Envious Of Fire (Kissing With Teeth #2)

10. Are You Afraid?

—?—

From the mirrored ceiling to its mirrored pillars to its floor, everything cracks apart in a mad cacophony of screaming glass, the dark blue walls raining down in sharp, twirling splinters and shimmering shards all around Kaleb.

He ducks and shields his head, terrified.

The next second, it’s over, perfectly silent. He lifts his head to find himself transported to a warm, stone room, the cellar of a castle perhaps, torches lining the walls, just a stack of crates in one corner, a dusty table, nothing else. He sees a staircase in front of him where light pours down from an upper floor. Standing in the light is the shape of the nurse, gazing down upon Kaleb.

With a start, Kaleb realizes she, too, has transformed. She’s a beautiful woman in an emerald green dress, long locks of dark hair draped against flawless copper skin, eyes burning with satisfaction, two flickering flames. Kaleb steps back, stumbling, frightened at first, then awed the longer he stares at her.

She seems amused. “Don’t worry. You are safe now. 1025, is it? No more,” she states grandly, lifting her chin, making her appear even twice as tall as she was a moment ago. “You shall be acknowledged by your true name. Kaleb, I believe I heard.”

He tries to agree, tries to say his name, fails at both.

“Come with me,” she says, tone friendly. A twinkle of delight lives in her eyes as she turns, the splendor of her green dress shimmering in the torchlight, the low-plunging back showing the whole length of her supple back as she calmly ascends the stairs.

Kaleb makes an immediate choice not to hesitate and test her patience. He quickly follows, ignoring—or entirely forgetting—the twinge in his right knee, as well as the dread pressing heavily upon his chest. The top of the stairs opens to a curving stone hallway, also lined with torches, beams of thick wood overhead. He follows the woman silently, only the sound of their mismatched footsteps filling the hall, hers hard, his soft. He swallows countless questions that fill his mind as he presses on, suppressing sudden urges to cry, to faint, to throw up.

Then they arrive at an entirely out-of-place elevator in the wall, a piece of advanced technology embedded in a medieval castle basement. Perhaps she really is taking him back to the cells, just as he had requested.

When they step inside, however, her fingers slide up to the higher buttons, where she presses the fourth from the top. She glances at him sidelong, smiles at his clueless face. “I suppose you are wondering where we are headed.” Kaleb finds himself still incapable of speech. He nods. “You also must be wondering about your friends.” She lets out a flighty sigh. “They’re safe. No harm will come to them at all. As you said, we treat you nicely, yes?”

We.

That word erases every last doubt from his mind.

And then he lets the words slip: “This was a test.”

“Yes,” she answers simply, “and you passed. Are you proud?”

Kaleb stares ahead, unable to blink. If he passed the test, what happened to those who didn’t? Will they be punished? But why did she say they were safe?

Nico, his brother Matteo, and their bakery … His dream was never possible. He will be so crushed. Kaleb’s heart collapses.

“Your friends are all fine,” she says again, as if reading his mind. Can she read his mind? Are his thoughts no longer safe? “Do you think this was the first escape attempted? We barely bat an eye now when one occurs. It neither offends nor annoys us anymore. We have a responsibility to keep you unharmed, a responsibility we do not take lightly. And just as well, we must keep ourselves unharmed, too. Understand? It’s but a mutual assurance of each other’s safety.” She smiles upon him like a caring mother, though Kaleb wouldn’t guess by her appearance that her age is much different than his own.

The door opens. She steps off, and Kaleb follows.

The environment now is quite changed, as they walk down a wide, regal hallway reminiscent of a Victorian mansion, with fancy side tables, neatly-preened plants with lively blooms set in oversized decorative pots, and artful wall sconces glowing with warm amber light. Red velvet carpeting runs down the center of the hardwood floors, softening their footsteps. Each door is surprisingly wide and tall, everything open, welcoming. They pass a grand banister with a curved staircase leading down, then a cheery sitting area with tea tables and ornate cushioned chairs, then another sitting area nestled into a wide bay window with thick red curtains pulled closed. “Here,” says the woman as they arrive at a door, which itself is tucked away into a very short hall all by itself, like it has its own foyer complete with a rug set before it. “Are you afraid?” She seems to have noticed Kaleb standing in place. “Don’t be. Come.”

