Finally, Maribel pulled back. Corrine dropped her gaze, not meeting Maribel’s eyes.
“I can’t help him if he won’t tell me where Jeanne is,” she said, her voice thick with some emotion Maribel couldn’t quite identify. “Get him to tell you where she is, and I’ll do everything in my power to undo the damage I did.” Her voice grew hoarse and she cleared her throat. “I’m sure he’ll trust you enough to tell you.”
“Corrine, are you all right?” Maribel touched Corrine’s arm, flinching when her sister jerked away.
“I’m fine.” Corrine half-shrugged. “Only I’m…so tired. Would it be all right… Is there a room where I could rest before going home?”
“Oh, Corrine, I’m so sorry. I’ve been going on and on about me, about my problems, and here you’re probably ready to collapse.”
Nice. Ask her to help the man who tried to cut her to ribbons and completely ignore the fact that she travelled all the way here by herself.
“Of course I can show you to a room where you can rest. Follow me.”
They stood and Corrine paused, gaze fixed on the mess where Maribel had dropped the dinner tray. Chunks of chicken and thick slices of mushroom lay in a nest of broken crockery, all of it spattered with thick white sauce. The scent of tender shallots and warm Marsala wine perfumed the air, still enough to tempt Maribel’s senses despite the dinner’s ruined state.
“Chicken Marsala.” Corrine inhaled deeply and her stomach growled. “Now that is a sad sight.”
“I have more,” Maribel offered. “The sauce is keeping warm over the fire, and it doesn’t take long to cut up a bit more chicken.”
Corrine shuffled over to the mess and started to kneel. Maribel’s lips parted in shock as she plucked pieces of broken plate from the ground.
“Let me help you clean up this mess,” Corrine said, still eyeing the food as though she wanted to cry.
“I…” Maribel cut herself off from the automatic response that wanted to assure Corrine that she didn’t need to do that, that Maribel could clean it up. She squared her shoulders. If Corrine wanted to help, that was good—admirable. “Thank you,” Maribel told her seriously, kneeling beside her to help.
Corrine nodded, but didn’t speak. They worked together for a while, gathering what they could and piling it onto the silver tray. There was only so much good the napkins could do them, so they had to leave somewhat of a mess behind, but Maribel assured Corrine that it would be taken care of. They were both silent for several minutes as Maribel led Corrine to a room, careful to choose one as far from Daman’s quarters as she could.
Finally the silence started to feel uncomfortable. Maribel glanced at Corrine and noticed the amulet around her neck. She recalled the scene she’d interrupted between Corrine and Daman, remembered seeing her sister holding the amulet in her fist.
“That amulet is new, isn’t it?” she asked.
Corrine automatically raised a hand to touch the item in question. She looked down at the gold-encased crystal. “Yes. Mother Briar helped me make it. She took some of my blood and infused it with her own magic, then used it to make this crystal.” She tapped a fingernail on the slick surface of the glittering red stone. “It gives me power to fuel my spells.”
“It sounds like you’ve been making a lot of progress.” Her voice came out higher than usual, exited. Maribel winced as she realized how she must sound. “I meant, it sounds like you’re becoming the powerful witch you always wanted to be,” she amended quickly. “I wasn’t trying to—”
“It’s all right,” Corrine interrupted. A strained smile tugged at her lips. “I know what you meant.” She dropped the amulet and ran her hands down the silky surface of her skirt. “I don’t want to get your hopes up though. This amulet is Mother Briar’s magic, not mine. It’ll need recharged soon.”
“Still, the spell I saw you using seemed impressive.” Maribel tried to keep her voice encouraging even as Corrine’s words pricked at her high expectations for her sister’s ability to end Daman’s curse.
“A basic shield spell.” Corrine snorted. “Child’s play for any witch with even a speck of talent.”
She obviously didn’t want to speak of her magic, so Maribel gave up. They journeyed the rest of the way to the room in silence. Finally Maribel stopped at a door.
