Beyond the Black Door

by A. M. Strickland

“I … miss my mother.” It wasn’t the real explanation. Or maybe it was, at the heart of it.

  Vehyn’s sharp, dark eyes seemed to soften. “Kamai, just know if ever you need a place, an escape … you’ll always be welcome here.”

  My throat squeezed down tight against my will and I focused on the red of the roses, the shine of the silver, the residue of sweet wine on my tongue. I would not cry in front of Vehyn. Not at the first bit of kindness he showed me. Quickly, more harshly than I intended, I asked, “Why? Why do you want my company?”

  “Why is that surprising to you?” Vehyn responded, unruffled. “Do you not hold yourself in high regard?”

  Now my cheeks threatened to flush. Because not always was the answer, and it shamed me. I knew I should honor and take pride in myself like my mother had always taught me, and yet I could too easily recall my shortcomings. Instead of indulging him with an honest reply, I said, “Receiving only more questions in response to my own doesn’t inspire me to answer.”

  He smiled. “I appreciate your company because you are the most interesting person I’ve ever met.”

  I sputtered over my wine. Even allowing for self-honor and pride, I found that hard to believe. “I’m not the only person you’ve met, am I?”

  His eyes gleamed, and he laughed. “No, Kamai, you’re not.”

  “That still doesn’t make sense,” I snapped. “You don’t know a thing about me.”

  He arched a dark eyebrow. “I don’t?”

  His regard was making me feel warm and strange. Or maybe that was the wine. “At least you shouldn’t,” I grumbled. “I don’t know anything about you.”

  “Someday,” he said, his words heavy as a promise. It sounded both enticing and foreboding, and that, more than anything else, made me stop questioning him for the moment.

  For the rest of the night, Vehyn indulged me by playing the tour guide, leading me to new places I could have never imagined behind the black door. We ventured through vast arches and vaults, stretching galleries lined with windows opening onto nothing, and always stairs, endless twisting and twining stairs.

  The tour ended with Vehyn leading me into the bowels of the fortress. The place he took me didn’t seem as unfathomably deep as the well of the great spiral staircase, but it hinted at such depth just the same. The underground cavern had an arching bridge spanning a wide crevasse. As we stood on the bridge, I leaned over the railing and looked down. The world seemed to end beneath my feet, in a vast chasm of nothing.

  When I shuddered, Vehyn put his strong hands on my shoulders. For a brief, fearful second, I thought he might shove me over the railing and off into oblivion, but instead, he steadied me.

  I didn’t shrug his hands off. I should have been alarmed at his touch, but I wasn’t. Why I wasn’t was beyond me. Maybe his hands even felt … good. But that was as far as it went. I certainly didn’t want him to try anything else, deadly or otherwise. And somehow, I trusted he wouldn’t.

  He sighed, almost in pleasure. “This is one of my favorite places here.”

  “Is the bottom of that spiral staircase another one?” I asked, unable to tear my eyes away from the void. “Because they’re both equally terrifying.”

  Which wasn’t true. The stairs were more terrifying, since they invited one down into the darkness, making it a place I could actually try to go.

  His hands slid away, and I turned to face him, almost … almost … missing the feel of him. He gave an answer to a question I hadn’t asked: “That spiral staircase has no bottom.”

  I’d guessed as much, but it still made me shiver to hear the impossible truth spoken so plainly.

  Despite my fear, my guilt, my impatience, I found the black fortress utterly fascinating. Looking around, I was consumed by the same awe as when I looked at a map of Eopia and tried to imagine everything the island contained. Except this place felt bigger than an entire continent, while being somehow more accessible. That made it even more intriguing.

  And yet, like the fortress itself, my fascination was rooted in something darker than in the waking world … as was Vehyn himself, and perhaps my growing fascination with him.

  * * *

  Vehyn apparently had a different concept of time than I did, because those “eventual” answers to my questions never seemed to arrive. Another four weeks passed in Jidras’s house, punctuated by four more trips behind the black door—the required number of visits. My eighteenth birthday approached. I never forgot that Vehyn wasn’t human, but he didn’t seem to want to hurt me—if torturing me with impatience didn’t count—and so, gradually, I began to relax in his presence. In all that time, he never answered a single question in a way that didn’t leave me with more.

