Night Shine Page 16
“If I’d abandoned you, I wouldn’t be back,” she said, unable to stop herself. Keeping her distance and holding on to irritation seemed the best she could do.
“I should command you to get us out of here now,” he said. Knocking the wine bottle aside, he rose to his feet. “What I want is to be gone from this place. You can resist my unspoken wants, the drag of our bond, but if I invoke your true name you have to obey.”
“You won’t,” she said as firmly as she could, but wavering. She tilted her chin up to hold his gaze as he came smoothly toward her. “You won’t because you’ll lose me forever if you do it on purpose.”
The prince’s arrogant expression melted. He even lowered his eyes. “But you should still get us out of here.”
“I made a bargain. We’ll be free in two more days.”
Sky walked to them with a hesitance born of injury and put his hand on Kirin’s shoulder. The bodyguard wore a silver-gray tunic so thin and silky it was like a slip more than a shirt, falling halfway down his thighs over soft-looking black trousers. The tunic stretched against his massive shoulders, not quite large enough.
Kirin turned his head to meet Sky’s gaze.
Nothing let her arms relax slightly. She’d only come to see they were well, not to argue. She might as well leave again, before Kirin twisted her up more.
But Sky pushed around Kirin and grasped Nothing’s shoulders. He hunched to stare straight at her. “I don’t believe you’re a demon.”
His touch was so warm, so normal, compared to the sorceress.
“Maybe a goblin, though,” he added.
Nothing laughed once.
Behind him, Kirin rolled his head dramatically enough to make sure Nothing saw it. Then the prince spun and returned to the altar. He swept up the bottle of wine, lifted it to his lips and tipped back his head to reveal the full, white length of his neck, before bonelessly dropping onto the altar, one hand to his forehead, the other dangling the bottle.
Nothing blinked and Sky hummed, both realizing they’d been caught in the same admiring trap.
Sky slid one hand down Nothing’s arm, letting her go with his other. He took her hand, and she wrapped her fingers around two of his. There remained a greenish bruise on the right corner of his jaw.
“It’s why I knew and you didn’t. Nobody did,” Nothing said softly.
The bodyguard’s fingers stiffened in her hand, but he knew what she meant. “It doesn’t make any sense. You’re nothing like a demon. I’ve met demons.”
“She’s something new,” Kirin said passionately, eyes shut. The vibrant red skirt of his jacket spilled down the altar in a fan. “And…”
“And?” Nothing demanded after a long moment.
Kirin turned his head and opened his dark-honey eyes. “And I like that you’re mine.”
“Kirin,” Sky said again.
“No,” Nothing said.
“Because you remind me that something new is possible,” Kirin said, sitting again in one swinging motion. He put the butt of the wine bottle on the altar and leaned toward her, feet just brushing the floor. “I didn’t understand what you are, Nothing, but that’s what I liked. That’s what I loved. You could be anything. I didn’t know it was anything I wanted. I thought you were just… you. And I’m not sorry for liking you. I’m not sorry for wanting what we have.”
Nothing forgave him. Just like that; she couldn’t help it. Or maybe she wanted to. How could she ever know without her name? Without breaking the binding? She went to him, leaving Sky behind, and sank to her knees, pressing her head to the edge of the altar, her shoulder to his leg.
The weight of his hand settled on her head, stroking her hair. His fingers slid into the strands, finding her scalp, and it was her favorite thing in the world. He said softly, “Do you remember the dying orange tree in the Fire Garden? The day we met.”
She nodded, scraping her skin on the altar.
“We were all playing, but for you, and I saw you staring at me from behind long leaves.”
“Elephant grass,” Nothing whispered.
“Yes! You were so small and intense. I stared back. I stared back and I didn’t know what you were! A little boy or a little girl, or a spirit or a ghost—I still thought we could have ghosts in the palace then. No matter how I studied you, I didn’t know. So I walked nearer and I saw it unfurling in you, the name. The answer. It came from you, so you must know it.”
