by Sadie Moss
Fancy enclosed carriages drawn by sleek, well-kept horses traverse the wide streets. I’ve heard of carriages, and even read about them in books, but I’ve never seen one. My village had a few wagons that we used to transport goods and harvests, but they were very different than these carriages.
They’re powerful conveyances, completely enclosed from the elements and painted with delicate, decorative patterns. Every street corner plays host to tall iron lamps that are currently being extinguished by the street crew, and I marvel at them. Getting anywhere after dark back home meant carrying a torch or two, and risking soot or burns on one’s clothes.
Even the people are different here. Everyone is dressed smartly, with the men in waistcoats of varying colors and women wearing obvious corsets and bustles—all items of clothing that my family could never have afforded. Many of Sierian’s people carry dainty umbrellas or walking canes—not because they need them, but for appearances, which is absolutely asinine to my budgetary sensibilities.
Sierian’s people don’t have gaunt faces marred by shadows and pain; they don’t have protruding skeletons and an overall air of despair like the residents of Caelfall. We pass people of all shapes and sizes, even some with round bellies and curvy statures, which proves to me more than anything that Sierian doesn’t let her people starve.
A strange honking sounds behind us, and Echo takes my arm, easing us away from the edge of the cobblestone road. I stare blankly as a beast made of metal and gears crawls past. Two people sit comfortably atop a long wooden bench, and a tall wheel juts up between one man’s knees, vibrating between his hands. Behind the two passengers, a little chimney pumps translucent white mist into the air.
My steps falter as I watch the contraption putter down the road without horses. “What is that?”
Paris grins over his shoulder, noting my astonishment with amusement. “Steam-powered carriage. They’re a bit more advanced in this realm.”
“Is it magic?”
“Not any more than trains are magic.” Echo steers me back into motion as the carriage takes a sharp right turn ahead. “They’re powered by boiling water and the resulting steam.”
“They have so much water to spare they can use it for transportation?” I ask, aghast. The creek at my village has been drying up steadily for five years. Another five more, and it will be gone. “What are trains?”
As Callum continues to lead us stoically through the city, Echo gives me a brief, nonsensical explanation of what a train does. It’s so far beyond my realm of comprehension that I just smile and nod, pretending I understand what he’s saying so that I don’t look like a fool. But I’m still reeling from the idea that these people use precious water just to get around.
We keep walking, but I’m no longer paying attention to my feet or any of my companions. Aeheamel is a wonder, full of vibrant colors, gaily shouting voices, and laughing families. I see a mother wearing a sapphire blue dress and matching hat, an honest-to-goodness peacock feather jutting from the brim. She’s dragging five nearly identical children behind her on the sidewalk, and the youngest tugs a small, fluffy dog on a leash behind him. All of the children are round and smiling in their pristine white clothes. I’m flabbergasted by the sight. No one in my village ever dared have more than two children, lest they be unable to feed them, much less a pet.
The buildings are as pristine as the sparkling cobblestones, painted in vibrant colors with actual glass windows instead of wooden shutters, and intricate, unfamiliar locks on the doors. We pass a large three story home where a slim, well-dressed man with a mustache serves an older couple tea from a silver platter on their giant front porch.
What in the gods’ name? Not only are they rich enough to have gold rings on their fingers and a lounging porch, but they have a servant to tend to their needs.
And even the servant looks healthier and better fed than my people.
The thought makes my stomach twist. My awe is quickly being replaced by fury.
Aeheamel is a world of difference from the life I knew. Sierian clearly takes great care of her people, and in turn, they’ve made amazing advances and found happiness in this vibrant, bustling town. But myself and the people I love were condemned to a horrible life of neglect and dismay, simply for being born in Zelus’s territory.
The unfairness of it all infuriates me. I clench my fists at my sides, wishing I could rant and rave and scream my frustration at the sky. How can a god be allowed to be so neglectful? Why doesn’t anyone stop him or intervene?
I don’t realize my steps have picked up in speed until I run into a beaming man in a funny white hat. We collide, and I bounce off his extensive belly as the tray of steaming, buttery rolls on his hand wobbles.
“Whoa, there! Be careful!” he says pleasantly, not in the least perturbed I’ve hit him.
He’s covered in white dust that billowed under my impact, and now it’s covering one side of my dress. Flour, I suppose, and the good kind, the kind that makes bread taste like art rather than the skimpy grains that made my people bread that tasted like rocks.
“Dear girl, are you all right?” the baker asks. Even his teeth are brilliant white as his smile falters.
I shove past him, resisting the urge to slam my fist into his tray and send all those rolls skittering down the road. I bounce off another man in a black waistcoat who’s smoking a pipe—a pipe, as if tobacco grows on trees! Then I rush past a group of ladies in silk dresses, their pretty faces painted in rouge and kohl. Their outfits are as immaculate as their curled hair, and beside them, I look like a beggar-woman, especially with the blood on my skirt. I get the uneasy impression they’re laughing at me.
Horrified, I break into a run, barely realizing or caring that I’ve left the messengers behind. Something inside me is expanding painfully, pressing against my ribs and my lungs until I think I might burst.