  For one visit, to vex him because he was vexing me with his vagueness and arrogance, I only stayed for a short while. Since I’d stuck to the terms of our agreement, he couldn’t do anything about it—or at least he didn’t try to. This latest visit, I’d felt deprived of the world behind the black door—not of Vehyn, though, I told myself—and so I wandered the black fortress with him for what felt like hours in the sleeping realm. A mind was conscious while soulwalking, so even though my body rested, I never felt as rejuvenated after nights like these.

  As soon as my mind was alert enough to think the next morning, I was disgusted with myself. My mother had been dead for two months, and I was no closer to figuring out why, despite opening the black door. That wasn’t why I’d opened it in the first place, but now I desperately hoped something could be gained from doing the one thing my mother had forbidden me.

  If Vehyn wouldn’t give me answers, I would find them on my own. But I knew only one group who might have them: the Twilight Guild. I told myself that I didn’t have to join them to spy on them.

  I bided my time until Nikha and a few guards were readying to accompany Jidras’s steward on a trip to the port-side market. Household servants went out into the city daily on trifling, smaller errands, and I was never allowed to come along, but picking up a bulk load of dry goods required an armed escort.

  Nikha frowned when I asked her if I could come as well. “I’m not sure Sir Jidras will grant you permission. He wants everyone to forget you exist, as least until he presents you at court.”

  “I’m in danger of forgetting I exist,” I muttered.

  My self-pity seemed to help my case, because Nikha’s gaze softened. “I’ll ask.” She pursed her lips. “As much as I hate to say it, wearing a scarf would help. If you stay covered—”

  “Of course!” I said. I had no problem keeping the sun off my head and paying respect to Heshara at the same time, especially if it would encourage Jidras to allow me to leave.

  Miraculously, Jidras wasn’t out on business, and even more miraculously, he agreed to the excursion, as long as I promised to stick close to Nikha and keep my head down and covered. Maybe he felt bad about the fact that I’d been cooped up indoors the past couple of months. Or maybe he just wanted me out of his way, where I could go be a bother to someone else. He even gave each of us a small purse of coins.

  I cringed inwardly as Nikha helped me into the carriage and took a seat next to me. I hoped I wouldn’t cause her too much trouble or worry, but there was nothing else for it. The carriage was departing. Jidras’s steward sat up front with the driver, while another couple of guards followed on horseback.

  White rows of beautiful town houses fell away as we rode down the hill, away from the palace at the highest point of the city under the mountains, and the wealthier neighborhoods nestled beneath its walls. Toward the center of town, the city’s architecture had room to flourish.

  Beautiful promenades lined the streets. White stone columns arched into balconies that overflowed with greenery, providing cool, fresh shade in the heat. Coral fountains and gazebos bloomed on street corners and in busy intersections, their rounded tops echoing the white and bronze domes that defined the bright skyline—pointed like onions; scalloped like melons; or simple, smooth hemispheres that glowe
d like rising suns against the sky.

  At the fountains’ centers, surrounded by the glittering flow of water and mosaics, stood stunning statues of the gods: Tain with solid gold eyes and hair flaring in the sunlight against his dark visage, Heshara with her serenely smiling face of white marble draped in onyx locks, warm-skinned Ranta proffering bushels of wheat and bouquets of flowers so artfully rendered they looked real. I’d heard that in other lands, they had rules against depicting the gods outside of temples or at all, and the gods even went by different names, though they still represented the sun, the moon, and the earth—the father, the mother, the daughter—the holy trio that had risen to replace the more multitudinous gods and mythical beings from a forgotten age. Still, the entire world acknowledged Shalain as a holy city, the birthplace of the oldest, most traditional form of the gods’ worship. Here, it was only the king who forbade his own likeness in public, supposedly to pay respect to the gods by not attempting to imitate them.

