If all else fails, act like you need their protection … for a time.
His amusement diminished. “Not right now. Have some coffee.”
“What if I told you to take your coffee and kindly shove it where Tain’s light doesn’t shine?” So much for following my mother’s advice … as usual. “Hypothetically, of course,” I added with too much sweetness to be genuine. “I’m just trying to understand how things work here.”
“Tain’s light doesn’t shine anywhere here. That aside, your suggestion still gives offense. Hypothetically, of course,” he echoed with equally false politeness that didn’t reach his eyes. His gaze flicked down. “As does threatening someone with a knife. I would advise against both courses of action.”
My hand froze where it had been slowly working open my mother’s knife in the shelter of my palm.
“Who’s threatening whom?” I whispered, my throat tight.
He sighed and unfolded his arms. “I fear we’ve gotten off on the wrong foot. Let’s try this again.” Swooping forward too fast for me to recoil, he took my hand—the one with the knife. He raised my fingers to his lips, staring at me with eyes that looked liquid black in the lamplight. When his head bent and his mouth pressed against the back of my hand, I could have sworn I felt the tip of his tongue brush my skin. “It’s truly a pleasure to meet you face-to-face, Kamai.”
I shivered. It wasn’t a bad feeling at all, and almost entirely new. Why my body chose to respond to him, despite any good sense I might possess or any danger I might be in, was beyond me. But I couldn’t help it.
That didn’t mean I wanted to kiss him, or for him to even kiss my hand again, let alone anything else.
I came to my senses and ripped my hand away. Vehyn let it slip through his fingers, but he kept my knife.
“That’s mine,” I said, shaking myself. He’d used his touch like an attack in disguise and then disarmed me. I should have known better, especially since someone touching me didn’t usually throw me off balance like that. Double bastard. I held out my hand. “Give it back.”
“Mm, I think not. For my own protection, of course.”
Somehow, I didn’t think I could hurt him with a knife anyway. One soulwalker could harm another, even kill them, and the effect would echo in the real world. My mother had hinted of assassins, abhorrent to her, who killed other soulwalkers. While wandering the sleeping realm, a spirit was still tethered to the body—which was why other sensations here affected us, as if in the flesh—and if the spirit was cut down, a body couldn’t live. The victims simply appeared to die in their sleep. But that happened mostly in the old days, before a previous Eopian king put strictures upon soulwalking—as rare as the gift was—limiting its powers to only priests and priestesses of Heshara and requiring known bloodlines to be tested. As my mother told me, soulwalkers like us were breaking that law and risking everything.
“Wait,” I said. “You’re not a priest of Heshara, are you?” It sounded absurd, but my mother had warned me against both the clergy and the black door my entire young life, so maybe the two were somehow connected.
Vehyn threw back his head again and laughed. And kept laughing.
My cheeks grew hot. “Fine, so you’re not a priest.”
“No,” he said, swallowing his laughter. It had made him look younger, almost certainly my age, but then that strange look returned to his eyes that hinted at something deeper, older. “No, I’m not a priest.”
“Then what are you?”
“Ah.” He raised a single, elegant finger. “Now, that is the question, isn’t it?”
He was suddenly looming over me, again moving too fast for me to anticipate, forcing me to lean back against the table. He was a lot taller than me, taller than Hallan or even Razim, I realized. My elbow bumped the coffeepot, and I gasped, but couldn’t spare it a glance. His gaze was locked on mine.
“What. Am. I?” he murmured, tipping a fraction closer with each word. His face was inches from mine, lips close enough to kiss. But kissing was even further from my thoughts than it usually was. His eyes were bottomless pits like the windows. Like a skull’s.
A realization struck me, suddenly, for no particular reason. Maybe it was those strangely ageless eyes—the unsettling wrongness of them. Maybe it was this place, like no nehym I’d ever seen. Fear returned full force, then doubled, quadrupled, hitting me like a barrel of cold water. It swallowed me. I couldn’t breathe, and my knees almost buckled. Vehyn caught my arms in a cool grip that felt as immovable as the black walls.
“Take a breath, Kamai.”
I did, ragged and gasping. “You’re not…” I couldn’t say it. But it was repeating, over and over again, in my head:
You’re not human.
He seemed to know what I meant to say. “No.” Without adjusting his hold, he lifted me, seating me on top of the table so I wouldn’t fall. “I’m not. You’re perceptive.” I couldn’t tell if he was mocking me. He kept leaning forward, bracing his arms on either side of my legs, both a predatory and possessive stance. Despite a certain feminine grace, his arms were muscled, masculine. Far stronger than mine.
Did arms even have anything to do with strength, in this place? Or if he wasn’t human? I had no idea of the ways he might be stronger than me. The ways he might be able to hurt me.
What did that even mean, that he wasn’t human? Aside from his eyes, he didn’t look particularly monstrous, unlike the stories that haunted children’s nightmares. There were legends of beings from before the gods’ time, some subjects of fables to tell over the dinner table and some that faded into ancient myth, only found in dusty crumbling texts or whispered about near campfires. But none of those stories were believed to be as real as the gods. And yet here he was, this strange, impossible being, standing before me. Cornering me.
