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I DREAMED OF THE MOTHERthat night.
Colored in the same deep wayward shades of blue, the salt of her bowels tasted sweet to me for the first time. How could I have missed her? I had been at peace for too long, playing pretend in pretty dresses and gorging on the decadence of this life. Maybe I had wanted her to remind me of the wrong I had done, the debt I had left unpaid jumping from one world to the next.
My ankles were already immersed in cold waters. Undercurrents exactly as they were the day I jumped from the cliff—quiet and unemotional rippling across the vast expanse. With every trickle of a wave against my cured skin, a glacial chill spread further up my leg. First my toes had numbed, and soon, would my heart follow?
Off in the distance, I heard the Mother chuckle—dark and callous.
You promised to forsake the visions.
My mouth dried out instantly when I heard her speak. It was not exactly a voice, more like a feeling cast out upon the open water, hissing as it broke on my ears like the tide breaching the sand.
And now you have, but for what purpose? To die not even as half the person you once were?
A stream of red light flared on her horizon as she taunted me, disrupting the still darkness that had surrounded us both. My stomach began to sink, not with fear, but something far more commanding. Something like love or sorrow—or maybe it was both.The light was moving closer, soaring over the bleak pitchof the Sea.
You thought I wanted to take all of you.
Pushing out in all directions, a force hurtled towards me with so much vigor it pulled me in closer against all logic. I could feel the grain of my soul dissipating from my fingertips and into the centermost part of my being.
Gwynore, the Mother said,I already did.
A stale punch of night air caught in my throat, nearly smothering me with the bedding I had swept myself into. Flapping my arms about, I managed to escape the soft depths of blankets and quilts. I looked down and saw my night clothes drenched with an unknown wet. For a moment, brief but too long, I feared the dream had been real. Panic ripped through me and I was out of the bed without so much as a creak of shifting weight. My feet thumped heavily against the wooden stairs as I sprinted towards the terrace one hall above my room.
When I made it to the next floor, a chord of female laughter skittered through the hall. I jumped in my skin, stepping back into the shadowed stairwell. Who else could have been awake at this hour? Surely, the Guardians were either asleep in their beds or on the night watch.
There was a throng of partygoers from the Sea faction—Aegedonia, Kalen had called it—that had arrived for festivities a few days early. To settle in, he said. Though it wasn’t their home, so I hadn’t been able to make out what needed settling exactly. Perhaps it was one such group of people, having a late-night party. Then a thought struck me, a pang of excitement. The laughter had been a woman’s, it was bright and clear and punctured the air. I was a woman. I could venture toward the sound, and follow it until I found the owner. My dream had shaken me, and sharing a laugh with someone could only help that. I didn’t have to be alone, feeling like this.
Slowly I revealed myself, a streak of silver moonlight runningover my bare legs as I stepped out into the corridor. I waited for a moment, hoping to hear the woman laugh again, and when she did, I nearly sprinted towards her. Turning a corner, candlelight sliced the wall to my left, and on my right, someone’s chamber door cracked open slightly.
I peered in, instinct tugging at me to assess the situation before I catapulted myself into it.
It was a pleasant scene. A woman was giggling with shining, apple-red cheeks. Standing barefoot, dressed down in her linen night shift, her long auburn hair curled around her ears and sticking to the bare skin between her shoulder blades. I angled my chin to fit the door frame, to see more. A hot feeling appeared at the back of my thighs. There was a man. Or something like a man? A tall figure, with sharply angled features, his hair short and dark, but his skin was faintly scaled. He was gorgeous, certainly not mortal, like the woman. He reached out for her, tugging her toward him boldly, his long fingers groping everywhere.
Oh.I shouldn’t be here. But…I had this inexplicable feeling that I couldn’t turn away. That I should not. Something felt wrong.
The woman pushed his advance away. “You might be older than me, Donis, but you have the manners of a child,” she said, sounding playful, though something about her tone was almost nervous.
“Oh? Then why don’t you teach me some so-called manners,” was his reply, his mouth craning towards her neck. She turned her head, allowing him the kiss.
“Unnecessary. Surely you’ve had plenty of education on the subject…”
He chuckled. “Perhaps, but I never said I was an apt student.”
“I don’t doubt that.”
They traipsed clumsily along this same line of conversation formany moments longer; him trying to seduce her with cleverness, and her putting distance to his persuasion with a sharp wit of her own. The more he kissed her, the stiffer she grew in his arms. I wondered how long it would continue, and if now was the proper time to cut my losses and go back to bed. But when the girl pushed the man away—a tad forcefully—and strode towards the dresser at the opposite side of the room, my attention was rapt again.
“Donis,” she sighed but kept a smile on her lips. Then she grabbed the two wine chalices from the serving tray and walked carefully back to him. “Why don’t we toast to something.”
This made Donis smile, and he plucked one of the drinks from her delicate hands. “A toast, my dear Mirona,” he agreed. “To new friendships. Hopefully, lifelong. ”
“To new friendships.” It was clear she’d rather not agree to the last part.
Mirona lifted the chalice to her lips and drank its entire contents in one large gulp while Donis watched, sipping. When she pulled the rim away from her lips, her lips puckered as she swallowed.
“Glory,” she gasped. “Does wine in Leoth always taste like piss?”
Donis laughed. “I can’t be sure. Though that could explain why Guardians always look so solemn, onandoff duty.”