My palms are sweaty, and my nails cut sharply into my skin, but I can’t force my fists apart. I sprint around a corner and knock into a man pushing a cart of exotic fruit. His product goes flying, but I don’t slow down, I don’t apologize. I’m too claustrophobic as these beautiful people in their expensive clothes, in this clean, happy city, just keep passing me by.
I need to get away.
I need to breathe.
Bursting through another group of pedestrians, I trip over a curb I don’t see coming. My arms flail as I attempt to grab something to hold on to, and in the chaos, I grab the weave. Magic crackles and sputters from my fingertips, drawing attention from a nearby family, but I’m able to right myself and stay on my feet.
The family who witnessed my burst of magic stares at me, whispering to one another in shock. I’m frozen to the ground, a new kind of horror filling me.
I’m not supposed to let anyone know I can do that. Callum gave me that directive long ago, and something inside me instinctively knew that he was right—that I should keep this power hidden.
Farse. I can’t believe I just revealed my connection to the weave. I didn’t mean to.
The dozens of emotions surging through me combine into an overwhelming cacophony. I gasp for oxygen, my vision blurring as my eyes sting with tears.
Then strong arms wrap around me, and I’m being whisked away from the crowds, away from the noise and the concerned faces. We disappear into a cool, dim alley with no other people around, and gentle hands guide me against the wall.
“Breathe, Sage.”
I blink as I look up at Echo’s face, and the mixture of concern and dismay that shines in his eyes sends a knife right through my gut.
The tears that have been threatening burst from me on a sob.
16
I can’t breathe.
It’s not even the tears or the wracking sobs that are affecting my ability to breathe. It’s something deeper than that. I’ve lost all control of my emotions.
A dull roar pounds through my ears and heat plays across my skin. I cringe against the brick wall, my breaths coming faster and fa
ster, shallower and shallower. All the while, Echo stares at me, his face turning shuttered and unreadable as if he doesn’t want the crazy girl to see that he thinks she’s lost her mind.
I yank the strap of my satchel off my shoulder and drop the bag, gripping the wall with both hands and struggle to suck in air. The breaths come in painfully through my tight throat, making audible wheezes. Bright spots dance across my vision, and I don’t know what’s happening to me.
Everything feels too much. Too bright, too strong, too painful. I’m lost in memories of my horrible existence in the mortal realm, the awful lives my family and friends lived—that they still live. I remember the sharp pain of the knife in my gut atop the ritual altar and how Zelus didn’t spare my people even after accepting my sacrifice. My village toiled in the fields to manage a handful of rotten vegetables; they lost children to plague and starvation. Every day is a struggle to exist for people living in Zelus’s lands.
Yet here in Aeheamel, Sierian’s people live comfortable, happy lives with warm, golden bread smeared in butter.
All of the emotions gathering inside me peak, and I scream, sinking to my knees on the clean stones beneath me.
I sense the weave moving around me, and the sensation brings me comfort. The scream dies in my throat, but I remain curled into a ball on the stones as Echo walks the perimeter of the alley, creating a barrier between us and the city.
With every strand he places in the barrier, the city disappears behind his luminous magic threads until I can no longer see it or hear it.
But I still know it’s there.
Just knowing such a place exists in this world while other places are so impoverished and failing makes me sick to my stomach.
When he’s finished, Echo comes back to my side. Unbuckling his sword from his belt and setting it aside, he sits, his arms wrapping around my shoulders as he drags me against him.
I fall into his embrace, curling up in his lap and burying my tear-soaked face in his soft shirt without a word. At least I can breathe again. At least I’m no longer screaming.
“I know it isn’t fair,” Echo murmurs, his voice a soft lullaby in the now-silent alley. “After seeing how other gods are letting their people down, Aeheamel must have come as a terrible surprise.”
“Surprise isn’t the right word,” I murmur against his shirt. “Devastation. It comes as a terrible devastation.”
Echo takes my chin in his thumb and forefinger, lifting my head until our gazes meet. “I am so sorry for your devastation.”
The wording is so ludicrous that I actually crack a small smile.
He seems pleased to have drawn it out in me, and he brushes his thumb over my chin gently as his eyes soften even more. Then his lips press together and he shakes his head.
“What Zelus and Kaius have done is inexcusable,” he goes on, a note of anger entering his tone. “It isn’t just inexcusable—it’s inhumane. And I’m furious for you. Furious for your family. For your village. Even if some of them were less than welcoming toward us.” He gives me a lopsided grin to take the sting out of his joke.
“Did you know how well Sierian cared for her people?” I ask, my voice rough. I drop my head back to his chest, embarrassed by how my face must look after my breakdown.
“No.” I feel him shift a little beneath me. “Just like we didn’t know things had deteriorated so badly in Caelfall. We’re so removed from the human realm. It’s not an excuse. Just a fact.”
We sit silently for a long moment, Echo’s hand tracing comforting swirls over my back.
“If I could fix this for you, I would.” His voice rumbles beneath my cheek, and I close my eyes against fresh tears. “I would shift the moon and stars to make everything right for you, Sage. To ease your pain.”