“Where did you come from?” I asked again, leaning back on my hands, away from him.
“I live here,” he said simply, still looming over me.
It wasn’t exactly an answer, but it was a clue. This place wasn’t really a nehym, at least not like a human’s, not if he stayed here and never woke up—if he was even asleep and didn’t simply exist here. There were myths of strange places other than the waking and sleeping realms, not just strange beings. I hadn’t even seen the sleeping realm outside of my clearing and a few other sleepers’ souls. I had no idea what else might be out there.
Vehyn was out there.
I swallowed loudly. “How long have you been here?”
He smiled. “A while.”
I had to get out of here. Now. A good, healthy part of me no longer wanted to know who or what Vehyn was. But that other part of me wouldn’t shut up. “Can you leave?”
His smile flickered. “It wouldn’t be wise, at the moment, but I stay by choice. A choice I now have, thanks to you opening the door.”
Holy Heshara, what have I done? Instead, I asked, “What do you want?”
He reached toward my face, and I flinched. But he only tucked a lock of my hair behind my ear. “A lot.”
I forced the words out. “What do you want with me?”
Abruptly, he withdrew, pacing back toward the arching hallway. “I was trying to have coffee with you.”
I took a deeper, slower breath, relieved that he’d moved away, but a voice of alarm was still screaming inside of me: Gods, he’s not human. He’s not human. He’s not human. My heart was a galloping horse in my chest. “And now?”
“I’ll let you go, if you’d like.” He leaned in the threshold again. But instead of the long, stretching hallway behind him, now there was the black door.
If I could have been sure my legs would stay under me, I would have shoved off the table and run for it. As it was, I slid onto my feet and held the back of a chair for support.
“But under one condition.” His words were enough to stop my forward momentum.
“And what’s that?” I asked.
His eyes held me in place as surely as his hands had. “You mu
st come back to see me.”
One part of me filled with dread, and the other with taut anticipation. However unsettling this place was, I didn’t think I could just leave it—and someone like Vehyn—and never look back. And if swearing to return was the only way to escape, I would do it. “Just once?”
“Frequently. Or else, fine, once, and we can have this same conversation the next time you try to leave.”
A regular schedule wasn’t exactly what I’d had in mind. My jaw clenched and my fingers tightened on the back of the chair. “How frequently?”
“I don’t know, what’s a good amount of time? Soon, but not too soon. I don’t wish to tire of you,” he added with a smirk.
“Every year?” I suggested, too quickly.
He clicked his tongue, guessing my game. “Sooner than that.”
“Every month?”
“Mm, still sooner, I think.”
“Every … week?”
That sounded like far too often to me, but he said, “Perfect. The last day of every week, as soon as the sun sinks fully from your sky.”
Your sky, he’d said, not his, because he didn’t belong to the waking world. I repressed a shudder—a bad one, this time.
“But that would make my next visit in four days.” That was much too soon.
He shrugged. “At least, that’s when you are required to visit,” he clarified. “I won’t forbid it if you want to come back more often.”
“Not likely.” I hesitated. “And if I say yes to this, but I break my word…?”
His already black eyes seemed to darken, the air thicken. “You’ll wish you hadn’t.” He shrugged, and the sudden pressure in the air—the power—lifted as if he were shucking it off. “And besides, then you won’t learn the answers to your questions.”
My breath caught. “You’ll tell me who you are? And explain the black door?”
“Eventually, yes … and so much more than that.”
Curiosity got the better of me, even now when I should have been running for my life. “Like what?”
He stared at me for a moment, considering. “I know who killed your mother. And why.”
I stared right back, holding his eyes without fear, the thought of revenge burning everything else away, so hot in my throat I didn’t know if I wanted to cry or scream. The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them. “Tell me.”
“Only when you return. And now that I’m sure you will…” He stepped aside and held the door open for me, a sly grin on his eerily beautiful face.
9
BETTER QUESTIONS
Vehyn was right. I did come back to the dark fortress—if fortress could even encompass its sheer size—that lay beyond the black door, and not only because of the vague, looming threat of some terrible consequence if I didn’t. I wanted my answers. I needed them. More than knowing what I had done by opening the black door, I wanted to know why my mother had died, and who had killed her. Then I wanted to kill them.
And maybe I couldn’t resist taking another peek behind the black door.
Not that I forgot about the danger, especially as I stepped over the threshold for a second time, on the prearranged evening. It was nearly all I had thought about in the past days. Nikha, as well as my tutor—and even Jidras, who actively tried not to notice me—had commented on my distraction. While my thoughts roamed, a chorus of anxious questions rose constantly in the background: What would my mother think of all this? Who was Vehyn? What was he?
This time, Vehyn was waiting for me in the immense entrance hall. Although he appeared otherwise occupied, gazing down the center shaft of the great spiral staircase. I didn’t approach too closely, in case he decided to hurl me into it.
“Kamai,” he said, turning and smiling, shocking me once again with his youthful face and strange eyes, his otherworldly beauty. “You came.”
“Yes.” I shifted on my feet, breathless and ready to run for my life. “So … I’m here. Now what?”