  As we neared the port market, most of the grandeur dropped away, but what remained was no less exciting. More organic and chaotic buildings sprouted up around us, jumbles of stone and wood like crooked teeth in a smile, with colorful awnings and jutting stalls. Only clay statues of voluptuous Ranta could be seen here in small, rough-hewn alcoves. Racks of beautiful cloth and woven rugs, along with tables of fruit and fresh fish, spilled out into the street, making traffic impossible. Soon we had to park the carriage and continue on foot.

  I spotted all manner of people buying, selling, and trading, from nobles to wealthy merchants to harried servants to those barely better than beggars—and quite a few actual beggars. Jidras’s steward immediately embarked into the fray, attended by several guards, while Nikha stayed with me.

  “We don’t need to go with them?” I asked.

  “They’ll be fine without me.” Nikha grinned and stretched. “Besides, I wouldn’t mind a break from bargaining for flour, beans, and nuts for the next two hours. I’d prefer fresh air instead … though I wouldn’t mind some of these.”

  She dropped a coin into a passing vendor’s hand and scooped up a handful of cashews from his cart, ignoring his look of astonishment—perhaps at her armor or the brashness with which she conducted herself, both usually reserved for men. The nuts were roasted with a mix of cinnamon and spicy pepper. She passed me half, and they were still warm as I ate one, thinking.

  Nikha and I being on our own would make my plan easier, but I couldn’t lose focus in all the excitement. There was nothing I’d rather do than wander the market with her, taking in the sights and smells and flavors, but I’d indulged myself enough behind the black door.

  I tossed back my cashews quickly and dusted off my palms, already sticky in the heat. “I’d really like to go to a wine shop—I’ve heard Esva’s is a good one.”

  Nikha blinked at me. “Why? Sir Jidras has plenty of wine, down in the cellar. You remember he’s from the Risha province, right?”

  “There’s a particular kind he doesn’t have that my mother liked—an import.” That much was true. “I just … I thought the taste of it might remind me of her.”

  I had actually never cared much for the flavor—too dry—but such an excuse would prevent Nikha from questioning me much.

  She didn’t, only frowned, as if she didn’t like the thought of me drinking. It didn’t matter that we weren’t many years apart in age, and that I was only a week away from turning eighteen. I still wasn’t a legal adult yet, and she was my guardian, which made her a touch parental at times, not just protective. I kept my face free of impatience.

  “Well,” she said finally, “if anywhere would have it, Esva’s would.”

  Esva. The wealthiest, most successful wine merchant in Shalain. Her shop was near the port, as was the market. I had never been there, but the woman had been both a patron and a peer of my mother and Hallan—and a member of the Twilight Guild. Ciari was her daughter. It was she who ran her mother’s shop and absorbed all the drink-loosened secrets of the world’s wine enthusiasts and reported them as a member-in-training of the guild.

  And it was she I wanted to speak to. But Nikha couldn’t know that I knew Ciari from my previous life.

  Nikha started off into the crowd, pointing out her favorite food vendors on the way. She bought us each grilled shrimp and pineapple on a stick, dusted in salt and chili powder, and ate hers like a child with a pilfered piece of candy. At least someone was enjoying themselves.

  Despite my mission, the sight of the port opening up before me made me gasp. Towering masts, furled sails, and rigging spread out like a leafless forest of tall trunks and taut vines, with the wide blue ocean glittering beyond. So many dhows, huge and small, from the king’s largest warships to sleek trading vessels to the tiniest fishing craft, and many different boats from other lands all floated in the harbor, while sailors with equally myriad styles of dress and skin tones populated them. The whole world lay beyond this port.

  Nikha and I soon reached the store, a flush stone building with layers of alcove-style windows, arching to points and peering down on the bustling street like spying eyes. The building also commanded a fantastic view of the comings and goings of the port and was the perfect place to stop in for a bottle—or a shipment—of wine. Esva and Ciari would be sure to take your secrets with your money.

  The shop was cool and dim like a cave, low lamps in bronze sconces lending a soft gleam to the hundreds and hundreds of bottles racked on dozens of shelves. And this was only the first floor. There were no doubt more prized wines on the upper floors and in the packed cellars down below.

