by Jade Mere
They walked outside. Stars flickered above, a rare clear night. He hadn’t noticed how different the constellations were here. It looked like purple dust had been sprinkled across the sky.
“I think this is where we wish each other good luck,” Sornjia said.
Tahki rubbed his wrist and faced his brother. “You don’t have to do this. I’m the one haunted by spirits. You should be home, meditating with the monks. I bet they miss you.”
Sornjia pointed to the sky. “I’m right where I’m supposed to be. All the stars are shining their light on us, a thousand brothers and sisters wanting us to succeed.” With that, Sornjia headed down the road, Pooka trotting beside him with eerie fluidity, and for the briefest moment, Tahki felt as though some terrible fate awaited his brother.
THE CASTLE appeared darker than usual. He’d never been inside it alone before. Of course he wasn’t alone. Not with the queen locked up, a prisoner in her own home. She’d been so silent the last few days he’d almost forgotten about her.
It felt intimate, walking up the white stairway, heading through the black halls with no sound but the clack of his boots on the hard marble. The walls pressed around him; the floor curved to meet his feet. He reached out and ran his hand along the fine obsidian. The walls weren’t flat but bumpy, imperfect. A gem that hadn’t been cut. A few pillars below had crumbled, shards of obsidian scattered on the floor. He had dreamed of completing the castle for weeks, picturing what she would look like whole. Now he wondered what it would take to demolish her. He tried not to think about it and instead set his eyes on Dyraien’s door. When he reached it, he pressed an ear against the cold wood, but no sound stirred inside.
“Dyraien?” he said. No answer came. He pushed the handle down and walked inside, closing the door behind him as he looked around.
His senses flared as he entered the room. His ears strained to hear the sounds they hadn’t caught before: the low sleeping wails of the queen in the next room, the scrape of dry sand against the windowpane, the tick of a tall clock in the corner.
It didn’t look like the room of a prince. There were no lavish decorations, no tapestries or golden statues or bearskin rugs. But it was still the nicest room in the castle. His bed was large with royal blue sheets, puffy pillows, and four oak bedposts. The walls were lined with books on every subject from human anatomy to modern architecture to objective journals on world religions. Some of the books were about Dhaulen’aii. But he had books on many other cultures too. A few titles he didn’t recognize. He pulled one out and saw pictures of people in sexual positions. Quickly, he shoved the erotic covers away and felt himself flush.
The room smelled heavily of rosewater and some kind of citrus fruit. No dust lay on the floor, which meant he wouldn’t leave any footprints. His search started at the bookshelves. In stories he’d read, secret items—a poison knife or loaded pistol—were always hidden inside a carved-out book. There were too many books to go through, so instead, he flicked each one by the spine to see if any rattled. After that, he went to the windows and patted the curtains. He moved counterclockwise around the room, tapping the marble floor with his boots to see if any area felt hollow or wobbly. Every piece of clothing was unfolded and refolded. He skimmed schematics and letters stacked on the writing desk. He even opened up the mechanism in the clock.
He had no idea what a piece of the Dim looked like.
At one point, he found his design for the steam conduit system tucked neatly in one of the drawers. Dyraien would be suspicious if he found it missing, but he decided to take it anyway. He swiped the paper, folded it until it fit in his pocket, and felt immediately better. Dyraien might have already ordered the supplies, but at least if they destroyed this castle, he wouldn’t be able to make another. He continued to pace the wall, feeling for drafts or cracks, and when he found none, he checked Dyraien’s bath chamber with the same scrutiny.
Half an hour later, Tahki collapsed onto Dyraien’s bed. His eyes felt heavy with sleep, and his arms hurt. He let out a sigh and rubbed his temples, feeling foolish. He hadn’t found so much as a harsh letter. Maybe Nii had been wrong. Dyraien wasn’t hiding anything. He wasn’t following in the footsteps of his mother. Maybe this castle was some kind of cover-up for her mistakes, that all along he’d sought to make things right, give up the throne and give the council an apology gift.
