Night Shine Page 27

  “You look like all the dawn priests look,” Shine answered.

  He laughed, and one of the witches did. Aya, Shine thought. Leaf pressed her palm to Shine’s forehead and said, “Hush while we cast our spell.”

  Immli lowered his mouse demon to the tiles of the floor, and the two crow spirits snapped playfully at it.

  Shine closed her eyes. She listened to the cackle of the crow spirits and the rush of aether surrounding her. It wasn’t like wind, because it was too rhythmic, but nor was it like the heartbeat of the Fifth Mountain. More like a river. Outside the palace, fingers of the Selegan rushed toward the sea, two cupping the capital city gently. All much too distant be heard from here, even echoing through the aether.

  The rhythm was soft and extremely slow.

  It was the great demon of the palace, breathing.

  “Why does a demon breathe?” she asked.

  Nobody answered, and she slitted open her eyes. The witches and Sovan the priest stared at her with variations of surprise and suspicion.

  “They don’t,” said Aya.

  “I can hear the great demon,” Shine insisted.

  “Then it is affectation,” said Sovan.

  Immli stared at Shine with narrow hazel eyes. “You can hear it? What does it sound like?”

  Shine wrinkled her nose. “A long, quiet snore.”

  “Hello, great demon,” Leaf said respectfully.

  Her twinned witch, Aya, repeated the greeting, but the dawn priest did not.

  Shine closed her eyes again and relaxed into the demon’s aether-breath, letting her own breath slow, though she was much too alive and small to match its pace. To her, it seemed the rhythmic breath was like rushing blood as the great demon slowly took and returned power from the living of the palace, rooting itself in a loop, deep in the earth. Give and take and give and take, just like The Scale had said.

  Would the great demon teach her that skill?

  She felt the brush of the witches’ fingers sometimes, and a murmured blessing or prayer. And the scratch of quill on paper.

  Then a silky net tightened around her, and Shine cried out. It hurt!

  She struggled, trapped, and gritted her teeth to call on her fire. Cold tendrils flickered in her mind, and she reached for her heartbeat, for the pulse of volcanic violence. It answered in a gasping rage, flaring out to her fingertips and toes, and she opened her mouth.

  Shine sat up, energized, alive with new power—not only from the fire inside, but from the silky net. She’d drained it, swallowed the sparkling aether it had been.

  She stared at the witches and the priest, but before they spoke, the aether tightened around them all, as if the air itself thickened into honey. The crow spirits screamed, and the witches clutched their heads. The dawn priest sank to his knees.

  And the great demon rumbled,

  Night Shine, You have taken from Me.

  “No,” she said, throwing out her hands against the stuck air. “Great demon, they surprised me. I did not think the binding would hurt. I apologize. It will not happen again!”

  tricky witches are too weak to bind You, it said, unconcerned. do not fear them and do not break Your promise to Me.

  “I apologize, great demon. I won’t fear them again.”

  Then it was gone, its weight releasing like a popped bubble.

  Shine glared at the rest. “You should have warned me.”

  “We didn’t know it would hurt,” Immli said maliciously.

  “But what are you?” Sovan croaked—the priest was clearly shaken.

  Shine went to him and helped him up. He was like an old grandpa, a kindly one who made her think of the unkind Insistent Tide. She said, “I’m something new.”

  “A spirit enfleshed? I have heard of that,” said Aya the witch.

  “A demon enfleshed,” answered her twin. She approached Shine and put both hands on her face. “Does the prince know your true name? Does anyone?”

  Shine did not let herself be intimidated. She allowed the memory of the volcano inside her to grow hot again but was careful not to take anything from the hands pressed to her cheeks. “I know my name. That is enough.”

  FORTY-ONE

  ONCE THE WITCHES’ BINDING net had been cast again, more gently this time, Shine redressed in her blue clothing from The Scale and fled. She felt slightly diminished but wondered if it was her imagination. The net was intended to keep her under some control, to stop her from unleashing waves of power or shaking down the palace, she supposed. She could break it. But if she did, the great demon of the palace would be waiting to squish her.