Kaleb approaches, stands as close to her as he dares. The woman turns the handle, lets the door swing open, revealing a bedroom—an enormous bedroom. It is as warm and welcoming as the hallway, the same styling and décor, with a large canopy bed dressed in browns and creams with subtle green detailing, bookended by nightstands each with a matching lamp. Across, there sits a desk next to a tall bookshelf, stocked with countless titles, the spines like rows of colorful teeth. In the center of the room is an artful circular rug, above which hangs a chandelier, shimmering and majestic, glowing with golden-brown light.

“Do you like it?”

Kaleb didn’t realize he limped into the room, standing at its center, awed by the scenery. He catches sight of a large painting of a forest on the wall, framed in gold. “Y-Yes,” he at last chokes out, then turns again. A wide door to the side leads to a bright bathroom—a large tub and sink with golden finishings, a shower enclosed by glass walls, a basket filled with fluffy towels in various shades of grey and cream. It is one thing for the bedroom itself to be nearly twenty times the size of his former cell, but for the bathroom to be large enough to house a family of four as well?

“You are in shock,” the woman observes.

Kaleb turns. “What is this room?”

“Your new living quarters, of course. Think of it like a kind and generous reward for your continued loyalty. You even have a new wardrobe.” She moves to a tall mahogany armoire Kaleb hadn’t seen, pulls open its door, and gestures at the collection of clean, stylish garments inside. “All yours.”

Kaleb stares at them, confused. He’s been hugging himself since he first came in, afraid to touch anything. “Mine …?”

“These can be adjusted if any do not fit you,” she explains, running a hand down the sleeve of what appears to be a dinner jacket. “I also would like to take this time to confess … there is an ulterior motive on my part in bringing you here.” Kaleb looks at her. She closes the armoire. “We’re in need of a new musician.”

He lifts his eyebrows. “Really?”

“And word of your great talent has reached our ears. I need someone who is skilled with the violin, someone to entertain us when we need. And when we don’t need entertaining, well …” She spreads her hands at the room. “This is where you shall stay. You will have all the food you desire. Any accommodation you desire. Fresh clothes, cleaned and pressed. You are even allowed to leave your room and explore the House if you like.”

Kaleb’s wide eyes move to the door, which still lies open, showing the foyer and the grand wide hall outside.

“You are trusted now.” She lets out a rich and pleasing sort of laugh, sounding like tinny bells, melodic and cheery. “I’m so delighted by the look upon your face. It brings me such joy, to reward deserving humans like you.”

Kaleb isn’t sure how to react. Some part of him wonders if this is still part of a test. “Thank you … m-ma’am.”

“You can call me Ashara.”

“Thank you, Ashara.”

She nods at him, then makes her way to the door. “Well, I suppose you shall want to settle in … wash up, change …” She stops at the doorway to glance back at him over the shoulder of her lush green dress. “Actually, I have one last question for you. A simple question. Just to appease my curiosity. To seek a mere opinion of yours … from a mortal perspective, no consequence whatsoever for your answer …”

Kaleb’s eyes remain on her, waiting.

Her face tightens. “Are D-flat and C-sharp the same?”

He’s taken aback by the question. What a strange question, Kaleb thinks to himself. The notion takes his mind far away, at once distracting him from every ounce of tension in his body. In fact, thinking of an answer brings him a moment of relief, to focus on anything but his present circumstance. He remembers books he read in the library, a biography about Bach, and books of music theory and history. Reading them made him feel like he was the boy from his dream, the one who studied so hard.

“Well …” His answer comes softly, quietly. “I … guess it depends on what one considers ‘the same’. Is a half-empty cup the same as a half-full one?” He shrugs. “Maybe. But one still makes me feel happier than the other.”

When he brings his eyes back to Ashara, he is surprised to find her smiling.

The anxiety returns to him. “Is my answer … adequate …?”

She doesn’t respond for a brief moment. Then she lifts her eyes to the ceiling, as if pondering something pleasant, lets out a funny chuckle, then sweetly says, “A much better answer than was expected. A clever one. I like clever. Ah, you do so surprise me. I believe I understand now what it is Raya saw in you.”

The name catches him by surprise. He nearly falls forward. “Raya? You know her?”

“Of course. She is … sweet.” Ashara chuckles again, lowers her gaze back to him. “Settle in, my young human Kaleb. I will let Raya know of your new home, so that she may visit you. I do think she will enjoy that very much.” She moves to the door so smoothly she seems to float. “Goodnight, Kaleb.” Then she is out of the room, leaving him to himself.

She also left the door wide open.

