Beyond the Black Door
Page 35
Which was no small thing, as Nikha had proven, time and again.
He smiled ruefully. “It doesn’t sound like you’ll be here much, at least not for a while.”
That was true. Nikha and I were soon going to travel, to spread the word about the Soulwalkers Guild and try to bring others like me out of hiding. That wasn’t the only purpose of our adventure—Lenara had strongly hinted that it would be good for me to leave the city for a while, royal pardon aside, to let the murmurs die down. At least I would get to explore the land I had so long dreamed of seeing.
I tried not to think about my other dreams.
I focused, also, upon Nikha fulfilling her dreams. His dreams, soon. Before we were to travel, Lenara would declare Nikha soul-crossed, so she could finally accept the title of royal bodyguard, even though she would only be guarding me, for the time being. More important, she would begin living as a man. She was ready now to do this for herself. Himself. Sometime later, when it felt comfortable, Nikha would take the name Kihan—different, masculine, but built with the letters of the old name, to honor it.
I wished I could rebuild myself from the pieces that were left. But I wasn’t truly broken, I knew. Only time would heal my wounds. The least I could do, in the meantime, was honor myself, as I was.
* * *
Lenara didn’t have to worry, as least not that the black door was sealed. I checked on it more often than I should have. So I knew precisely when the rose petals started to appear from under the crack at the bottom. Kihan—no longer Nikha, at least with me—and I were on the road, in a small town a few days out from the capital, roughly a month after I had killed the king.
I tried to ignore the petals at first, but they piled up in heaps that never withered or blew away. One day, I couldn’t ignore them any longer. I swept them aside and wrote a note, on a small scrap of paper, thin enough to slide under the black door.
I can’t think of a better use for my soul than to keep you from the world … nor can I think of a better keeper of it. The last part was my own rose petal. Soft and sweet, masking the sharper truth that came before.
The paper came back with black, angular print that looked like thorns but didn’t prick … except for my heart. There, the words lodged.
I want to say something pithy here, but I find myself uninspired. The truth is: I love you, as much as I am capable of it. I wish I didn’t, more powerfully than I’ve ever wished for anything, but there it is. The irrational, bitter, impotent truth.
Only he could make something so romantic sound unromantic. Or was it something so unromantic, romantic? I could have laughed if tears weren’t building in my throat instead.
My feelings exactly, I wrote back.
Then why not open the door and join me? This night is lonely now, without you. And then: I have changed. I’ll be good. I promise.
Had he truly changed? My mother had always taught me that men like that rarely did. Evil, abusive people were rotten in their souls, and nothing you could do would fix them. Vehyn’s feelings for me didn’t make him a better person, or more human. He’d probably loved me, in his own twisted way, from the very beginning, even as he’d hated me. But Vehyn’s soul was my soul, and while I couldn’t change him, perhaps the Darkness leaving him had.
Besides, he wasn’t quite a man. Not only because he wasn’t human, but because he was really only eighteen years old. That was when he had come into existence, and he’d been living with Darkness since then. Now, without it, perhaps he could truly grow. Become something new and different and … good.
But he would have to do that on his own, first, without me.
That didn’t mean I didn’t love him.
I’d learned another of my mother’s teachings for myself: you couldn’t help loving whom you loved. Or how you loved. I loved Vehyn, despite who he was, despite the dark power over me that he shouldn’t have had. Maybe I even loved certain shades of that. That didn’t make me evil, or wrong. But I also knew I needed to pull away before I got hurt too badly. Or when I needed to heal.
And now I trusted myself to know exactly when that was.
I leaned against the black door. The strange, living warmth touched me through my gown, and I could almost feel Vehyn’s breath against my neck, his smile. I wrote two words on the paper—rose petals, perhaps.
Maybe someday.
I slid the paper back underneath, and I looked up at the shiny black globe of the doorknob, the stars of my clearing twinkling above it. Did it look like darkness against the sky, or a new moon?
Without deciding, I stood and walked away from the door, back to Kihan and the waking world.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Thank you to everyone who believed in this book. I wrote it for teen-me who never saw myself on the page and who thought, because of that, something was wrong with me and not what was getting published. After writing the book, I still found myself wondering if I was the only one who would want to read it, but luckily the enthusiasm of others helped carry me through those times.
Thanks especially to my editor John Morgan, publisher Erin Stein, and the whole team at Imprint for not only publishing this book, but publishing it proudly. John loved the parts that were dearest to me when I thought they would have to be cut, and even encouraged me to dive deeper, to say it louder. Thanks to Kirsten Carleton, for championing this book from my first pitch to pitching it to editors, and for finding it such a perfect home.
Finally, thank you so much to my earliest readers who suffered through the roughest drafts: Lukas Strickland, Michael Miller, and Deanna Birdsall. You guys are my pillars. Many thanks also to my unflagging, amazing critique partner, Chelsea Pitcher, and to beta readers, Katherine Locke, Tyler Murphy, Rosiee Thor, and especially Terran Williams, for giving me such thoughtful feedback. And finally, thank you to those future readers who have been so enthusiastic without having read it yet because you suspect you might see yourself in these pages. It means more to me than I can say to share this with you.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
A.M. Strickland was a bibliophile who wanted to be an author before she knew what either of those words meant. She shares a home base in Alaska with her husband, her pugs, and her piles and piles of books. She loves traveling, dancing, tattoos, and every shade of teal in existence, but especially the darker ones. Find her on Twitter @AdriAnneMS. You can sign up for email updates here.
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CONTENTS
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Dedication
1. Burning Curiosity
2. Hard Lessons
3. Strange Comforts
4. Creeping Things
5. Open Doors
6. Surprising Monsters
7. Heavy Silence
8. Immovable Nightmares
9. Better Questions
10. Petty Secrets
11. Hidden Strength
12. Blooming Shadows
13. Formidable Friends
14. Sacred Vows
15. Silent Lies
16. Impolite Intrusions
17. Clandestine Meetings
18. Deepest Selves
19. Shared Dreams
20. Short Eternities
21. Parting Words
22. Darkest Knowledge
23. Necessary Sacrifices
24. Small Victories
25. Royal Games
26. Misused Gifts
27. Worst Enemies
28. Buried Secrets
29. Bright Blades
30. Deep Wounds
31. Honest Disguises
32. Birthday Presents
33. Soft Truths
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Copyright
A part of Macmillan Publishing Group, LLC
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BEYOND THE BLACK DOOR. Copyright © 2019 by AdriAnne Strickland.
All rights reserved.
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Book design by Elynn Cohen
Imprint logo designed by Amanda Spielman
First hardcover edition, 2019
eBook edition, October 2019
eISBN 9781250198754