He cocked his head. “Impatient, are we?”
“I upheld my end of the deal. I want answers.”
“And you’ll get them. But first, I want to show you something.”
He headed right for me and held out his hand, which looked especially pale against the stretch of midnight floor between us.
Feeling like I was once again opening the door, trying not to think about what it meant, I took his hand. Despite his skin being warm and silk-smooth, I could feel the strength underneath it.
We climbed—not the spiral staircase, but dozens of others, taking twists and turns I never could have remembered. I tried not to dwell upon the endless hallways stacking behind me, walls upon walls, trapping me here. Even so, my eyes hungrily ate up every step into this strange, dark labyrinth. And they traced Vehyn’s outline, over and over again, in wary curiosity.
Not human.
And yet he wasn’t turning around and lunging at me, or sprouting claws or fangs. The longer he didn’t, the less wary and the more curious I became.
We eventually emerged onto a tower rooftop shrouded in blackness, looking out over a seemingly endless rise and fall of the spires and bridges of the fortress. There, in the center of the rooftop, stood a round black table, small—intimate—by the usual proportions of this place, dwarfed by its surroundings. Red roses blossomed in a vase, and a spread of shining silver plates and gleaming wineglasses awaited us on the table. Who had laid it out, I had no idea. I highly doubted Vehyn had. Which meant it might have been the fortress itself, since no one else was here.
Vehyn pulled out one of two tall-backed black chairs for me. I hesitated.
He grinned, flashing those sharper-than-usual canines. “I’m not going to bite.” His voice was rich with amusement.
“There are a lot of other ways you could hurt me,” I said quickly, trying not to look at his teeth.
His dark eyes grew more serious. “I promise I will let no harm befall you, Kamai.”
The words were so certain, so absolute, that I found my feet carrying me forward. I tried to ignore him as I sat down and he scooted my chair in. But he was warm behind me, like a fire. When he moved away, I breathed a sigh of relief. Or maybe simply of release from the tension.
Before long, we were facing each other over the table.
“Wine?” he asked.
“Who killed my mother?”
Vehyn pursed his lips and made a chiding noise, but his eyes were alight with mirth. “So soon? If we eat dessert before the meal, you won’t be hungry for the rest.”
“And what exactly is that supposed to mean?”
“There were many steps to get up to this tower, no? Take it slow, enjoy the journey.”
“You mean you won’t tell me right away, because I won’t keep coming back.”
“If you want to look at it in such a harsh light.”
“Did you kill my mother?” I didn’t think he had—I didn’t know how he could have, being trapped in here without a body in the waking world—but I wanted to shock him into giving me at least some sort of answer.
All he said, infuriatingly, was, “That’s not how this works. You don’t get to ask a question until you’ve answered mine.”
I blinked. “What question?”
He lifted the bottle. “Would you like any wine?”
I couldn’t help the sharp, short laugh that guffawed out of me.
“I take that as a yes.” He reached to pour, gracefully holding the sleeve of his black robe away from the silver platters. The liquid splashing into my glass was dark as blood at night.
I eyed it suspiciously and then reminded myself that he could have killed me well before now. Why go to the trouble of poisoning me?
I took a mouthful—heavy, rich, and sweet, just how I liked it, except better than anything I had ever tasted in the waking realm. I couldn’t resist taking another sip, and then regretted it when my head began to buzz almost instantly. It was strong.
I made my voice firm, steady. “I answered your
question. Now you should answer mine.”
“No,” he said. I thought he was refusing me until he added, “I didn’t kill your mother.”
“But then—”
“My turn,” he interrupted. “What is your favorite dish?”
My favorite dish? That was what he wanted to know? I even thought he might already know, since he seemed to have intuited my preferences with the wine.
“Garlic-and-coconut-crusted octopus with papaya and peppe—”
Before I could finish, Vehyn whipped away the silver lid of one of the platters, and there it was, papaya and pepper sauce and all. I didn’t know if he’d anticipated what I would say or if this place had conjured it upon my word. Whatever the case, I couldn’t help but be a little impressed, despite myself.
I doubted the meal would nourish me in any measurable way, but it tasted divine as I took a bite. I didn’t allow eating to stop my flow of questions, though. “Where are we?”
“Where I live,” Vehyn answered patiently, not sampling the food, only taking small sips of wine.
“That’s not an answer. Are we even in the sleeping realm?”
“No. Somewhere just outside of it.”
“But where?”
“Elsewhere.” Before I could groan, he said, “Kamai, you might consider that you would get better answers if you asked better questions.”
I glared at him. “Okay, then—”
“No, my turn again,” he said, making me grit my teeth. “What do you like to do in your leisure time?”
“Read. Play Gods and Kings. Explore souls. Receive answers to my questions.”
He leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers, studying me as if I were a puzzle box. “You will. I promise.”
“When?”
“When it’s time.”
I nearly bent my silver utensil as my hand clenched around it. “But—”
“Do you like living at your father’s?”
My irritation ebbed like a wave, leaving me feeling bare and grittily raw. “No.”
“Why?” That was two questions from him, but I barely noticed.
Beyond the Black Door Page 9