  I’m not ready to tell Kai everything—to drag my topside troubles into the depths of our friendship—but I’m desperate to see him. To fall into him and to feed off his banquet of comfort.

  Wind whips at my trailing hair while I leap down the stairs toward the bay below, landing ankle-deep in pitch-black sand. I close my eyes, allowing the pull of the ground to soothe my internal discord ... at least until a husky voice saws through my internal reverie.

  Tug those roots out. Cut them off if you have to. This is not the right place for you.

  Eyes popping open, I tip my head and sigh.

  Well, Cainon. That’s easier said than done.

  I lump my knapsack atop a jagged rock, then jog toward the boisterous waves so reminiscent of my current circumstances—whisking in fast, unrhythmic motions that show no promise of letting up. Fully clothed, I charge through the sand into icy water that shocks my lungs still.

  The ocean bed drops away instantly, and I lift my feet and swim, taking lashing after lashing of frothy whitewash that dwarfs me in both size and power. It pulls me, bullies me, shoves up my nose and makes the back of my eyes sting. It tears at my hair and fake skin and tangles me with kelp, but I keep swimming ...

  These waves remind me of the psychological beatings Rhordyn dishes me, because like these waves, he just doesn’t stop.

  He’s unrelenting. Unapologetic. So callous in his punishments that I barely have a chance to catch my breath. And to dish such a brutal blow when I was already struggling to float?

  Asshole.

  I beat the waves with my hands and feet, giving them just as much as they’re giving me, while still getting tossed about as if I�
�m nothing more than a piece of weed.

  I’m reminded of summer swims when I was small—when the crystal-clear water was warm, gently lapping at obsidian sand. The only other noises were the calling gulls and Kai’s robust laughter.

  Now the ocean is roaring at me, and I want to scream back and tell it to stop.

  Please stop.

  Just make it past the breakers ... that’s all I have to do. Once I’m there, the sea will calm and I’ll finally be able to pause.

  Take a deep breath.

  Recover a little ...

  I swim and swim and swim, getting pushed back with every wave, feeling like I’m making no progress. But then the ocean calms, and I’m cutting through with ease.

  Realizing I’ve made it through the breakers, I stop and spin, wiping at my stinging eyes and battling for breath, shoulders burning and body numb from the cold.

  Euphoria blooms when I see I’ve swum further than I ever have on my own—almost half-way to my Safety Line.

  The current begins to pull me backward, and a thundering roar flays me with a blade of fear.

  I whirl.

  My mouth drops open, eyes going wide ...

  “Fuck.”

  I didn’t make it past the breakers at all.

  Not even close.

  I’m smack in the middle, being charged by a wave taller than the ancient trees in Vateshram Forest.

  I arc my neck to see the peak peeling down like a mammoth sea monster eyeing me up for a killing strike ...

  I’m going to die.

  I’m drawing a breath that’ll likely be my last, when a powerful force of silky brawn and glinting scales surges through the face of the wave and wraps me in a firm embrace—one hand cradling my head and urging me into the crook of his neck.

  My breath pushes out in the form of a whimper, and I wrap my legs around Kai’s trim hips.

  A split-second later, the wave crashes down on us like a rockslide, and we’re ripped into by its frothing maw. Clinging to each other, we tumble over and over and over until I have no idea which way is up.

  Which way is down.

  We’re jerked and jerked, as if we’re caught in the hand of a violent fist testing how much our bones can yield without snapping.

  My head feels like it might pop, and my ears burst in an explosion of pain.