Nothing dragged at her mind, at the Fire Garden, at youthful, beautiful Kirin, at elephant grass and the first time he smiled at her: it wasn’t a dark smile, but a brilliant one. Soft, delighted, perfect. He spoke in her memory.
Kirin’s hand fisted in her hair, but only enough to tug gently.
She lifted her face. Disappointment drained through her. “Command me to remember,” she said.
“You just said if I do it on purpose I’ll lose you forever.”
Nothing scowled at him.
The prince bit his lip, dragging it against his teeth.
With a little huff, Nothing stood. She left them in the altar chamber, promising to take them to the mirror lake in the morning. Then she returned to her room to dress for dinner.
Insistent Tide awaited her and helped her choose a gown and paint and combed her hair.
For the first time, Nothing gave in to her impulses, instead of fighting expectations or fear or trying to decide what would upset others, and simply pleased herself. She wore a shell-pink underdress with an orange organza robe embroidered with hundreds of tiny butterflies that reminded her of the box of wings in the library. Insistent Tide braided tiny pieces of her hair and secured them with pins shaped like jewel-toned beetles. Nothing asked for dark-red lacquer on her nails and bright pink on her lips and eyelids. Insistent Tide painted sweeping butterfly wings onto her cheeks.
Nothing felt like a swirling swarm of beautiful bugs. She wrinkled her nose in the mirror and forced a laugh. She didn’t have to worry. Her friends were safe for now, and even if she didn’t know her name, she knew a few things that she wasn’t.
Insistent Tide snorted and went back to sleep even as Nothing left for supper.
As she walked, she had to lift the voluminous organza butterfly skirts, feeling her steps more than seeing them. Her feet were bare and her toes painted red to match her fingers. Would the sorceress like it? Nothing hoped so—then realized she was eager to see the sorceress again.
Nothing brushed impatient fingers down her skirts, fluttering the butterflies the way her heart fluttered.
The facets of vivid purple and pale violet amethyst of the dining room complemented Nothing’s orange and pink and rainbow bugs, but the dress itself was ridiculous to kneel in. When she settled onto the golden cushion at one end of the set table, the pink skirts settled with her, but layers of butterfly organza crackled and fluffed around her as if she were the center of a soufflé.
Nothing was giggling as she pulled and pressed at different parts of her dress to make the butterflies flutter and swoop, when she noticed the presence of the sorceress.
She froze, catching her breath at being caught in childishness.
But it wasn’t judgment or irony or anything condescending on the sorceress’s face: it was wonder.
Nothing cleared her throat and the sorceress bowed her head, bending her body in a slight, elegant curtsy. Not as to a child, but to an equal. Nothing froze again.
The sorceress lifted herself and said, “Nothing.”
“Sorceress.” Nothing smoothed her hands down her diaphanous dress.
The sorceress swept to the table and knelt, tucking her skirts simply around her legs. She wore an old-fashioned wrapped dress in three layers: black, green, and violet, with a wide sash tied in elaborate, stiff loops at her back. Her hair was knotted atop her head, decorated with sprays of orange tiger lilies. White and green pearls very like Kirin’s hugged her neck and fell over the collars of her dress. She poured wine, sent a cup floating to Nothing and lifted hers—tonight a cut
-crystal swan with its neck curled around itself.
Maybe it was a goose, Nothing thought, taking her cup from the air. She saluted and drank.
“My demon played too,” the sorceress said.
“Played?” Nothing took another sip of the light wine, rolling it a bit on her tongue. Honey and cloves and something sharp as pine resin coated her mouth. She liked it.
“With butterflies and color—anything that made it curious. When I walked in, you might never have been gone.”
Nothing swallowed at the sorceress’s light tone. She was hiding something, Nothing thought, though she could not pinpoint how she knew. “Tell me about your demon?”
The sorceress nodded, but first brushed her hands together gently. Silent, invisible servants lifted trays and stirred sauce, serving a first course of buttery soup to Nothing and the sorceress.