“You can use this room. I’ll come in and help get you settled—”
“This isn’t my first time here, Maribel, remember?”
Maribel’s teeth clacked as she shut her mouth abruptly. “Oh, right.”
Tension crept between them, a sudden awkwardness that hadn’t been there a moment ago. Corrine cleared her throat.
“I’m tired, so I’m going to go lie down.”
“Okay,” Maribel said, perhaps too quickly. “I’ll bring you up some food.”
Corrine opened the door and stepped into the room. She turned to close the door, but then paused. “Maribel?”
“Yes?”
“I’m glad you’re happy. Just… Try to get him to tell you where Jeanne is. I can’t help him if he won’t trust you enough to tell you.”
There was something about the way she said that last part that sounded out of place, a hesitation to her voice like there was more she wasn’t saying. Was Corrine trying to tell her something?
Mother Briar’s words came back to her, the story of how trust was the key to breaking Daman’s curse. Was this part of that? Was this the proof of his trust? Maribel searched Corrine’s face for some sign, some clue. “All right. I’ll try my best.”
Corrine nodded, but there was that same hesitation in her body language, the tension in her shoulders and arms screaming at Maribel that there was more she wanted to say. Before she could push, Corrine closed the door gently, but firmly.
Maribel hovered in the hallway, her mind tearing her in a thousand different directions at once. Should she stay and press Corrine for more information? Was she making a mistake keeping her here? Would Daman trust her with Jeanne’s location? Would he let Corrine leave unmolested if she couldn’t lift his curse?
At some point, she must have started walking, because suddenly Maribel found herself standing in front of the door to Daman’s room. She stopped and listened, holding her breath as she strained to hear any evidence that Daman was lost to his temper again. It wasn’t until several long moments dragged by in complete silence that Maribel realized she’d expected to hear rending cloth, shattering glass and ceramic, splintering wood.
Perhaps he’s destroyed it all already, she wondered, remembering the state of his room earlier.
“Daman?” she ventured carefully. She knocked on the door, then pressed her ear to the heavy, polished wood. “Daman, are you in there?”
There was no answer, but she heard something. The heavy slide of scales against stone and something else, something softer. It was familiar, but she couldn’t quite place it. She had her answer, though. Daman was in there and he was moving. She tried to picture him and what he might be doing inside and an image popped into her head of the carnage she’d witnessed the last time she’d been in that room.
Suddenly she questioned the wisdom of standing there with her head pressed to the door. She didn’t believe Daman would ever willingly hurt her—even seeing what he’d tried to do to Corrine didn’t change that. Still, if he lashed out in a fit of temper, not knowing how close she was to the door… She backed away a few steps.
“Daman, may I come in?”
There was a burst of movement, something scraping the stone, something different than the now familiar slide of scales, but still a sound she knew but couldn’t place.
“Oh, this is ridiculous,” Maribel muttered. She grabbed the door handle. “I’m coming in.” Without waiting for an answer, she turned the handle and shoved the solid door open, well-oiled hinges not making a sound.
The room was spotless.
Well, not spotless. There was still some dust on the floor, some jagged glass fragments sticking out of the window fram
es. And the mattress still bore deep gouges bulging with stuffing. But the broken vases and statues, the shattered wooden furniture, and the scraps of ruined blankets were all gone.
Daman stood in the corner. His hair stuck up at odd angles as though he’d been tugging on it, some of the pale strands coated in the dust dancing merrily through the air. Maribel’s lips parted as she noticed he was holding a dustpan and a brush. The sound she’d heard, the one she’d known but couldn’t place. It had been the sound of a broom and dustpan.
She closed her mouth, wrinkling her nose at the sensation of dust coating the tip of her tongue. Waving her hand in front of her face to disperse the dust provided a distraction for her mind as her eyes continued an unabashed examination of the naga.
