“Your leg?”
Hope glittered in his eyes. “Can you do something? You mentioned a tattoo with healing powers—”
“I also mentioned I would never tattoo you.”
“Yes. That. I’m hoping I can entice you with offers of wealth and luxurious houses.”
“You want me to barter my pride for coin?” Her tone was too soft for those words to sting. Considering she already lowered herself to being a maid and was concealing her identity beneath a veil of white powder, she could hardly hope to convince anyone of her moral high ground.
“Not precisely.” The general stopped rubbing his chin. “I want to propose a fair deal. Something beneficial to the both of us. What you want in exchange for what I want.”
“I’m already getting what I want—my cottage. And even after that, there’s one more wish you need to fulfill for me. So why would I agree to your preposterous exchange?”
“Because you’re a greedy woman?”
She smirked. “Unfortunately, I’m a woman of few desires. Unless reanimation of corpses happens to be a talent of yours.”
“I could…I could find a way to reanimate corpses if that can sway your decision. Or I could find someone who can reanimate corpses. Who do you want to bring back to life? Your father?”
Until the general asked her that question, she’d been so sure of the answer. Yes, of course she wanted her father back alive. But with those words pointed at her like barbs, doubt slithered into her heart for the first time. Did she really want him back now? Was it right to awake a person who found eternal sleep? Would his coming back to life change anything?
“On second thought, I don’t believe it’s wise to bring dead people back to life,” she said.
A long pause ensued between them stretching and spreading until the quietness was unbearable.
“Don’t you have anything to say?” Rea asked.
“I’m stumped. It’s not every day that a Suveri woman has me powerless at her mercy.”
“I see.” Rea licked her lips.
“You see my pain and suffering?”
“I see this is your first experience with powerlessness. Like most people, you’re terrified. But like most people, you’ll come to accept this feeling as time passes.”
“And if I don’t want to accept it?” asked the general.
“Then you’ll be destroyed by it.”
“Have you always been so cynical, or is the winter to blame for this new attitude?”
“I’ve always been practical. I believe that’s what you’re referring to.”
Sebestyén sighed. A breeze wove through the empty space between them, chilling the tips of Rea’s ears. Suddenly, she realized that she had no inkling of how much time had passed. How many time had she spent there already, unaware of anything but the man before her?
“No one has looked at me the same since I returned from Mesinia,” said the general. “It’s humiliating to be pitied when you’re accustomed to being revered. If I ascend the throne in this state, my weakness could cost this country greatly. That’s what I fear and what I wish to avoid.”
“Being pitied isn’t humiliating.” Rea took a step closer to the general forcing him to meet her eyes. “Pitying yourself is.”
But maybe it was too much to expect him to understand. A life of entitlement and abundance had failed to prepare him for even the slightest mistake. “Rea, please. I beg you,” he said. “Help me.” The frustration that filled his eyes mirrored her own.
Her heart, traitorous thing that it was, writhed in her chest. It was the same despair she experienced every day as she stared at the horizon hoping for healing to occur, for life to return to better times. But some things never got better. Only worse.
In her own life, she hadn’t been able to change that. But she could easily help him avoid his frustrations. Ease his worries with nothing more than a tattoo and a few whispered words.
Part of her yearned to fall back into the predictable rhythm of the days spent with him. Sharing meals and conversations with the general had been the highlight of her year. Without their games and banter, her life was dull. And much as she wanted to lie to herself, she’d missed him. Horribly. Terribly. Incredibly.
So much that sometimes when he’d appeared in her dreams, she’d tried to drag him back to earth with her. Even now, she and the general were already slipping back into their old patterns. An easy camaraderie had been forged between them in the span of a single evening. What more proof did she need?
“I’ll help you,” she said watching his face light up with anticipation. “I’ll help you make peace with your loss. But that’s the only way I’ll help you. Also, the tattoo I told you about doesn’t have the power to heal a wound of this magnitude, so ultimately, it’s useless.”
“Aren’t there other tattoos?”
“If you’re worried about being shunned by women because of your injury, there’s one that can help you attract a wife who’ll love you forever.”
“My title and wealth are enough to find me a wife who’ll stay by my side forever. I can make do without your tattoo.”
“Then I don’t believe you need me at all.” Convinced the conversation was over and the night too deep for her to tarry in the streets any longer, Rea swiveled.
“The ‘Heaven’s Eye’.” The sudden mention of that word made Rea turn back. “You said it was a tattoo which could grant the ultimate power. Immortality.”
“You wish to become immortal?”
“I have to obtain any power I can to make up for what I’ve lost.”
Any sympathy she felt for the general vanished in that instant. It was as though the mask of kindness he’d been wearing had been torn from his face. Under all his posturing, he was just another power-hungry lord who wanted to use the Suveri’s secrets for his gain. Another tragedy waiting to happen. She wouldn’t allow it.
“The ‘Heaven’s Eye’ is not something to be taken lightly,” Rea warned. “It’s power’s huge, but so is its price. Both the artist and the one who obtains the tattoo are required to make great sacrifices.”
The general didn’t even flinch. “What will it cost me?”
“Apart from hours of torturous pain? A trip to Mesinia to secure glowing blossom sap and five barrels of blood.”
“And what will it cost you?”
“Everything,” she whispered closing her eyes. “Everything.”
5
SCARRED SUMMER
Sebestyén
How does one apologize? Sebestyén asked himself that question for the fiftieth time that morning.
His hand rested on a dark, wooden door attached to a slightly crooked doorframe. So far, he hadn’t dared to knock. Would today be another day he waited at her doorstep trying to vanquish his inner demons, or would he finally take a chance, as he’d done a week ago? And if he did, would she open the door, knit her eyebrows, and slam it closed on his face again? Or would she react differently?
Sebestyén’s face heated up. He’d felt a bit under the weather since morning, but even so, he hadn’t rested. His mind was too restless to allow him a peaceful slumber. And his duties seemed to never cease.