After they’d both tasted, the sorceress asked, “What do you know of demons?”
Nothing set her spoon down. “They are dead spirits. They need a house to make their own, either one that is abandoned, one that never had a resident, or one they can steal. They either want very specific things or not much at all.”
“Yes, that is true. But do you know why demons like to be familiars, why they seek sorcerer or witch partners?”
“No.”
“Demons are livid with the power they take and can do what they are meant to do—stagnate a pond, hold the walls of a palace together, explode a mountain, or trick crossroads travelers. But they cannot move from their house without the risk of forever death. For plots, for plans, for movement or change, they need a witch to anchor them or a sorcerer to strengthen their house. Even a great demon, who has not lost its connection to aether, does better with a sorcerer.”
“Your demon needed you.”
“It was mutual.” The sorceress smiled nostalgically. “I left my village when I was sixteen because I knew I wanted to be a sorcerer.”
“Why?” Nothing leaned forward, ignoring her food.
“I wanted to marry the girl next door, but my mother told me it was foolish. I needed children to take care of me when I was old. She said only sorcerers don’t need to worry about family. I said I would be a sorcerer then, and left.”
“Just like that!”
“More or less. I went to the Third Mountain, and the Second, but both sorcerers told me the same thing: we cannot make rivals by taking apprentices! Find a spirit to teach you, or a witch. They both suggested I be a witch.” The sorceress raised her eyes to the ceiling, then smiled again. “Instead I came to the Fifth Mountain and asked a great demon.”
Nothing watched her, waiting, but the sorceress fell quiet. Nothing drank the last of her wine and said, “There must be more to it than that.”
The sorceress floated Nothing’s cup toward herself and poured another. As the cup returned along a strand of air, the sorceress said, “Naturally. I bargained with a dragon for entry to the mountain, climbed its face until I was nearly dead, my blood smeared against the rocks, and with my final, soft desperation, the demon appeared. What are you, child? it asked in an empty voice that touched my equally empty places. I had nothing left, you see, by then. Nothing but my bones and will and a tiny bit of blood. Exactly right to impress a demon when I stood and told it I was a sorcerer and it would submit to me. It laughed but took me inside and gave me the power to heal. It gave me food and lovely clothes, and when I felt stronger, we bargained in truth. Power for power. I had realized, you see, that while a great demon has everything it needs, it may not have everything it wants. The demon agreed to help me grow my skills, and I would be its vessel to see beyond the mountain. We traded shards of our shadows, binding to death or destruction.” The sorceress paused, sipped, and added, “My demon… was a slip of darkness, a shadow that changed on impulse. A slight child, a winged man, a scaled woman, and everything between, or nothing at all but a breeze and a voice. A silver flame dancing in the air. Its eyes, though, when it had them, were like old black pearls. Always. And its touch tender.”
“What did you… fall in love with?” Nothing whispered, trembling with the need to know.
“Everything. It would sit for hours and watch the reflection of clouds against the mirror lake or hold bumblebees in its cupped palms to laugh at their tickling buzz, trying not to kill them. It crackled like lightning and raged down the mountain in a temper, setting fire to trees and making rabbits scream, withering flowers and scaring the wind still. It teased me. Hid my things, replacing them under cups or in my soup. It combed my hair at night. It hurt me sometimes, too. It taught me to read every language, and held threads of magic in seven hands so I could look inside the patterns. It was infinitely patient. It told me wild and tragic stories it learned when it was alive, when the Fifth Mountain was alive. It curled its fingers around my heart and said my heart was like a core of magma, heating the body of my own mountain house.”
A tear spilled over the sorceress’s lashes, then dripped raggedly down her cheek.
Nothing touched her mouth and felt her own warm breath against her fingers as the only proof she was breathing at all.
Oh, it was working. The sorceress’s story was working: Nothing wanted what she offered. To be everything described. Powerful, mercurial, funny, and patient. Tender and furious.
