“No, not always. But I—I can’t elaborate.”
I nod.
He lets out a long sigh, looking past me, then back at my face. “There was someone a lifetime ago. I can’t say any more than that.” He is handing me this piece of trust, and I think a piece of his heart along with it. I give his hand a gentle squeeze. He sounds like he wants to talk about her, or him, but these pointless rules won’t let him.
“Who are all the people that we’re going to meet at the ball?” I ask, changing the subject. Sybil told us some of it, and it feels like a safe enough topic.
“Ah, many gods and goddesses from Solarem. Nymphs and dryads. My family will be there, but just my siblings—none of their children will be in attendance, nor will my parents. They’ve taken retirement from building the realms and are off living their lives or whatever it is retired gods do.” He sounds wistful. “Sybil will be giving you the ins and outs of who is who as part of your lessons.”
“They started to. What happened this morning that dragged you away from breakfast?” I press.
He reaches his free hand toward the bruise on my face. His fingers graze my skin, but I don’t look away, settling into the warmth of him touching my face. It’s an intimate gesture, one I’ve seen between my adoptive parents so many times. My father was always looking for some excuse to be touching his wife, brushing a lock of hair away from her face, adjusting her coat so she was warm, holding her hand.
I might not have had the ideal childhood, but I grew up watching my grandparents, who loved each other for fifty years, and watching my adoptive parents, who also loved each other deeply. I’ve seen what kind of life all-consuming romantic love can bring you, and I want it so badly for myself.
My eyes close, and I catch a whiff of paint and dust. In the distance, I can almost hear the sound of my and my mystery man’s laughter. He sounds like Essos. Am I hearing what I want to hear? My voice says something, but it sounds far away.
“You can’t be serious that he’s going to stand on these scaffolds and keep painting this; my neck aches just thinking about it!”
“My dear, I promise you, this will be a sight to behold when he’s done. Just you wait.” His voice is barely a whisper on the wind.
“Please?” Essos asks, his voice pleading as his fingers dance over the edges of the bruise. My eyes shoot open at the sound of his voice in the here and now.
My face is no longer swollen, and I’m almost positive that Sybil had something to do with that. While I want to hold on to this tangible evidence that we went through something, I can see that the bruise pains him. For me, it’s a reminder that I’ve died—I can’t imagine what sort of reminder it must be for Essos. Perhaps that countless women have to die for him to find a partner. I can find another way to remember that this is real; it doesn’t need to be so dramatic, so in his face.
My head moves, nodding. I’m not sure why, but this time I let him heal me, letting go of the life I knew before. I close my eyes again as my face warms, and I’m not sure if it’s a blush or from him. I keep them closed until the warmth goes away, thinking about all those I left behind, and all that I’ve lost. The list is short, just my adoptive parents, Phil and Melinda, who I am sure will land on their feet, and my cat, Waffles. It’s time for me to start moving forward instead of holding on to my pain and regret.
My eyes flutter open as Essos withdraws his hand. I’m about to ask him about the odd daydream I had about the Sistine Chapel, and if these dreams are more than just dreams, when he answers my earlier question.
“This morning there was fighting in the mortal realm, and I had to tend to a sudden influx of souls as well as address the reason. The situation is more complicated than that, but again, broad strokes. The events of the Calling mean that business cannot be conducted as usual, so I needed to send an emissary to handle it.”
I want to ask him more, but Sybil approaches us and taps their wrist, signaling that time is up. Essos is the first to rise, and he offers me his hand and pulls me to my feet. Maybe he underestimated his own strength, or I pushed off too much, but for a moment, it’s like I’m airborne before I collide with Essos’s sturdy chest. He catches me, holding me to him, and his scent settles something deep in my soul, giving me a calm that has my shoulders relaxing and my body melting against his. When he’s sure I’m stable on my own two feet, Essos loosens his grip on me but doesn’t release his hold on my upper arms. Awareness of every spot we touch sings through my body, from my thighs to where our chests are pressed together. Sybil clears their throat, causing us to jerk away from each other like teenagers caught making out. Essos dusts off his clothes and straightens his suit like we’ve done nothing wrong.
“Duty calls. Please, stay and enjoy the gallery for as long as you want. Know that you are free to enjoy this space whenever you wish.” He dips his head to me, then takes a file from Sybil and strides toward the exit.
“Wait!” I call, and before I’ve even finished the word, he’s spinning toward me. Sybil gives me an impatient look, and I know I can’t blow this chance. “Who is Dion?” It’s a gamble that I’ll even get an answer, so I picked something small to confirm if my dreams are rooted in reality.
Essos furrows his brow. “Where did you hear that name?”
“One of the escorts must have mentioned it. I was wondering.”
I think I hear Essos swear under his breath, cursing Finn, but he’s too far away for me to be sure. “He’s the God of Wine and Debauchery. Fortunately, he’s preoccupied in the mortal realm, so you won’t meet him until after the Calling Ball. I really must be going.”
My body stills, like I’ve been caught doing something I’m not supposed to, and I want to avoid the attention. Sybil has their eyes narrowed suspiciously, and I think they may not believe my lie.
“Are the gods really that scary?” I ask Sybil as we watch him leave. I glance at them as they watch his long legs carry him out the door. I wonder about the two of them again, but the thought passes quickly as they face me, frowning.
“If you have to ask, you weren’t paying close enough attention today.”With Sybil’s words ringing in my head, I follow them from the gallery, wondering if I’ve somehow earned a mark against myself.
CHAPTER10
That evening, while I’m getting ready, Cat comes into my room and is surprised to see that the bruise on my face is gone.
“Got tired of it finally and let Sybil heal it?” she asks. She’s brought her dress to my room and hangs it on a hook outside my closet. She tosses her heels on the floor, then flops onto my bed on her stomach and runs her fingers through her locks, looking eager for the gossip.
“Actually,” I say slowly, “after you all left the gallery, I ran into Essos there. I let him heal it for me.” I try to say this with as much nonchalance as I can muster, but she sees through me the way only a sister could.
“Doesn’t that violate the no-alone-time rule?” she asks, clearly wanting to know more. I’m sitting at my vanity, watching her in the mirror. She hangs her head upside down, her blue eyes watching me as I apply my mascara. How this doesn’t give her a headache, I don’t know.