  I recognized Ciari immediately—tall, with her smooth fall of black hair that went nearly to her waist now. Her features were too angular to be truly gorgeous, but she was still a striking, handsome figure. I suddenly and uncomfortably remembered her eyes, hovering just above mine as we lay in bed together, peering down at me with mischief and lust.

  She certainly recognized me too. She turned away from a customer—a wealthy merchant by the looks of him—and nearly dropped her stylus and paper-lined tablet.

  I had to quickly signal to her—a subtle swipe of my hand, palm down—to not recognize me. I was using the Twilight Guild’s secret sign language, which both my mother and Hallan had begun teaching me. And then I held my breath. I had no idea if she would respect my wishes, but I had reason to hope.

  Her face immediately smoothed, and she excused herself from the merchant to approach me. I made another gesture toward an oblivious Nikha. She can’t know.

  “May I help you?” Ciari asked politely, no trace of familiarity in her voice.

  I asked after the bottle of wine I was looking for, all the while making low hand gestures. Need to talk. Alone. Need a distraction. I patted my purse of coins absently and glanced at Nikha, all the while striking up a conversation with Ciari about how she’d gotten into the wine trade at such a young age.

  “Let me have one of my employees check for that vintage,” she said after a suitable amount of friendly chatter. “It might take some time to find it, especially if we have to send a runner to one of our other cellars. Feel free to browse, or take in the sights of the port.” Go outside, she signed. Wait a half hour. Distraction. “I’ll send him to find you, wherever you are.”

  Even if I managed to get Ciari alone, I could only ask her what she knew in vague terms and perhaps hint at an interest in joining the Twilight Guild. I had no intention of doing so, but if I could kindle enough of a friendship, perhaps I could entice her to visit me at the town house. I had no intention of sleeping with her, of course, but she might take a nap, or I could slip some mohol into her coffee or wine, or something, anything, and then search her soul for answers.

  A start.

  Nikha and I wandered outside. “Are you sure you want to wait?” she asked, squinting into the bright sun, her spiky brown hair uncovered by a scarf, unlike my voluminous curls that were trapped under a deep blue silk I was beginning to regret in this heat, despite my
love of dark colors. “We can always have them deliver the bottle to the house.”

  “No,” I said hurriedly. “I mean, I don’t want Jidras or anyone to ask about it, because I don’t want to explain why I wanted it. They don’t need an excuse to talk about my mother more than they already do.”

  She nodded immediately, so ready to trust me, and my heart twinged at my deception—and the fact that there was more to come. To pass the minutes, I ordered a grilled fish wrapped in palm leaves from a street vendor, which would take a while to cook. I timed it as well as I could, purposefully moving a short way off to wait, in the shade of the fish market’s awning.

  When I saw the grubby-looking boy lurking in the shadow of the wine shop, trying to catch my eye, I gave him the slightest nod and then turned to Nikha. “Oh, I think the fish is ready. Do you want to go check? I’m feeling a little faint. Must be the heat.”

  She shot me a concerned glance, gave the area a cursory scan, and then strode toward the street vendor with the grilled fish. I had to give the boy credit; I didn’t see or hear him sneak up behind me. He waited until Nikha was as far away as she would get and then snatched the coin purse from my hip. I’d loosened the ties for him.

  “Nikha, my purse!” I cried.

  She spun, hand on her sword, to see the boy duck through the fish market. Still, she hesitated to go after him.

  “That’s how I was going to pay for the wine!” I whined in my most pathetic voice. “Don’t worry, I’ll wait right inside the shop.”

  Her eyes narrowed in a flash, as if she didn’t like the idea of chasing him, but then she was on the move, dashing around the side of the fish market, trying to head him off. Even though I’d seen her in action, she was still shockingly quick on her feet. I worried she might catch him—and fast.

  I didn’t have time to waste. Turning toward the wine shop, I bumped right into someone.

  “Oof!”

  For a split second, I thought it might be Ciari, but the chest I’d hit was hard and flat, the shoulders much broader and higher than mine. A man’s. When I raised my hand to brace myself, strong fingers caught my wrist in a manacle-like grip. I gasped, and my gaze shot up to a shrouded face, wrapped in a light gray scarf. Familiar eyes stared down into mine.