  An attendant led Shine to a guest chamber in the third circle, saying it was to honor her as the prince had requested. But as soon as she was left alone, Shine crawled into the smoke ways and returned to the old bathing rooms where she’d slept all her life.

  Removing the pear from her sash, she set it on an old stool like an altar. The fruit meat shone white as the moon, glimmering with juice, and the skin was as golden green and speckled as always. Shine could step on it and the magic would keep it whole and fresh.

  She stripped and dug through the piles of old clothing she’d gathered the past few years. Untouched for nearly two months, it all smelled slightly musty, thanks to the damp air, but she pulled on loose pants and a thin tunic, finger-combed her hair, and went to the wall. Pressing both hands to it, she said, “Great demon, will you teach me to take and give and take and give?”

  I am weary little demon hush You tire Me and I cannot take more without consequence.

  Shine supposed it had been a long day for the great demon. So she said, “Good night,” and went to the pear. Suddenly it occurred to her the magic might not work while she had this binding net marked on her body.

  She leaned against the wall, stomach fluttering, and wondered if she should ask the great demon. She had to see the sorceress! It had been days and days.

  Her heart pounded, churning with heat.

  Might as well find out.

  Shine took a bite.

  She opened her eyes in the Fifth Mountain’s library.

  She grinned in silent relief, nearly falling as her knees weakened. Of course a spell made by the Sorceress Who Eats Girls could penetrate a measly net made by palace witches.

  Dim blue and orange lights wavered gently from both the wide crystal hearth and globes hanging free in the air between the cluttered shelves. It seemed poor reading light to Shine, but then, the sorceress’s eyes were unnatural.

  The sorceress sat at one of the long tables, elbows on the worn wood, with a large book open before her and a trim quill in hand. She frowned as she marked a notation in the margin. Her tricolored hair was pulled into two high knots, and she wore a sleeveless wrap tunic similar to what she’d had on when she’d cut the diagram into the crystal floor with Shine.

  For a moment Shine didn’t move or make a sound, watching hungrily. It was strangely pleasant to observe the sorceress when she thought she was alone. Something so mundane and easy about her obvious concentration, the frustration in the line between her eyebrows. Shine wanted to know what she was working on, but she also wanted to keep staring. Both filled her with anticipation, like she was about to jump off a cliff!

  The sorceress turned the page aggressively. “What?” she snapped, lifting her gaze to Shine. Pinched annoyance faded into a more guarded interest as the sorceress realized who was spying on her.

  Shine said, “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

  The sorceress leaned back in her chair, rather lordly. “I gave you the pear for a reason. Interrupt away.” Shadows shifted on her face, making her seem exhausted.

  Shine darted forward. “Are you ill?”

  “I’m fine. I’m holding the weight of an entire mountain as the heart slowly dies. I will have to hunt if you don’t return to me.”

  “You can’t.”

  “Then I will die.”

  “I will return soon,” Shine swore breathlessly.

  The
sorceress did not move but to curl her fingers around the arms of her chair. Her black-lacquered nails glinted bluish. Her chest rose and fell, her eyes held easily to Shine. Green and white. Life and death.

  As Shine stared, tiny cracks appeared in the ivory-white iris, like it was too dry and splitting with drought. A muscle shifted in the sorceress’s jaw, and the eye faded to its pure solid white, with pretty flecks of gray.

  Distressed, Shine put her hands on the edge of the table. “How is the Selegan?”

  “Quite well. They were distressed when the sorcerers took you. Those idiots were messy, and harsh.” The sorceress paused, briefly lowering her eyes. “I was worried, but The Scale told me you would survive.”

  Shine swallowed. “I did.” She wanted to ask about Patience and about being a meadow of flowers, but she was nervous. She should remember the sorceress now—if they’d been married, if they’d had a strong bargain. Why couldn’t she? To distract herself, she glanced down at the book. Tiny lines of writing scrawled in columns she couldn’t read. “What are you studying?”

  “Power.”