Just that simple act—leaving the door open—stuns Kaleb, as if it is something wrong, something nefarious and disallowed.

It also feels like a literal symbol of his freedom.

Is this real? Kaleb stands in the center of the room for some time, still not trusting his own feet or the floor itself. Is the bed real? Is Ashara? He could still be sleeping in his cell. The excitable likes of 987 never clicked open his door and woke him up to defy their godly authorities. Is his name even Nico?

Kaleb rushes to the door, closes it, presses his back against its hard wood. He holds his breath. Eyes dance around the room— his room—awed yet again by its sheer size, its warm atmosphere, its clean and woodsy smell. “I’m awake,” he decides—or perhaps tells himself out loud, as if ordering himself to believe it. “This … has happened … and I … I’m …”

What truly happened with Nico and the others? Were they safely returned to the cells, consequence-free? Can Kaleb trust that such forgiveness would be so easily given to them?

“Yes,” he decides. “Yes. It is possible, very possible.” After all, the gods and goddesses have only been kind to him since his first day here—if he can even remember that long ago. Perhaps Nico and all of the others are enjoying breakfast right now, or resting in their cells. Maybe they’re chatting in the commons, shocked at how forgiving these gods are, laughing, relieved …

And they are taking bets as to where Kaleb is right now.

Kaleb smiles at the thought. “They’ll never guess,” he says. “I can’t wait to tell them.”

He wonders if he will be allowed to visit them someday, tell them what has happened, that he is okay, that his entire life has changed, and maybe if they do well and show the gods and the goddesses more respect, they will enjoy similar rewards. Could he ask to visit them someday? Surely Ashara would oblige.

These aren’t the monsters Nico and the others believe. These are the gods and goddesses who protect them from the monsters.

The next moment, Kaleb is in the shower. The warm water runs over his body, rejuvenating, and the soap that awaits him in a glass saucer is of a quality he cannot measure. It is pure silk against his skin, and as he washes the grime and sweat out of his hair, he could nearly laugh, for as enchanted as he feels. The towel that dries him is like a fluffy cloud. He calmly combs his hair, standing in front of the mirror naked, and wonders if anyone has ever felt so clean as he does right now. He inspects his knee, nearly having forgotten the injury. It’s bruised, but he suspects it will be fine after a few days, surely. The warmth of the shower has eased the pain, Kaleb suspects.

It’s only after getting dressed in a pair of loose shorts and a soft white t-shirt that he notices the violin. It sits on a sort of pedestal by the corner, easy to miss at first, with a fine and expensive-looking bow resting next to it.

Kaleb approaches the instrument, hesitates, then takes it off the stand. With curiosity, he brings it to his chin, lifts the bow, and gently plays a first note. It isn’t pleasant. He grimaces as he listens to the note quivering, trying to steady it out. When he tries again, it feels even stranger. Several attempts later, he can manage a decent melody, but the unfamiliar strings dig into his fingers, and the bow is rigid and unforgiving in his grasp.

“Is there a problem with the instrument?”

Kaleb’s eyes snap to the door. Raya stands there, beautiful as ever, arms crossed, an eyebrow lifted. He drops to his knees at once, winces when he forgets the wounded one, then sets his violin and bow aside, placing his hands on the floor.

“What is this?” she asks. “This isn’t necessary anymore, not even if Lord Markadian himself were to appear here—not that he would, that coldhearted knob doesn’t care for music. Just a simple nod of respect will do.”

Kaleb lifts his face. “Sorry,” he grunts, rises off the floor with a grimace, stands straight, bows his head. “My Lordess Raya.”

“Oh, good god, don’t call me that, either.” She steps into the room, closes the door behind her, then crosses over to him and picks up the violin and bow. “Is there a problem with the instrument, I asked? You don’t seemed pleased.”

“I just …” He worries about saying too much. “The strings are a bit, um … stiff. I was trying to get used to the—”

“You prefer your old violin,” she answers for him. After a brief hesitation, Kaleb nods. “Alright. It will be fetched. Also …” Her eyes fall upon his leg. “What happened there?”

Kaleb, bewildered, gazes downward. He didn’t realize it has turned so red after his shower. “I … I fell.”

“It must be nursed,” decides Raya.

That surprises Kaleb. Does she mean to fetch him a nurse, too? “I … I just need to rest it a bit, that’s all.”

“It must be causing you pain.”

“Just a night’s rest or so.”

“Ashara wants to be Lordess.”