He put his hand on the bedpost and heaved himself up. As he did, the post wobbled and something clunked inside. Tahki stared at the wooden post. He wiggled it, and it rattled again. It felt loose and hollow. With quick fingers, he unscrewed the knob at the top and peered inside. The post was indeed hollowed out, and something glinted inside. He reached in with his index and middle finger and grasped something. It took a moment to maneuver the item up the sides. When he finally freed it, he stepped to the window to examine it.
A stone the size of his palm lay in his hand, but he couldn’t really call it a stone. It looked more like glass, and beneath the smooth, clear surface, the night sky shined back at him.
He couldn’t tear his eyes away.
The stone hummed slightly. He’d seen stars through telescopes and read about bright lights that appeared in the northern sky. The stone in his hand reminded him of those lights. Purples, blues, and greens all mixed together, dancing as bright white specks flowed into one another. A small fleck shot across the surface like a shooting star. It circled the stone once and then erupted like a firework.
As he turned the stone over in his palm, mesmerized by its beauty, he noticed it wasn’t a stone, but a piece of something, like it had been broken off a larger part. But he’d never seen anything like it. In his head he listed all the minerals he knew, but none of them possessed properties like this. If it didn’t feel so sturdy, so real, he would have thought it to be an illusion.
The stone captivated him so entirely he didn’t hear the footsteps until they squeaked against the marble a few doors down.
Tahki spun around. The footsteps stopped right outside. He shoved the stone back in the post and loosely twisted the knob. As the door handle turned down, he dove under the bed, pulling his feet in as someone entered the room. He recognized Dyraien’s muddy white boots.
Sweat broke out across his brow. Had he seen Tahki dive under the bed? Did he notice the crumpled bedsheets? Had Tahki put everything back in its rightful place? Dyraien seemed like the kind of person who would instantly know if someone had rummaged through his things.
Tahki’s throat pressed against the hard marble, and he could feel his pulse beating. He tried to swallow, but the cold floor constricted his airway. Dyraien walked across the room, sat down on his bed, and released a sigh. The mattress curved downward and pressed against Tahki’s back. He watched Dyraien’s boots fly off, dirt skidding across the floor as they landed.
Tahki held his breath. A strange laugh caught in his throat, and the most unusual need to cry out struck him. How would he explain himself if he was found? Dyraien was paranoid about spies, especially foreign ones. And here Tahki was, hiding beneath the prince’s bed. He couldn’t look guiltier if he tried.
He felt Dyraien lie back onto the bed. The posts shook, and the knob Tahki hadn’t secured jiggled and fell to the floor with a loud clank. The knob rolled in a circle inches from Tahki’s face.
Silence.
Every hair on Tahki’s arm pricked upward. The pressure from the mattress lifted, and Dyraien stood above the knob, his bare feet close enough to touch.
Dyraien reached down and scooped up the knob. If he looked to his left, everything would be over. But his motions were fluid, his blond hair only bobbing into sight a second. The smell of ale and smoke wafted over Tahki. Again there came no sound.
This morning had been one of the proudest moments of his life. The feeling of accomplishment and success had overwhelmed him. He had thought things would finally go his way, that his life from that point on would be a series of consecutive wins. Now he wondered if these were his last moments of freedom. B
ut no, Dyraien wouldn’t imprison him. Tahki would be considered a traitor and killed.
He heard the stone slide down the post and the knob turn. The mattress curved against him again. Dyraien had put the stone back, perhaps figuring the loose knob had been his own error.
At least Tahki prayed he had.
Tahki lay still on his belly for countless minutes, until Dyraien’s snores became audible. Then he crawled out from under the bed and slid across the floor, his face low, his palms slippery with sweat against the marble. He dragged his body slowly so it wouldn’t squeak against the floor. The door lay only an arm’s length away when Dyraien coughed and the bed creaked.
Tahki froze. He didn’t dare turn to see if Dyraien watched him. The moonlight had dimmed, but the marble was so white that Tahki’s body formed a stark silhouette. He tried to hold his breath, but his lungs ached too much. Then a few prayers later, Dyraien’s snores filled the room again.
This time Tahki scrambled forward on his knees. Dyraien hadn’t shut the door tight, so it was easy to sneak through. It wasn’t until he was out in the hall and making his way down the stairs that he took a deep breath. His legs quivered like a thin wire bearing an elephant’s weight.