Who wouldn’t want to be such a thing, when such a thing was so loved by a creature like the sorceress?
Especially when what she’d always been was Nothing.
Nothing stood suddenly. “I have to go.”
The sorceress looked up at her, otherwise very still. She did not speak, though her eyes glinted. One forest green, one bone white.
Slowly the sorceress rose to her feet and glided toward Nothing. She reached out and brushed her knuckles along Nothing’s cheek, leaving trails of cold shadow-silk behind.
Nothing leaned into it, so the sorceress would know she wasn’t running away in fear or rejection. It was self-preservation. It was important that Nothing take her time. “Good night, Sorceress,” she whispered. “I want to see you in the morning.”
The sorceress offered a cool smile of acknowledgment.
Nothing gathered her skirts into her arms, lifting layers almost to her knees, and left, trailing butterflies on the crystal floor behind her.
She ran along the dark corridor and took the first stairway she found. “Up,” she said, and again, “Up. Up.” She repeated it with every breath, hurrying two steps at a time in places, then slowing to stomp up and up. The stairs dumped her into an intersection of corridors, and she chose with a command: “Up!” and the corridor slanted upward, curving for her exactly as she wished. She reached another staircase, this one steep, and she hooked her skirts over her elbow and half crawled, half climbed.
Absolutely breathless and lost in time, Nothing continued upward. Her muscles burned, and her chest; sweat cooled against her skin. She stepped on her skirt and tore free a string of three cerulean butterflies. They tumbled behind her and landed flat against the dark granite.
Finally Nothing saw a dim glow of silver as the stairs narrowed and steepened until they were more of a ladder than steps. She emerged through a jagged hole, into the stars.
She stood on a shelf against a peak of the Fifth Mountain, formed by black waves of cooled lava. Wind and rain had scoured it into a cupped palm, a tiny valley just her size, and scraggly grasses managed to grow, along with little flowers. Their buds were shut tight against the night.
Nothing collapsed in a heap of pink and orange organza. She hugged her knees and pressed her forehead to them, breathing hard, trying to steady her pulse and calm down.
Wind teased her hair, tickling her neck and shoulders.
She didn’t feel powerful.
Nothing leaned her head back. Thin silver clouds floated over the half-moon, glowing with its light, and beyond thousands and thousands of stars spread. She tried to find shapes, but the sky was only shredded silk, a massive pearl, and a million shards of glass.
And now she wondered. And now she wanted.
She wanted to feel as big as the night sky and as filled with magic. Dark distance, silver light, that night shine—she wanted to know the kinds of purple and midnight blue and sparks of red layered together that made it seem so black between the stars, and she wanted to stare and stare until the stars stopped being silver and turned pink, blue, orange, and gold. She wanted the stars to be butterflies.
Nothing wanted to know what she could be. Not what she might have been.
If she was going to return to the palace, she could never resume her shadow role, Kirin’s Nothing. She had to be something different, something new.
Two days remained to find out if she was large or small, both, or something else entirely. Two days would not be enough. She needed more time here on the mountain, with the sorceress. She… wanted to remain with the sorceress… and to keep the core of the Fifth Mountain strong.
But she wanted to see Kirin and Sky safely home too, and witness Kirin made forever the Heir to the Moon. She wanted to speak with the great demon of the palace again, ask it some very pointed questions.
She’d have to find a way to do it all. Everything she wanted.
Nothing curled down on her side, nestled in billowing sheer silk and tiny rainbow insects, against the mountain, and tilted her face to the sky.
TWENTY-SIX
DAWN WOKE NOTHING WITH a gentle caress against her lashes, reddening her dreams. She squeezed herself into a tighter ball and sighed. It was cold on the mountaintop, but she’d nestled into her dress, the loose volcanic gravel, and thin grasses.
She opened her eyes to find a little blue flower nodding at her. It was the size of her smallest fingernail, clustered with a handful of others. Nothing drew a breath to seek a scent: the only perfume in the air was ice.