The abrupt shift in topic causes Kaleb to grow absolutely still. He looks at her, waiting for more.

“She wants to rule the west region with her brother,” she goes on quietly, “the whole west region, all of it, ruling by his side … like a nauseating king-and-queen sort of thing, except … they’re siblings. Well … not quite siblings the way you mortals interpret it. It is rather different for us.” She chooses her words. “Most of us … do not know our mortal families. Most of them are dead. It is rare, perhaps unheard of, for families to become immortal together. So, alone as we are in the world, we attach to others who share our beliefs. I see it as a gift, to choose one’s own family. Do you have a sibling? … Did you?”

The subtle correction of “do” to “did” causes Kaleb to stare down at the ground again, as if struck in the chest.

Also, he struggles to answer. He had mentioned having a brother when they played that game in his cell, pretending to be other people. Did she forget?

“I …” He clears his throat. “I used to.”

“I sensed just now that you were about to lie,” she notices. Kaleb looks up. Did he intend to lie at first? “It is wise that you don’t. Not that I would take offense, only that most of us can tell when humans lie. We are very sensitive to shifts in the body and changes in the way you breathe, your heart rate … You’d be amazed how often humans control their breathing to conceal truth, or tears. It’s best to stick as close to the truth as possible when answering one of us. See? I mean to help you, now that you’re here, up in the House.” She frowns suddenly. “You … did know who I was speaking of earlier, right? Ashara?”

Kaleb brings his glassy gaze to her, still troubled by the idea that his every breath and heartbeat can be read by them, as if displayed on a hospital monitor. “Y-Yes. The one who, um … escorted me here.”

“Escorted. Yes, that’s a … fitting word, I guess.” She sighs. “I wonder if you remember all I said down in the cells the other night, about blood bonds and siblings … Perhaps I spoke too much and none of it stuck. I just wanted to …” She stops, stares back at him, and at once, Kaleb finds himself struck with how human she looks, despite her otherworldly poise and grace. He also never realized they’re the same height. “I hope you realize I want to protect you. From anything that might harm you.”

Kaleb slowly starts nodding.

“Including her.”

His nodding stops.

Raya looks away, lowers her voice. “I shouldn’t be saying this, but …” After a glance back at the door, she takes hold of Kaleb’s wrist and, to his surprise, drags him over to the side of the bed. The two sit. Kaleb has half a second to appreciate the soft, indescribably comfortable material of the mattress and its silken sheets before Raya continues. “The bond between sisters and brothers of our kind … it’s the strongest bond in the world. I’m telling you this to impress on you how … dangerous … the relationship of Ashara and Lord Markadian can be.”

Kaleb blinks. “Lord Markadian … is the one in charge?”

“Above all of us here, yes, even above all others across the west region, any who abide by our laws—and well, technically even those who don’t. Lord Markadian listens to his sister. It is important you keep her happy. I think she may test you many more times. She is a suspicious person. Don’t be lulled into a false sense of comfort by her kindness, and most of all, do not be too forthcoming with her. You can trust me , but—Oh, that’s so unfair of me to say.” She frowns, shaking her head. “I am asking you to trust me, yet I am just like Ashara.”

“I trust you,” says Kaleb, perhaps too desperately. “It isn’t unfair to ask me that. I trust you totally, Raya.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t,” she mutters half to herself, bitter, glancing off.

“I do,” he insists anyway.

She turns back to him.

And again, Kaleb feels happy—her gaze, a precious gift.

“You may start to think … that Ashara has given you this as a reward for your loyalty,” she says carefully, quietly, her eyes locked on his. “This room, your clothes, the food you’ll enjoy. But in truth, it’s a contract. And at any time you fail to meet Ashara’s needs, that contract breaks … and you will fall … and with it, every drop of blood in your fragile-as-bowstring veins.” She glances down at his chest. “I’m sorry. I scared you just now. I heard your heart … lurch. But I think you should know the danger you’re in, what you face. It’s important that I’m honest with you, that you know there is one person you can trust, if anyone at all. Humans, they’re like secrets here in the House of Vegasyn … They live short lives.”

Kaleb takes her hand suddenly. It’s an act that surprises the both of them. As their eyes meet, despite his slamming heart, despite the prickles of fear on his neck, he says, “I trust you.”

Raya’s eyes are alight. She doesn’t blink. The certainty in Kaleb’s words seem to ground her at once.

“I … almost believe you,” she whispers, amazed.