At the bottom of the stairs, he stopped. He should have taken the stone with him. But the stone alone wouldn’t have been enough to condemn Dyraien. It did, however, prove that Nii had been telling the truth, because nothing like that stone existed in this world.
Tahki made for the front door. He needed to find Sornjia and see what kind of item the parcel was, and if it would tie into the stone somehow.
“Tahki?”
Tahki startled.
Rye stood in the doorway of his workroom. “I thought you were resting.”
“I was,” Tahki said. “My legs hurt from sitting around all day. I thought I’d go for a walk.”
Rye ran a hand through his hair. “I’m glad you’re feeling better.” He turned back to his workroom, then hesitated. He faced Tahki and said, “Actually, if you have time, there’s something I’d like to talk to you about.”
Tahki remembered the promised talk, but now wasn’t the time to tell him about Dhaulen’aii or who he was. Or maybe it wasn’t about that at all. Maybe Rye had remembered the kiss and wanted to tell him he wasn’t interested. Either way, Tahki didn’t have time for a long—and most likely uncomfortable—talk. He needed to find out about the parcel.
“I’m a little tired,” Tahki said.
“I thought you said you were going for a walk.”
Tahki rubbed his wrist. “I was, but suddenly I don’t feel all that good.”
Rye’s eyes lowered. He shrugged one shoulder and said, “I understand. We’ll talk later. When you feel better.” He turned to go, and Tahki couldn’t stand it. Rye sounded so disappointed.
“A minute,” Tahki said. “Just a minute, and then I should get to bed.”
Rye nodded. “Let’s talk in my room.”
DESPITE HIS previous apprehension, Tahki felt a wave of calm upon entering Rye’s room. He’d come to associate the smells of linseed oil and coffee with comfort and safety.
When the door closed behind them, Rye spoke. “I’m not great with talking about stuff like this.” Tahki wasn’t sure what “stuff like this” meant, but Rye clearly had more to say, so he kept quiet. “But these last few days have been so confusing, and I can’t sort it all out in my head, so I need to say it aloud.”
Tahki situated himself on the bed, ready to listen.
Rye paced a little, fidgeted with one of his brass compasses, and then straightened his shirt. He must have become aware of his fidgeting, because when he spoke again, he folded his arms into each other as though to keep them still. “It’s about what happened at the river.”
Tahki tensed. “The river?” He thought of the black cat, of Nii, of the kiss.
Rye’s arms broke free and he rubbed his jaw. “I—” He swallowed. “I know you were traumatized, and you didn’t know what you were doing. But I don’t want you to avoid me, or act weird around me. We can just pretend it never happened, if that’s what you want.”
Tahki frowned. “Avoid you?”
“I know it didn’t mean anything.”
“What didn’t?”
Rye met his eyes with apparent effort. “You kissed me.”
This time it was Tahki who looked away, though he didn’t feel ashamed of what he’d done.
“It’s all right,” Rye said. “I know it was a mistake. It’s why you didn’t mention it, why you acted scared when you saw me just now.”
Tahki couldn’t tell him he had looked scared because he’d been sneaking around the prince’s bedroom.
“Rye, you don’t understand.”
“I do understand,” Rye said. Every muscle in his body tensed. “We’re isolated out here, and the isolation can get to you in more ways than one. Even if you don’t feel the same way I feel about you, we can still be friends.”
Tahki sat stiffly. “Even if I don’t feel the same way?”
Rye swallowed. “No one has ever made me feel so confused, so angry, so nervous and excited as you do.” He took a breath. “It frustrated me that someone I hardly knew could make me feel all that. Then you kissed me, and I thought you felt the same. But I understand you made a mistake. We’re adults. It doesn’t have to be awkward.”
Tahki felt lucid then, a warm sensation dissolving through his body as he realized what Rye was telling him.
“Say something,” Rye said.
But Tahki had nothing to say, because the feelings Rye had described were exactly how he felt too. He smiled, picturing Rye practicing this speech, trying to sound both diplomatic and indifferent but instead coming off flustered and shy. Rye looked a little hurt, probably thinking Tahki was mocking him.