  It was said slowly, with such a drawl Shine shivered. She glanced up at the sorceress again, and the sorceress said, “Have you reached the palace?”

  “Yes! I came to tell you.” Shine smiled. “Just today. The great demon of the palace is unsure of me, but—”

  The sorceress sat forward quickly. “What did it say?”

  “It knew immediately I was no longer Nothing. Because I freed myself.” Shine laughed and it licked up her throat like pretty blue-white flames, like stars to spill through her teeth.

  The sorceress stood and stalked around the table, intent upon Shine, and Shine kept laughing, but it shifted breathy as the sorceress neared. Shine turned to put her bottom against the table and let the sorceress pin her there, not touching, with only the force of her presence. Oh, Shine liked it.

  “What should I call you?” the sorceress asked quietly, but not softly. A ripple of dark feathers appeared along her cheeks like a cresting fish with black scales, then vanished below the surface again. Shine reached to touch the tip of her finger there, intrigued, but the sorceress caught her wrist in a hard grip.

  Shine pulled on her hand until she could slip it down to hold the sorceress’s hand and draw both to her chest. She pressed the sorceress’s palm to herself, feeling the cold skin through the tunic she wore. “Night Shine.”

  The sorceress closed her eyes, and it was her turn to shiver. “Night Shine,” she said, and it was a tug of power, a breath of air on open flame.

  Shine gasped. “It’s not the whole name. I’ve not told that to anyone. You can’t bind me with it.”

  “I told you,” the sorceress said, pressing closer. “I do not want to be your master.”

  Shine nodded; she couldn’t do anything else. Her heart pounded, and her skin was rippling too, like its own feathers desperately tried to burst free. It felt so good and right. But Shine would have scales, not feathers: bright silver-black scales that shimmered like the sorceress’s nail lacquer and like the black between the stars. She wanted to learn to shift her shape, to help her scales emerge, but could not speak it with the sorceress so near.

  The sorceress drew a deep breath, her eyes taking in every detail of Shine’s face and hair and eyes, then drifted down her neck, and Shine was thrilled at the possibility the sorceress could see the thrum of her pulse. A smile like a little butterfly trembled across Shine’s lips.

  She tilted her head to reveal the hollow under the corner of her jaw, then gasped as the sorceress pressed a kiss to her pulse point. Shine was melting into lava again; she could hear the clinking of scales tumbling in a breeze, like chimes. Her knees tickled weakly, and she sighed.

  The sorceress whispered against her skin, “Will you marry me, Night Shine?”

  Shine pushed away. “I can’t! Stop.” She moved to the other end of the table, and the sorceress did not follow. For a few long moments Shine settled herself, but her insides were too hot and she missed the touch.

  “I must have a heart.”

  “I know. Just wait a little bit longer. I will come back, I promise.” With effort, Shine looked back at the sorceress. “How long can you wait?”

  “I do not know.”

  Shine said, “Promise. I will come back; only wait.”

  “Very well,” the sorceress whispered. “Come what may.”

  The words gave Shine what she’d asked for, but something in them frightened her. She stepped back to the sorceress and leaned up to kiss her lightly on the lips.

  She woke immediately in the abandoned bathroom, shocked and hot and gasping.

  FORTY-TWO

  IT WAS SURPRISINGLY DIFFICULT to get everyone to use her new name.

  The empress held a formal court two days after their return, during which Kirin was reintegrated into the palace circles and guests from the city, The Day the Sky Opened was awarded a cuff for valor, and Night Shine was announced. Kirin and Second Consort Love-Eyes had crafted her introduction together, and it was lovely, embellished, with the slightest hint of threat. She had been Nothing but was reborn Night Shine, still the friend of the prince, and now hero of the empire.

  Shine hated it. She hadn’t changed as much as she’d expected, either. The attention was like sand caught in her slippers, rubbing her raw and impossible to shake free. Especially with the witches’ net itching against her skin. It made the small hairs all over her body stand up sometimes, and she had to wiggle to make it stop. Wiggle! That was hardly intimidating.

