The Midnight Star (Page 50)
“No,” I say quietly, bringing my lips up to his. “Not yet.”
Magiano smiles. He doesn’t say anything. Instead, he leans forward and closes the gap between us, pressing his lips to mine. The light in his energy floods my insides, chasing away the dark shadows and replacing them with warmth. I can hardly breathe. I gasp as he touches my back and pulls me more tightly to him. His movement makes me lose my balance, and I topple backward into bed, bringing him with me. Magiano tumbles forward on top of me. His kisses continue, trailing the hollow of my throat. His fingers tug at the strings on my bodice and they loosen. He pulls it up over my head and tosses it to the foot of the bed. My skin is bare against his, and I realize that I’m trembling.
Magiano pauses for a moment to look at me, searching for a sign of my emotions. I study his face in the darkness. “Stay with me,” I whisper. “Tonight. Please.” The words said aloud suddenly frighten me, and I pull away, wondering whether I should have opened myself up to him like this. But the thought of sleeping alone, surrounded by my illusions, is too much to bear.
He touches my hair with one hand, brushes the strands away, stares at the left side of my face. He kisses the scar gently. His lips touch my forehead, then my mouth. And then, as if he understands me better than anyone in the world, he whispers, “It will make this night a little less dark.”
That night, he dreamt of a place full of pillars, silver-white, reaching up to the sky. And that morning, his enemy’s soldiers broke through the inner gates.
—Excerpt from The Requiem of Gods, Vol. XVII, translated by Chevalle
Adelina Amouteru
Afterward, no whispers lurk in my mind. My energy is very quiet. I have no nightmares. Stirring when the pale light of dawn creeps into my quarters through the porthole, I half expect last night to be nothing more than an illusion . . . but Magiano is still here, his soft brown skin pressed against mine, his breathing gentle and rhythmic in sleep.
I stretch against him, a genuine smile on my lips. The air is chilly, and I wish I could stay nestled forever under these thick blankets. Memories from last night still linger, Magiano’s hot breath against my neck, his whispers of my name, his sharp inhale. When I first met him that evening in Merroutas, he seemed like a mysterious, invincible figure, a wild boy with a mess of hair and a quicksilver smile. Now, he seems quiet. Vulnerable. His fingers stay entwined with mine, hanging on firmly even in sleep. I study his long lashes. For a moment, I wonder what he had seen in the memories Raffaele unearthed during his test.
Every day, we head farther north. Every day, the air turns colder. Soon, I have to put on a heavier cloak and sturdier boots each time I go above deck. Magiano seems uncomfortable here, in this colder climate. His blood is thinner than mine, and his Sunland heritage shows in his deep scowl.
This morning, as we see the first hints of land on the horizon, he joins me on the deck with two cloaks fastened tightly around his neck. His arm brushes against mine.
“Why can’t the origin of the Elites be in a tropical paradise?” he complains.
Even now, looking out at this bleak, dark ocean, I have to smile at his words. He has shared my quarters every night since our first together, and as a result, the whispers have become quieter over the past few weeks. But now that we draw closer to the Skylands, the voices have returned with a vengeance. “We shall reach Beldain today, at least. I’ll be happy to be on solid land again.”
Magiano grunts. I wonder which poor soldier he stole the second cloak from. “Small victories,” he agrees.
Nearby stands Teren, who watches the approaching land without a word. He has caused us no trouble for the weeks he’s gone without his chains and, true to his appointment, has stayed near me, a hand always on the hilt of his sword. The new white bandages around his wrists look red again, though. His wounds are stubborn.
A rumble of voices behind me grabs my attention. Violetta talks in low whispers to Raffaele as they sit together on stacks of cargo, pointing at the strip of land growing before our eyes. I watch them over my shoulder. Raffaele joined us shortly after my accident overboard and has been with us since then. Violetta has gradually eased around me, ever since that night, but she still keeps her distance and confides in Raffaele more often than she does with me. She leans heavily against him and trembles, her lips dry and cracked. Her voice is weaker than it has ever been, and her cheeks are hollow now, the result of her poor appetite. The sight sends my energy churning darkly, not in anger but in sorrow.
I wish it were me she turns to for comfort.
“You said the Beldish would meet us here with troops of their own,” I call to Raffaele. “I see no Beldish flags on any of the ships on the horizon.” I pause to nod toward the nearing port again. “Any word from Queen Maeve?”
“She will be here,” Raffaele replies. Like Magiano, he has an air of unhappiness about him, and pulls his heavy cloak tighter. He must not have enjoyed spending weeks in Beldain the last time he fled here. “But we have to move quickly out of this city.”
“Which city is this?”
“Laida, one of Amadera’s most populous port cities.” Raffaele gathers his black hair into a thick rope across one shoulder. “Rumor has it the Saccorists have a base here and may be waiting for you.”
I smile bitterly at him, then weave an illusion of his face across my own. Raffaele’s expression flickers in surprise for a moment before settling back into its pool of calm. “They may have a hard time finding me,” I reply.
Raffaele gives me a tight smile in return. “Do not underestimate your enemies, Your Majesty,” he says.