“What is this place to you?”
He says you like he’s seen the memories too, or he hears how my heart beats two rhythms now. I fear the answer will destroy him; it will destroy me, so I leave it obscured behind the grim walls of my mind.
“A place of lies,” I answer.
My chest brims with a burning ache as we enter the throne room in the present, not some memory of a forgotten time. There are so many words left unspoken, so much to say. Lifetimes of secrets stand between us, but I tuck them away for now. They will haunt me to the end of my days—but that will be very soon if I succeed in killing my sister.
The throne room is a darkened mirror image of the place from my memories. Dust clings to the stale air and coats the white marble in gray. Our shadows stretch across the floor, twice as tall, like we’ve transformed into the demons who lived and loved and died here.
Rudjek’s torchlight catches glimpses of the steps that arch over the room and end in shadows. “What is that?”
“A throne,” I say, my voice muted in the darkness.
With one hand on his shotel, Rudjek peers around the room. “This place feels wrong.”
When his gaze lands on me again, I kiss him. It catches him off guard and he stumbles back, his eyes hungry for more, his mouth frozen in surprise. Warmth flushes his cheeks as he takes a step closer, then stops. A war rages in his eyes as he forces himself to stay still. “We can’t, Arrah.” His face twists in pain and longing. “You saw what almost happened when we touched by the river.”
My lips tingle and the ghost of our embrace lingers like the aftermath of a storm. Hot and cold alternate in my body, and the combination is shocking and delightful. I take a step closer. I want to taste his lips, to explore his mouth, to feel his warmth tangled with mine. I want him to make me forget Daho.
“I may not survive tonight, Rudjek.” I swallow the lump in my throat. “I don’t want to die without knowing what it’s like to kiss you.”
Rudjek props the torch against a wall and pulls me into his arms. I sink against his warm neck, and again, longing threads through me. “You’re not going to die.” His declaration is low and heavy. “I won’t let you.”
I lift my head and blink back tears. “Do you promise?”
Rudjek cups my face in his hands and my body trembles. “I do.”
I close my eyes as he kisses me properly for the first time. His soft lips are as delicate as rose petals, his tongue the hot lash of the sun. He tastes of winter and sunshine and warm springs. My hands fumble, searching for purchase as he pulls me against him. I traverse the planes of his neck, his shoulders, his back. He explores too. His fingers trace the shape of my collarbone, his touch a trail of fire that leaves me yearning for more. When we pull away, my mouth burns. His anti-magic leaves my ears ringing and my skin itching. My head spins as exhaustion settles in my limbs, but it was worth every single moment. “That was . . .”
“Amazing.” A braid’s fallen in my face, and Rudjek tucks it behind my ear, his fingers grazing my cheek. “Are you okay?”
“Yes,” I breathe. “Are you?”
“I feel a little weak.”
We stare at each other in a silence that stretches on too long—knowing there can be no more kissing, not without consequences. A stone out of place on the steps behind him catches my attention. I shimmy it from the cracked molding and remove the dagger wrapped in cloth from the alcove. It alone remains untouched by the decay in the palace. The handle is inlaid with gold and silver, symbols engraved on both sides of the blade.
Rudjek stands transfixed by the dagger, his eyes filled with pain. “Don’t do it, Arrah.”
“I must,” I say, my voice a wisp of air. “I’ve made peace with it.”
“Well, I haven’t.” Rudjek glances everywhere but my face. “I can’t lose you.”
“Look at these bones.” I gesture with my arm. “This will happen again if my sister releases the Demon King’s ka. I can’t let it.”
“There must be thousands dead here,” he whispers. “He was a monster.”
“He is a monster.”
To use was is to pretend that the threat is gone, when Daho is very much alive.
Thirty-Nine
“Someone’s coming!” Majka hollers. I tuck the dagger in my waistband and we hurry up the ladder. Rudjek looks dusty and tattered and tired beneath the moonlight—and the kiss has left me weak too. It wasn’t a good idea, but I don’t care and I don’t regret it. My feelings for Rudjek and this new, unimaginable memory of Daho still burn within me. The kiss only made it that much worse. If I survive this night and stay far away from the Demon King’s palace, maybe this new connection will fade. I want to believe a lot of things that aren’t true.
Rudjek removes his shotels in one swift draw. “We’ll use the Temple as a base.”
“What Temple?” Majka shrieks—his voice reaching a new octave. “You mean that pile of rocks you’re in?”
Sukar lowers his spyglass. “This will be interesting.”
A boy with kinky hair the color of the sun steps out of the shadows. It’s Tam. Or I suppose I should say Re’Mec. Anger rises in my chest and I bite the inside of my lip. So much of what we’ve gone through could’ve been avoidable had he acted with compassion.
He’s wearing a white elara trimmed in red, gold, and green thread and beaded sandals. Not exactly practical for a fight. It’s near impossible to believe that he once defeated the Demon King. The scribes called Koré and Re’Mec the Twin Kings, but it’s obvious that she was the true hero and he’d just tagged along.
“Re’Mec,” Rudjek says, a bite in his tone.
The orisha grins, but the sentiment doesn’t reach his eyes. When his pale blue gaze meets mine, something pricks in the back of my mind—a memory that sputters like torchlight at the first drops of rain, trying desperately to shake itself loose from some unseen chains. The same cool, calming magic washes the memory away before it comes into focus. This magic isn’t from the witchdoctors. It’s ancient, older than time itself, and tastes of tears.
“Do I know you?” I ask, but it’s the wrong question. “Do . . . do you know me?”
Re’Mec blinks at me and scoffs. “Has your girlfriend lost her wits?”
Rudjek flings one of his shotels at Re’Mec’s head. The sword whips through the air and the orisha steps aside at the last moment. It slams into a splintered stone column and sticks. Too bad it missed Re’Mec. He’s no better than Daho. In some ways he’s worse. He stood by and let the Ka-Priest torture my mother. He alone demanded the Rite of Passage that has broken so many families. The orishas are so removed from the rest of us that they don’t bother to think of the consequences of their actions. Still, there was honest confusion in his eyes at my question, which gives me hope that Daho was lying.
“Is that any way to treat an old friend?” He makes a show of stroking his hairless chin.
“You sniveling little weasel.” Rudjek grits his teeth. “Watch your tongue.”
“My apologies.” Re’Mec flourishes an Aatiri bow at me. “My sister is quite fond of you, or should I say was, since no one has seen her since she went to Kefu.”