Nimh studies it, the challenge in her expression fading away to be replaced by something softer. “You seem very fond of each other.” It’s almost wistful, that look in her eyes.
I pause then, because there’s an easy answer to that observation, and a hard one. There’s one that agrees that, yes, they are my best friends, and I care about them. And there’s one that opens up a far more private part of me.
“I am very fond of them,” I admit. “We wanted to make a three—Miri and Saelis and me. We … we all felt that.”
“Such unions are not allowed in your land?”
I can feel her eyes on me, though I keep mine on the picture. “Not for a prince. It simplifies matters of heredity when it comes to my eventual heir.” I swallow, then continue, “I think the two of them will end up a pair. And truly, I’m happy for them. I want the very best for both of them.”
“You sound like Menaran,” she says. “Watching the Lovers from afar.”
“Who now?”
She turns her head to study me, and her dark eyes meet mine. “Perhaps you use other names. The Lovers are what we call the moons.” She lifts one hand to point at each in turn, and we both look up. “Here is Miella, and here is her beloved, Danna. Menaran was a riverstrider, and Miella was his betrothed. He had a journey to make, so he left her in the city with his sister Danna. When he returned, the two were in love, and would not be parted. So he returned to the river. Now Miella and Danna dance together in the sky for eternity. Menaran is a point of light that appears every century or so.”
“A comet?” I suggest.
She shrugs, so perhaps the word is unfamiliar. “A riverstrider returning from his latest journey,” she replies. “To pass by them and look on once more.”
We stare at the moons for a while, the sounds of lapping water at the river’s edge blending with the occasional creak of the wooden boat. The air moves more quickly across the water, creating a gentle breeze that cuts through the humidity of the forest-sea. My eyes automatically seek out the dark gray mass that’s the underside of Alciel—I can’t help but wonder if those clouds are all I’ll ever see of my home again.
Then I realize that Nimh is no longer looking up at the moons—she’s watching me instead, gaze curious. “Can I ask you something, North? Something personal?”
“All right.” There’s not much I wouldn’t answer right now, not much I wouldn’t do to keep the pain in her eyes at bay.
“I was wondering …” She looks away, gaze on the stars above us. And on the Lovers. The clouds are creeping in, threatening to obscure them. “Did you ever kiss one of your friends?”
Whatever I was expecting, that certainly wasn’t it. I blink, consider the question, try to ignore the way my cheeks are heating, and nod before I realize she’s not looking at me. “Yes,” I say. “Yes, I did, both of them.”
It feels like something I shouldn’t admit to her. I don’t know why. But when she looks back at me, there’s only curiosity on her face, and perhaps a hint of loneliness. “What does it feel like?” she asks.
I nearly choke. I suppose I did agree to answer a question. “Well, it …” I have to pause, thinking back, trying to quantify the feeling somehow. “Well, this part is probably obvious, but the feeling starts at your lips. Sort of a tingle, or … not a tickle, but it’s related. It’s very enjoyable. Then it moves, sometimes to the back of your neck and down your spine, sometimes along your arms, to your fingers. And you have your eyes closed, so you forget where you are, and what’s happening around you.”
I’ve lowered my lashes while I’m speaking, and when I look up at her, she’s staring squarely at me. I can’t pull my eyes from her lips, still dusted with gold from the ceremony.
“It sounds … lovely,” she murmurs.
“It, um …” I drag my attention up to her eyes with considerable effort, and swallow hard. “It is. I—I wish I could show you.”
Those eyes of hers widen a little, the gold-dusted lips parting, and this time I see the moment in which her gaze flickers down, fixing just a moment on my mouth. Then she drops her gaze entirely. “I … I apologize for my questions.”
“Don’t,” I murmur. A little thought flickers to life in the back of my mind. “Nimh. No mortal is allowed to touch you, because you’re divine. But …”
I don’t say the words, But if I’m a god here too …
I move ever so slightly closer. I can feel the heat from her skin.
She draws a breath, eyes still downcast. Can she have already thought of the same thing?
But she shakes her head after a long, silent moment, and shifts away.
“We do not know. And after what Jezara did to my people …” Nimh stiffens and goes on with remote certainty. “I cannot risk it.”
I can see it happening, the closing down of her face, the shuttering of her soul. The girl who wanted to know how it felt to be kissed by someone who cared for her is banished to make room again for the goddess.
I swallow hard. “What did happen with her? The goddess before you? Matias wouldn’t talk about it.”
Nimh is quiet, and for a long moment I think perhaps she won’t answer me, won’t even tell me she’s not going to answer me. But then she looks across at me once more, half-hidden in the dark. The clouds have drawn in close now, hiding the moons and the last of the stars.
“She fell in love,” she says softly. “She acted upon her desires. She chose him.”
She let him touch her.
“And so she lost her divinity, and was cast out,” I murmur. “What happened to him?” I ask.
“Nothing,” she whispers. “Did you think her touch would have incinerated him on the spot? It is the divine who loses everything—they are the one who must choose to remain apart, for the sake of their calling.”
“But that’s not fair. You didn’t choose this life,” I reply, keeping my voice soft to match hers. “Daoman chose it for you.”
“Daoman found me,” she corrects me gently. “But the divine had already chosen me for its vessel. You did not choose to be a prince, did you? Your birth chose that life for you. And you did not choose to fall from the clouds—destiny brought you to this land.”
“I thought we weren’t going to discuss destiny and magic tonight.” I feel a smile tug at the corner of my mouth.
Her mouth curves in answer, the movement of her lips making my heart speed. “I mean to say that none of us can choose everything that befalls us in this lifetime. It only makes the choices we can make all the more important. I choose to remain untouched, to honor my fate. That is my choice.” Her lashes dip, then lift again. “No matter how I might be tempted otherwise.”
“Then I won’t ask you to choose differently.” I intended the words to be light, reassuring—instead, they come out like an oath. Like a warrior in an ancient story, pledging fealty to some higher power. “I never will, Nimh.”
We’re close enough that I can see individual stars reflected in her eyes, and the moonlight glints off the gold dust on her lips. I can’t help myself—scanning her features, it’s impossible not to imagine what it would be like to touch her. To hold her. To feel her hair sliding beneath my palm, to know what she tastes like.