Dorian wished me happy birthday several times throughout the day and insisted I noted he had the date correct. He was a complete ass about it, but it kept me smiling, a gift all its own.
Mostly, I thought of Poppy all day. How each year he’d have me blow out a candle before dinner and we’d thank the Sun for another year. Then I’d go to my room for bed and find he’d snuck something small onto my altar. A new fishing hook he’d traded worms for, a pretty shell, the last of the sunrise flowers before they all wilted away from frost.
Strange thing is I was more upset for Poppy’s sadness about missing my birthday than my own.
Somehow all of that—turning seventeen, a rare blueberry muffin for breakfast, my Poppy missing the day for the first time in my life—feels like ages ago.
Yet, it’s been four short days. Living with the Night on the other side of Bellona in this place they call the Lower.
It feels like so much longer.
And even though I should be lying obediently on the mat in my cave, once again I’m wandering along a maze of tunnels. This is the second time I’ve ended up here in as many days. I can’t sleep in this place. It’s too dark. Too quiet. Too … underground. There are times, I’d swear on all the pantera fish in the Great Sea, that the twenty feet or so of dirt and rock and insects piled above my head is going to cave in right on top of me.
Despite my constant questions to Dorian, unremitting seeking out of the Sindaco (I’m convinced the man is a ghost), and general trying to wrap my mind around this flipped-upside-down world I’ve landed in, I’m hopelessly restless at lights-out.
My first night gone rogue, I took a wrong turn and ended up here: a dark and winding tunnel with more caves leading off it. I wound along the web of halls like an aimless ant until I hit a dead end: a large metal door without a knob or lever. Only a keyhole. It’s probably nothing. A closet full of gardening tools or extra dishes or, Sun help me, piles of soiled laundry. Despite the likelihood it’s nothing, I can’t stay away. I’ve tried picking the lock with the tip of my blade, peeking through the keyhole for a hint, but have been wildly unsuccessful.
Walking softly, I try to keep my boots from squeaking, my shaky breath from sounding too heavily. I traverse the labyrinth, a little ant winding along, going about her business, searching for the door with all the secrets. The tunnels are dark save for an occasional flicker of light mounted on a wall every so often. It’s only myself and the dim glow of my lamp, the oil burning quickly.
I turn the corner to find this next tunnel is completely dark, no flickers to be had. Then the next, same thing, pitch-dark like black ink bleeding all around me.
At the next curve I’m greeted with a single light to illuminate the way to—yes—the secret door. No longer worried about the sound of my feet, I speed toward the door, determined that this time it’s going to open.
Hand outstretched, I hold my breath, sending small, silent wishes up toward the Sun that when I push the door it’ll give way and swing open.
I push it.
It doesn’t budge.
Someone taps my shoulder.
I whip around in one quick motion. I’m not sure if it’s the adrenaline or the fright, but I accidentally elbow whoever it is in the gut. Hard.
There’s a groan of pain, several swears, and a hunched-over Dorian, about to punch the wall.
“Dorian! Holy hell, you scared me!”
He only responds by holding up a single finger as if asking me to wait.
As my heart calms, Dorian slowly recovers, until he’s standing but leaning against the wall. “I really tried not to scare you. That’s why I tapped you instead of shouting your name. I’m sorry.”
“My Sun, next time just shout my name.” He glares up at me. I give an apologetic smile. “I didn’t mean to hurt you, but it’s my instinct to punch anyone who sneaks up on me in the dark…” I pause. “Wait. What are you doing down here?”
“Guard duty.”
“Oh, really…?” Right. “Down here.”
He nods.
“Middle of the night.”
Nod-nod.
“Yeah, I don’t buy it.”
“It’s true.” But the crooked grin taunting the corners of his lips would suggest otherwise.
I slide down the wall and sit next to him. “What could you possibly be guarding in these empty caves?”
He glances over, slowly regaining his composure. “You.” I gape back at him. He sighs deeply. “Trust me, I’d rather be sleeping.” He narrows his eyes, small smile finally surfacing. “But the Sindaco wants you to go wherever you want, but doesn’t want you to get lost. Alas…” He shrugs.
I narrow my eyes. “You’re guarding me.”
“Sort of.” He smirks playfully. “It sounds creepier when you say it like that.” He peels himself away from the wall, wincing, stretching from side to side. “We’d hate for you to get stuck in some cave. You’d starve … There’d be a huge, highly inconvenient search. Someone, probably me, would have to identify your body … It’s just better for everyone if we avoid all that.”
“Sure … What a pain that’d be.” I return his playful smile, notice how his hair is disheveled, less perfectly kempt than usual, features softer when he’s not so on guard. I’m also very aware of how seeing Dorian like this sets off a pleasingly warm swirling in my chest. Especially when his smile widens, how he glances at me from the corner of his eyes, part playful, part trying to read me as if he’s feeling the same.
“So.” He clears his throat. “What’s your excuse? Going somewhere?”
“Maybe. I do miss my bed, my room, reliable plumbing…” Well, mostly reliable plumbing. “But, no, I’d probably end up in that same scenario you so poetically described.” I sigh, rubbing my tired, heavy eyes. “I can’t sleep, so I’ve been exploring. I found this door and…” I hesitate for a minute, unsure if I want to open up to him, when, his eyes bearing into mine, I think of what he said my first day here. That you have to give trust to receive it, to earn it back. I choose to give, take a small risk with the hope it’ll pay off in the end. “… I kind of hoped there’d be something amazing and magical behind it.” He only stares. I glance away, instantly regretting the risk. “It’s stupid, I know. I’m tired. Delirious, probably.”
“It’s not stupid.” He brings his hand up like he’s going to touch my shoulder or graze my cheek with his fingers, but seems to change his mind, which leaves me disappointed, which morphs into confusion. “Not at all. In fact”—he pulls his keys from his pocket, holding a single one up in front of him—“here.”
“What?”
“You do the honors.”
I take the key out of his palm. My hand shakes as I insert it into the door, turn it to the left. The lock clicks and lifts. I look at Dorian. He raises his eyebrows and I push the door open.
It’s not what I expect.
There’s no fairy dust or magic … No scrolls or thick tomes for me to thumb through …
But my breath catches all the same.
The corners of my eyes sting, emotion and memories, so many prayers, filling the air like wishes in a well. You can’t see any of it, but you know it’s there. Countless blessings. There’s an indescribable tangibility to it. I feel Dorian’s eyes on me, and I open my mouth to speak, to try to voice my thoughts, but all the right words escape me.