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“Impressed?”
“That you stopped. I felt your lust, and I couldn't have stopped. But you did.”
“You said you were uncertain, and I said I wouldn't expect more than kissing. I couldn't proceed under those conditions. It would be ungentlemanly.”
“You are too damn honorable, Tristan.” I paused. “Or is this proof we're meant to be together?” I teased.
Tristan went serious. “I think maybe it is,” he whispered.
Chapter Ten
The underground room held its own kind of weather. Warmer than the rest of the house, drier, smelling faintly of cedar and fully of the chicken Tristan set on the table between us. He had set with more care than the situation called for, given that our dinner was reheated chicken and a bottle of red wine. But it turned leftovers into a fine meal, so maybe he was right. I asked him what he liked to eat before he was a Curse.
“Bread was my favorite,” he said. “Fresh, soft bread. When I was human, only the wealthy ate bread made from refined wheat. The rest of us could only afford to make coarse, dark bread from barley or rye.”
“What would you have thought then of the soft bread you can buy now, wrapped in plastic?”
“Well, it's not the same as a freshly baked loaf made without all the preservatives, but even a cheap loaf of modern white bread would have been magical back then.” He sipped his wine and shook his head. “The advances of the human race in architecture, science, and technology are astounding, but I most appreciate those made in the culinary arts.”
I laughed, and something in my chest loosened, a small knot formed by the stranger's gaze at the center. We kept going like that for an hour, maybe two, speaking of ordinary things that weren't so ordinary when seen with the perspective of such a long life. Tristan was a movie buff and had a massive collection of DVDs, VHS tapes, and even some film reels. His interest ran from art films to horror movies, but he didn't like slashers, preferring intellectual horror which he found more creative. I confessed to a disdain for artsy movies, despite being an artist, and a hatred for horror of any kind. I preferred fantasy or romance. He smiled, and for a while the danger outside felt like weather on the other side of thick glass. Loud somewhere else. Not there.
Foolishly, I asked, “Why did the monks think they could remove Heartbreak from you?”
Tristan's smile faded, and he got up to rinse the dishes. As he worked he said, “They heard of something only a few Curses, at that time, had done. It's called the Severing.”
The last word landed heavier than its three syllables should have. “What's that?”
“It's become the most sacred act in Curse society.” Tristan loaded the dishwasher.
Afraid to push too hard, I waited. When he was finished, he dried his hands and motioned to the living room. We went back to the couch.
He straightened a cushion before he sat down and finally spoke. “I often refer to myself and a Curse, but it's more to classify myself. The Curse is in me, but not me. Do you understand?”
“Yes, of course. You're the vessel, not the Curse, but calling yourself a Curse is easier.”
“Yes.” He cleared his throat. “When a Curse's vessel falls in love, genuine shared love, they may choose to divide the weight of the Curse. The partner accepts half. Not a copy. Not pieces of it. Half of the Curse. It must be freely given and willingly, in full knowledge of what it means, accepted.”
“Half of Heartbreak,” I whispered.
“The partner becomes an immortal vessel like the original. Both feel the Pull afterward. Both touch reality in ways human hands were never meant to.” He looked at me then, his aquamarine eyes gone dark in the low light. “It creates an eternal bond. With only half the Curse within each, they cannot be far from their partner for long.”
“That sounds less like sharing and more like losing half of yourself and all of your autonomy.”
“You lose nothing of yourself. It's the Curse that tears itself in two, drawn by love into another vessel,” Tristan said, and something fierce moved beneath the words. “As for your independence, you can still function as you wish, you just need to live with your partner.”
“How far can you go?”
“It hasn't been tested. Usually love-bound Curses don't wish to stray too far from each other.”
“Oh, and in exchange, you get immortality.”
“Immortality as a Curse is not a gift, Destiny. The partner isn't gaining anything. They bear half the weight of the Curse forever out of love. That's why it's rarely done.”
“I don't understand. Why wouldn't it be done more often? It makes sense that someone in love would want to bear half the pain for their partner.”
“The answer is within the question. For the Severing to work, there must be genuine love between the partners. Without that, the Curse cannot split and cannot share itself. It's hard enough to find true love, but to find someone who loves you enough to bear half your burden for eternity? That is even more difficult, and it's not the biggest obstacle.”
“What is?” I whispered.