  They’d put her in vibrant red and cold pale green for the court, which was an excellent contrast, powdered her cheeks and painted her lips and eyes black like Kirin’s, and darkened her hair uniformly black. She fit beside the prince in his imperial black and white as never before. Because she was tense, she drank too much of the wine and lost herself a little bit, fumbling through the lords and ladies, witches, priests, warriors, and richer city families, baring her teeth and struggling not to get too hot. She fluctuated hot-hot and cold-cold, in a pattern of waves she couldn’t balance. Especially not without annoying the great demon of the palace.

  A few courtiers tried to touch her!

  Sky stayed far away from her and Kirin both, rigid at the side of the room, his cuff clenching his wrist like a manacle.

  Finally two peacock-painted serving girls pulled Shine aside. One fanned her with the sleeve of her robe while the other fed her fluffy bread and promised it would help with the wine. Their round copper cheeks were painted in rainbow wings that seemed to flap gently when they blinked or smiled, and Shine told them they were perfect butterflies—and she’d worn a magical dress once made of butterflies and sunrise silk, so she should know!

  The girls helped Shine slip out behind a pillar, where Whisper awaited, hands folded and wearing a demure tailor’s robe, sleeveless but embroidered with the skill of her career. “I thought you would sneak away, Nothing,” she said, then winced. “I’m sorry. Night Shine.”

  “Shine is enough,” Shine whispered, throwing her arms around Whisper.

  “Shine,” Whisper repeated. “Shine, Shine, Shine. I like it.”

  They clasped hands and dashed down the corridor, hurrying to avoid anyone in the first circle who might drag them back to the court. Whisper knew where to get a stack of tiny, rose-shaped dumplings filled with hot cherry preserves and bowls of spiked cream. Shine tugged her through a smoke way, and they emerged with dusty hems into the Lily Garden of the fifth circle. Its central pond glinted under a half-moon, and Shine rushed to say hello to the little dragon-lily spirit.

  It hid from her beneath the spreading, heart-shaped lily pad and refused to come out, flicking its tongue angrily when she claimed to be its old friend.

  With a frustrated growl, Shine plopped down against the edge of the pond between tall, furling-lily pots. Whisper joined her, more delicately, and they shared their feast. Whisper had heard the official story and a few unsanctioned bits of gossi
p, but she asked, “What do you think is the most important thing, Shine?”

  Shine licked cherry gore from the corner of her mouth and said in a rush, “I think I will fall in love with the Sorceress Who Eats Girls!”

  “What!” Whisper hissed, her version of a shriek.

  “I know.” Shine laughed and looked up at the starry sky, streaked with glowing thin clouds and that happy, delightful moon. “She wants me, and I have to return to her, so that together we can teach the Fifth Mountain to live without stolen hearts. I miss her—I miss… something.…” Shine trailed off, feeling dreamy.

  Whisper shook her head in wonder, eyes wide. “Tell me everything about her.”

  And Shine did tell her quite a bit, but not everything. As she spoke, she pinched off pieces of cherry pastry and coaxed the dragon-lily spirit over. It blinked its blister-pink eyes at her suspiciously, but finally took a rolled-up ball of dough.

  Shine promised to come back every day with treats for it.

  The next day she met with the pair of witches again, to renew the binding net. Shine bared her teeth at them and refused to answer their invasive questions, but at least Immli had returned to his Silver Rain crescent, taking Lord All-in-the-Water with him. This surprised Shine, as the lord commander should have been in the palace for Kirin’s investiture.

  The ritual would be in ten nights, when the moon was full.

  Shine’s days, in the meantime, were spent with Kirin, attending meetings, luncheons, tea services, and occasionally a nightcap. At his side, Shine mostly remained silent as Kirin discussed their adventures, only sometimes offering a more vivid description of a part of the Fifth Mountain. It was a performance, to show as many important people as possible that they mattered enough for a private explanation. That Prince Kirin Dark-Smile was home, and more than worthy of the Moon. He was mature, worldly, clever, and beautiful—everything a people could hope for in a future emperor. And, of course, pure.