I lift my face of my own accord this time, my heart pounding at the sweetness of his words. He’s staring at me with fathomless dark eyes that reflect my own inner pain.
“I would take away everything that’s ever hurt you,” he says gruffly, gathering my hair between his hands as his gaze moves over my face.
Heat floods me when his gaze lands on my lips. I sit up a little straighter, resting a hand on his chest as we stare at each other for an interminable minute.
Then we both move at the same time, our lips coming together with a desperation born of need.
I have craved this man’s touch almost as long as I’ve known him, my body responding to his with a fierce desire that sometimes frightens me. But this is different. It’s more than that.
What I need from Echo right now is more than just physical. I need to connect with him, to take from him and give myself to him in the deepest way possible.
I need his goodness and his strength, his humor and his willingness to bend to the demands of the world, but never to break. He’s become so important to me that I cannot imagine my existence without him, and right now, I need to show him exactly what that means.
My lips move against his, my tongue dancing with his as I gather the skirt of my dress in one hand, maneuvering the fabric to allow myself room to shift on Echo’s lap. When I straddle him, there’s nothing but the fabric of his pants and the thin layer of my panties separating us, and he groans, already hard as his cock presses against me.
It rubs against the spot that sends fire licking through me, and I shift my hips, grinding against him in a way that makes us both breathe harder. Before I can do it again, Echo’s hands slide under my legs, and he heaves me up into his arms as he surges to his feet. A second later, my back is to the alley wall, my body pinned between the unmoving stone and Echo’s hard body.
“I would do anything for you, Sage,” he murmurs. “You make me want to fix things. To be better.”
The emotions churning in my chest rise into another peak, forcing all the air from my lungs, and I roll my hips against Echo’s, bracing against the wall to get more friction against his body.
His pupils dilate, the dark circles almost seeming to blend with the deep brown of his irises. Breathing hard, I reach between us, slipping my hand beneath his waistband and gripping his thick length. His jaw clenches, and the muscles in his cheeks jump as he presses himself into my palm.
His cock is hard and soft at the same time, stiff and rigid in my grip but with skin that’s smooth as silk. I run my fingertips over the length of it, watching as Echo releases a shuddering breath. There’s a ridge near the tip, and the head is even smoother than the rest, broken only by a small slit. I’m fascinated and aroused by my exploration of him, and I greedily soak up his responses to my touch, devouring him with my gaze as he works to control himself.
Our bodies are pressed close together, our faces only inches apart, and even though I know there’s an entire city bustling with people outside of this alley, beyond the little bubble Echo created with the weave, in this moment it doesn’t feel like it.
Right now, it feels like Echo and I are the only two people who exist in this world or the next.
My touch is working him up, drawing him tight as a bowstring, and I can feel his cock thickening in my grip. Beads of liquid seep from the end of it, and I use the moisture to smooth out my movements as I drag my hand up and down.
“Farse.”
The word is hardly more than a choked breath, and Echo’s head tips back slightly as he speaks. He meets my gaze, and I can see duty warring with desire just like it did in the woods.
He wants to take this further. I know he does. I do too.
He knows it’s a bad time to do that though, for a multitude of reasons.
I know that as well, I truly do.
But one thing these past several weeks have taught me is that there might never be a good time. We’re walking on a knife’s edge between safety and ruin every day, and at any moment, we could topple over into oblivion.
Now might not be a good time to let the feelings between Echo and me boil over.
But it may very well be our only time.
“Echo,” I whisper, my voice infu
sed with every ounce of need that’s coursing through my body. “Please…”
I’ve never begged him before. With my body, maybe, but never with words. Never so openly and overtly.
And the effect is instantaneous.
I expect him to set me down on my feet and step away from my touch, to insist that we put ourselves back together and rejoin the others. But instead, he lets out a low, needy groan a second before his lips crash into mine.
His answer is in the way his tongue plunders my mouth, in the way one hand roams possessively over my body while the other holds him up, in the way his hips thrust harder into my hand.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” he says against my lips, his words broken by hungry kisses. “Your first time shouldn’t be like this.”
My heart is fluttering like a caged bird in my chest as I thread my fingers through the thick dark hair at the back of his head, meeting his gaze. “You can’t hurt me, Echo. I want this so much. Please, I know it won’t hurt.” I press away from the wall a little to kiss him hard and deep. “And it doesn’t matter where we are. It’s not about any of that. It’s about you and me. Us. Please.”
An expression like determination passes over his face, and I can feel the tension in every line of his body as he lifts me higher in his arms. His free hand moves between us, shoving my skirt up around my waist before tugging sharply at my panties. The fabric rips along the seam, and he tears it away from me, dark eyes fixated on me as if he’s never seen anything so beautiful in his entire existence.
“Wrap your arms around me, Sage,” he murmurs. “Hold on to me.”
I do as he says, releasing his cock and winding my arms around his neck, gripping tightly as my clit pulses with an indescribable ache.
“I’ll be deep, little soul.” There’s a warning in his voice, but there’s something else in it too. Something that sounds almost tortured, as if the very thought of what I’ll feel like is undoing him. “I’ll be so deep in this position. And you’re so small. Do you think you can take me?”