He was no longer wearing the glittering mail shirt that he’d worn to greet Corrine—or anything else for that matter. Rather he stood before her bare—in more ways than one. There was a raw look in his silver eyes, a slight hunch to his shoulders. He stood there like a man expecting bad news. The pain she saw in his eyes stole her breath.
She must have stared at him longer than she thought because he finally gave in and spoke first.
“You came back.” His voice was low, hoarse with dust, emotion, or both. Slowly, he leaned down to place the brush and dustpan on the floor, his serpentine body more graceful than any biped could ever hope to be. “You came back…again.”
“You cleaned up.” Brilliant, Maribel, lovely opening.
Daman’s eyes didn’t waver from her face, as if he were afraid if he looked away she would vanish. “I had to believe you would come back. I wanted to show you…” He started to gesture at the room, stopped. “I wanted… I don’t know what I wanted.” Frustration pinched his mouth and he shoved a hand through his hair. “I didn’t want you to see me like you did last time.” He gestured around the room, the movement jerky, almost angry. “Sitting in ruins like some sort of barbarian.”
It was strange to be standing there talking about the room’s state of cleanliness when they were both thinking about Corrine, and what had happened in the sitting room. It wasn’t lost on Maribel that whether Daman realized it or not, what he was doing by cleaning his room was trying to show Maribel that he was in control. She knew a little something about organizing the world around her when the world inside of her was…a bit conflicted.
“Do you want to talk about what happened back there?” She kept her voice calm, nonjudgmental. Open.
Daman’s face tightened, but to his credit, he didn’t look away. “Are you offering me a choice?”
“I am. We don’t have to talk about it. I know you well enough to know you met with my sister with the best of intentions.” She lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “And it’s not as if you haven’t told me from the beginning that you…struggle…to control your temper.”
Something in Daman’s eyes sharpened suddenly and he leaned toward her ever so slightly. There was a scrutiny in his expression that had every nerve in Maribel’s body alive and buzzing with awareness.
“You know your sister goaded me,” he said slowly, his voice low with something akin to awe. “You… You are not convinced she was the victim she played so convincingly.”
Maribel snapped her mouth closed. Heat rushed to her head and her hands fluttered around her, helpless to do anything with the nervous energy suddenly sizzling along her skin. Deny it! a voice screamed inside her. She is your sister!
“Perhaps we don’t have to talk about it,” she managed meekly.
The intensity remained in Daman’s eyes as he slid toward her, his posture improving as if a weight had been lifted from him. The black slit that bisected his silver irises grew wider, and Maribel could suddenly see her face reflected in his gaze. She looked…mesmerized.
“You still want to stay with me.”
Maribel’s throat went dry. He was so close. The heat from his body kissed her skin and she could already imagine the weight of his scales pressing against her legs, could practically feel his arms sliding around her waist. She leaned closer to him.
“Yes.”
There was something she was supposed to tell him, ask him. Or something she should be doing. Whatever it was, it was lost when his mouth closed over hers.
He tasted exactly as she remembered, hot with a trace of the flavors she’d used in her last meal. Sweet Marsala wine. She moaned and deepened the kiss, parting her lips in invitation. Daman’s arms tightened around her, dragged her against his chest.
She inhaled sharply at the first touch of his forked tongue against her own, the sensation strange and new. Tension sprang to life in Daman’s arms and he started to pull back, arms stiffening as if to push her away. A small sound of protest escaped Maribel’s throat and she threw her arms around his neck and hung on.
Daman stilled, hesitating, then a deep chuckle reverberated in his chest. Maribel swallowed the sound, pleased when he continued the kiss. Tentatively, she drew her tongue over his, playing with the different points. Daman’s breath quickened, became more ragged.
He pulled away with a gasp. His mouth moved, but no words came out. The black slits of his eyes had thinned, nearly vanished. The sight tightened things low in Maribel’s body and for a long minute she could do nothing more than stare into those eyes.
“You…” Daman started. His voice was hoarse and he had to swallow before continuing. “You understand now that my curse has nothing to do with love or trust. Your…feelings for me will change nothing. Your sister will not—or cannot—lift the curse. I am now as I will always be.”