So Tahki rose from the bed, stood directly in front of Rye, grabbed his face between his hands, and drew their lips together. He had to crane his neck upward to reach. The kiss was sloppy, but he didn’t care. He pressed into Rye, and Rye pressed back. He wrapped his arms around Rye’s neck and pulled their hips together. The embrace felt both painful and passionate, like their need for each other turned all other sensations into ones of pleasure.
When they broke apart, Rye pushed Tahki’s shoulders gently, and he fell onto the bed. Rye removed his shirt. Tahki tugged his shirt off, too, but suddenly felt self-conscious. He’d never thought about the appeal of his own body. His adolescence had been spent closed in a dark room drawing. He’d immersed himself so deeply in architecture that things like sex and physical attraction hadn’t mattered. He’d been called pretty before, but pretty wasn’t what he wanted. Pretty was flowers and sunsets. No one ever craved pretty, not the way they craved lean muscles, a strong jaw, and disarmingly dark eyes like Rye had.
But Rye’s desire was apparent, and Tahki relaxed a little. No one had ever looked at him with such want. Rye ran his fingers along Tahki’s collarbone. A line of goose bumps rose in their wake. Tahki let out a small gasp and dug his fingers into Rye’s hair. He never thought another person’s hands could feel so good, could make his body react so strongly. He wondered if Rye felt the same pressure building in his lower abdomen.
Rye leaned down and kissed him. This kiss was skillful. Tahki parted his lips and their tongues met. A delicious humidity passed between them, sweat rolling off their bodies. Each kiss touched something deep inside Tahki, a buried passion he hadn’t known existed. Rye’s breath came in hot, ragged waves. His skin was smooth and pale in the light, his muscles flexing with each small movement.
Then Rye started to move down Tahki’s body. He kissed him on his neck, his shoulders, his chest, and his belly. Tahki tried to reciprocate, but each time he sat up, Rye pushed him gently back down. When Rye started to unbutton Tahki’s pants, Tahki lifted his legs a little, which prevented Rye from continuing. Rye pushed his legs down, but Tahki drew them back up.
Rye stopped. “Is something wrong?”
“No. Everything
feels right.” Tahki panted lightly.
“Then why do you keep stopping me? Don’t you want this?”
Tahki frowned. “Of course. But you’re not letting me touch you the way you’re touching me.”
“What do you mean?”
“Every time I try to do something to you, you push me down. I just want to make you feel the way you’re making me feel.”
Rye lowered his eyes a little, uneasy now about something Tahki didn’t understand. He wished he’d kept quiet, let Rye do what he wanted, how he wanted.
“Right,” Rye said. “I guess that’s how it’s supposed to be, isn’t it? Two people together, trusting each other.”
Tahki didn’t know what he meant, but before he could ask, Rye grabbed his shoulders and yanked him up. He rolled over, so Tahki was on top now, Rye on his back.
“I’m all yours,” Rye said.
Tahki didn’t move. He straddled Rye, uncertain what to do. Clearly Rye felt uncomfortable letting Tahki have some control, and this was a gesture to show his trust. Tahki didn’t want to mess it up.
Rye watched him patiently. His hand slid up and down Tahki’s arm, stroking the skin in a gentle, sensual way. Tahki had no idea he could be aroused by such a simple touch.
He unbuttoned Rye’s pants and slid his hand in. It gave him a boost of confidence when he felt Rye’s arousal. He moved his hand quickly and kissed Rye’s neck. Rye moaned and unbuttoned Tahki’s pants.
“Like this,” Rye whispered in his ear. With maddening slowness he touched Tahki, only his motions were different, more rhythmic. Tahki mimicked, and for a time they melted into each other, their bodies entwined, burning like fire. Or maybe it was like water flowing. Or mountains colliding. Or wind sweeping across an endless plain.
The pressure inside Tahki grew and grew until his insides shook and shivered, and the release tore through him so strongly he bit his own lip and tasted blood before it was done. Beneath him, he felt Rye go through the same motions, and they collapsed next to each other, panting.