“Yes. But even he was welcome, once. A long time ago.”
He slows his pace, falling into step beside me. The lofted ceilings are cut with skylights, allowing shafts of moonlight to slice down around us. A beautiful fountain gurgles at the center of the atrium—two mythical merpeople locked together in a passionate embrace, mouths fused, hair flowing. Their naked forms are so realistically chiseled, it is difficult to believe they are not flesh and blood. Their scales possess the luster of abalone shells, shining bright despite the shadows. Water spouts from the tips of their intertwined tails and the length of the merman’s trident, showering them in a constant waterfall. I can hardly tear my eyes away, but Soren pays the fountain no notice as we pass by, seemingly immune to its beauty.
“What did he do?” I ask softly, almost afraid to know the answer after wondering for so long. “To warrant banishment?”
Soren sighs. “That is a story for another night. One bolstered by copious intake of Titan gin.”
We pass beyond the atrium into a wide corridor that runs the length of the villa, splitting off into darkened rooms we do not pause to explore. Eventually, we reach a separate wing that houses a half dozen doors. They are all crafted of the same pale wood—bamboo, I think, or teak—but unique in their designs. Some are carved with feathers, others seashells. The one on my left looks like a setting sun; the one on my right captures the crest of a perfect wave.
My eyes move over them as we walk, studying the ornate craftsmanship, until we reach the very end of the hall. There sits another door, set quite a distance away from the rest. A grander entryway, double the width of the others. Not wood. It is a solid slab of crystal—cleaved, like the bathing chamber, out of pure, opaque quartz. It glows faintly. I sense the unique signature of Soren’s power rolling off it and know, even at ten paces, that it is warded shut.
Soren stops at the center of the corridor, finally pausing to look at me. “Feel free to choose any of the bedrooms that most appeals to you. They are all vacant and well maintained. That one”—he gestures toward the door with the sun—“the Sunset Suite, has a particularly nice view of the Westerly Beacon. The Gull Suite”—he points two doors down, to the one with feather elements—“faces the interior gardens.”
I jerk my chin toward the crystalline threshold. “And that one?”
“My bedroom.” He pauses a beat, head canting sideways as he stares at me. “You are welcome to wander wherever you please for however long you are here—with the exception of that door. No one enters but me.”
I scoff. “I have no desire to spy on you.”
“Says the woman who interrupted my bath.”
“Spare me your belated—and, might I add,false—modesty.”
His lips twitch. His fingers lightly graze the fabric of his low-slung towel. “Oh, I think you know I have nothing to be modest about.”
Color hits my cheeks. I ignore it. “Trust me, even if I wanted to see inside your personal chambers—which I do not—I can tell just standing here that the door is heavily warded. I doubt I could get through it if I tried.”
“Let’s not test that theory, shall we? We don’t yet know what you are capable of, little wind weaver.”
“As always, you overestimate my powers.”
“And you, as always, underestimate them.” His eyes flash, sudden flecks of silver striating the blue. “How long will you deny your own abilities? How long will you run from who you are? From what you are capable of?”
I blink, startled. His furl of temper is unexpected, a rogue wave lashing out of calm waters. But as quickly as it arose, it is gone again. The silver fades from his irises. His voice drops to a mutter I am not sure is meant for my ears. “Just as well you’ve come on your own. Spares me the unpleasant task of dragging you out of Dyved by force.”
Surely I have misheard him.“Excuse me?”
“It’s past time we began. Well past.”
“Began what?”
He does not answer, merely turns on his heel and walks to his door. “We’ll discuss it in the morning.”
“I’m leaving in the morning,” I remind him. “You’re to bring me back to Caeldera at first light.”
“Like I said, we’ll discuss it in the morning.”
“Soren!”
“Good night, skylark.”
“Wait—”
Ignoring my protests, he lifts one hand to the door. It glows brighter under his touch, then swings inward. I do not even have time to call good night back to him before he vanishes into the dark chamber beyond. The door closes after him with a resounding click, its glow dissipating instantly.
I have half a mind to march straight up to it and attempt to unlock the wards myself, simply to be obstinate. Instead, I sighand turn to face the other doors stretching out before me. It is beyond late. I am bone weary. And I have a sinking feeling that whatever Soren aims to discuss with me tomorrow, I will need a full night’s sleep to face head-on.
Setting my shoulders, I stomp to the nearest suite and shove its door open.