“I don’t care,” Maribel said fiercely. She stroked one hand through his hair, laughing at the dust that rose into the air. “I’m not going anywhere. You’re stuck with me.”
Daman leaned closer, laid a gentle kiss on her lips. “A most pleasing situation.”
Warmth blossomed in Maribel’s chest as his lips slid from her mouth across her jaw in a trail of gentle kisses. Suddenly she remembered what it was she’d come to ask him.
“I don’t care what form you have,” she managed, closing her eyes as he laid a particularly hot kiss against the pulse at her throat. “But you should know you may still have a choice.”
Daman went still in her arms, that strange, alien stillness that no human could attain. “What?”
“My…my sister says she may still be able to lift the curse.” Maribel pulled back so she could think. “She just needs a little help.”
The air changed, cooling between them even as he still held her in his arms, only inches away from his chest. Something snagged at her dress and some distant point of Maribel’s mind registered the fact that his claws were dancing at the small of her back, sharp tips catching the material of her bodice.
“Does she now?” Daman took a deep, slow breath. “And would this help need to come in the form of a goblin girl?”
His scales shone in the light streaming through the shattered windows, illuminating his heaving shoulders and the tip of his twitching tail. His eyes gleamed more than human eyes ever could, the black slit down the middle emphasized by the brilliance of the silver. His tongue flicked out from between his lips. Was he doing that on purpose as he had before, intending to intimidate her, drive her away?
A wave of unease washed through Maribel’s stomach, but she pushed it back. “She doesn’t have to come back here, I just need to speak with her. Won’t you trust me to let me do that?”
“Oh, so now it is a matter of whether or not I trust you?” Daman pulled away, his face closing down until he wore the same indifferent mask he’d worn so often when they’d first met. “Let me guess, your dear sister has told you that if I trust you, I will give you Jeanne’s location.”
Maribel bristled at his tone. “I told you once that I didn’t care what form you’re in. I still don’t.”
Daman’s jaw twitched, but he nodded. “I believe you.”
“But it’s also clear to me that whether or not I care…you care. I have to wonder if you’ll ev
er be really okay with yourself if this curse isn’t broken. If you’ll ever be able to…let me close to you.” A blush tickled her cheeks, tried to distract her from what she was trying to say, but Maribel stubbornly ignored it.
Daman averted his eyes, peering out the broken windows. Shadows danced through his eyes, over his face. The sun was setting and for a moment that dying light was the only warmth on Daman’s features.
“I do trust you,” he said finally. There was a tiredness around his eyes when he faced her again, an exhaustion in the way his shoulders sagged. “But even if Corrine is being truthful, and she wants to find Jeanne for no other reason than to ask for her help, I could never betray Jeanne by revealing her location. I swore to her the day I pulled her out of Mother Briar’s grasping clutches that she would be safe, that no one would ever find her. Not even to save my own sanity could I betray her trust.” His gaze grew unfocused, as if he wasn’t seeing anything now before him. “That trust was not easily given. It is far too precious to break.”
Maribel studied him carefully, her heart softening. “It sounds like she meant a great deal to you.”
“They all do,” Daman said simply. “So many changelings are left by their parents. There are all kinds of reasons. The sidhe do it to keep their bloodlines strong, to bring in fresh blood. The goblins and trolls often do it because they find human babes more appealing than their own kin. And then there are others who do it out of boredom, or to chase some random prophecy or another. Whatever the reason, it is seldom that they do their research before leaving their child. They assume that humans will care for the creature they think is their own, and they leave it at that.”
His eyes sharpened and he once again focused on Maribel, grim determination etched in the lines of his face. “But that is not always the case. Mother Briar knew in a moment that the child screaming in the cradle was not hers. She kept her anyway—probably because there is more work to be gotten from a goblin girl than a human child. But the way she treated Jeanne…” He shook his head, as if the end to that sentence was too horrible to vocalize.
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