Envious Of Fire (Kissing With Teeth #2)

15. More Than I Deserve.

—?—

Kaleb chomps down on the tender piece of meat, its juices running down his chin, savory and cooked to perfection. Then he helps himself to a bite of the most exquisitely seasoned melt-in-your-mouth vegetables he’s ever tasted. Even the water has a crispness to it he cannot describe. Then another bite of tender, juicy meat that falls apart over his gnashing teeth.

This is how his meals have been for the past two days.

“Good evening,” said the man in a fancy suit just last night, whose only purpose in existing seems to be presenting food to Kaleb with overabundant grandeur. “Enjoy our buttered lobster served with our house-made linguine and garlic ciabatta bread.”

“Would you like to browse our choices of wine?” asked the man later on. “Anything you wish.”

“I can fetch you dessert of your choosing,” he also said, his head bowed to Kaleb. “Chocolate, perhaps? Vanilla custard? A fruit dish? Fresh cake? Or perhaps a savory dessert, such as—”

Kaleb slept each night on a full stomach, resting upon what he is sure is the most comfortable mattress that’s ever existed, a perfect balance of firmness to support his back and softness to ease his body. By the second night, he even slept with his door open, feeling the opened door had somehow become a symbol of his new life. And during the daytime, he would spend hours at one of the chairs in the hallway or near one of the large bay windows reading a book about the rise and fall of the Roman Empire. Many would pass by in the hallway, chatting, laughing, or entirely stoic and business-faced—perhaps other associates or employees of the House. Kaleb didn’t know any of them, but he looked up each time one passed and made sure to smile and nod respectfully. He didn’t mind that neither his smile nor nod was ever returned. He felt lucky to be here, begrudging nothing to no one.

Tonight is no exception, as he carries his glass of wine back to his room, sets it on a side table, then picks up his violin and decides to practice. As promised, someone had come to replace the stiff violin with his old used one from the cells. The familiar strings are so much easier on his fingers, and he feels one with the instrument as he teases an improvised tune out of its supple body, the strings seeming to sing with so little effort.

He hasn’t dreamed about the fire in days, nor the face of the angel who saved him from it.

Kaleb relishes in the warm water of the shower as he bathes and lathers soap over his body. He smiles into the mirror as he dries off, hugs the soft towel, rubs his hair, inspects his face. He sits on the end of his bed wearing just underwear—the cleanest and softest underwear imaginable—and reads the next chapter in a book he plucked off the shelf. It is a story, serendipitously, about an angel come down from the heavens to live among the mortals, but finds himself conflicted when he falls in love with a troubled woman he can’t seem to help. Each time he tries, her life becomes worse. Kaleb can’t help but picture his own angel in the role of this character—a man with short blond hair, tangled and artfully messy, with hazy blue eyes that seem just as caring and magical as they do mysterious. Even during the darker parts of the story, Kaleb finds himself riveted, excited to see how the angel will strive to do what he feels is right no matter the consequence, striving to save the woman from her disasters, to bring good.

He wishes he could meet his own angel again.

After setting the book aside, eyes too tired to read another chapter, he is reminded of a note left on his nightstand. With a smile, he takes it and skims over the words. It’s Raya, explaining she will be gone on an errand with Tristan tonight—“another insufferable one, to be precise”—and hopes to visit Kaleb when she returns, hopefully before the sun has risen. She can’t wait to hear his music, as it is the only thing lately that brings her joy.

Kaleb can’t wait, either.

Deciding to stay up late tonight for her, he gets dressed in a nice shirt and comfortable pants, then takes his wineglass and lets himself out of the room. The hallways are quiet at this hour with few passersby, so it is alone that he goes for a stroll. He hasn’t explored too much beyond the sitting and dining areas outside his room, afraid to get lost. This place is reprehensibly big, and after the difficult time he had with Nico and the others attempting to navigate its lower halls, Kaleb has no desire to become lost in its maze again. As he comforts himself with an occasional sip of wine, he strolls down the uninhabited halls, past the large main bay window, past the sitting area with tiny tables and cushy armchairs, and stops at the banister next to a set of stairs that curve down to a lower level. His curiosity gets the best of him, or perhaps the wine gives him courage, so he decides to take the stairs down.

The base of the stairs opens to a large banquet hall, tables dressed in red tablecloths completed with tall floral centerpieces, spread out in all directions. He walks along the perimeter of the room, curious, passing under sconces of golden light along the walls. In the center of the room is a large circular stage, empty, but ready for some grand guest. He smiles at it, lifts his glass as if in a cheer, giggles, then continues through the room.

An archway to the side leads him into a narrow hall, warmer in hue, with several doors lining both sides. He takes another sip, feeling as light as a feather, as he turns another corner.

Suddenly the hall opens to an enormous forest. Kaleb comes to a stop, nearly spilling his wine, startled by the abrupt change in atmosphere. He peers over his shoulder to check that the hallway still exists behind him. It does. Ahead, he sees lush, beautiful trees ten times his size, forming a canopy over the path, which changes smoothly somehow from carpet to colorful cobblestone. Kaleb lets out a small laugh of disbelief, amazed as he proceeds into the vibrant forest. He notices with a start that high above him, the ceiling is a glass dome. Overhead, translucent butterflies in every color imaginable flutter among the trees, bathed in light. What light? Is it moonlight, sunlight, or some kind of magical light sent by the gods? He laughs again, then draws silent, grin still spilling over his face as he lets his eyes drink in the wonders all around.

The forest seems to go on in all directions, too. The pathway splits so many times, it isn’t long before Kaleb becomes turned around with no idea how to get back to his room. Somehow, he experiences none of the panic he did in the lower levels when he became lost with his friends. He wishes they could all be with him right now. They would finally understand, just by virtue of the breathtaking sights he’s witnessing now, how incredibly wonderful these gods and goddesses are.

That’s when he spots a clearing at a large intersection of the cobblestone paths, which fork out in a dozen directions. He stands right in the middle and stares up where there are no trees. There is a full moon shining through the glass ceiling like a spotlight. He can’t close his mouth, awed by the beautiful scene.

“It is a lovely view, is it not?”

Startled by the voice, the wineglass slips from Kaleb’s hand, crashes onto the cobblestone by his feet. He gasps. “Oh, no.”

“It is fine.”

Kaleb turns. For a second, he doesn’t even see her.

Until she moves, and the green of her dress separates from the green of the forest. It’s Ashara. Her heels softly click upon the path. She stops some distance from him, peers upward. “I regret to say it is not an actual view of the moon. Like so many parts of this house, it is illusion, a mere imitation of the night sky.”

Kaleb wonders if she was joking earlier when asking about the lovely view. “It is still lovely, ma’am,” he decides to answer. “Any view is worth enjoying. I … I haven’t enjoyed any sort of view … in years.”

Ashara appears moved by that. “Perhaps I should speak to my brother. The humans who live in the lower floors, they deserve to have windows to enjoy, too, yes?”

Kaleb wonders what they would see through such a window. He always got the sense that the lower floors were underground.

“They would be illusionary,” Ashara adds, as if in answer to the question on Kaleb’s face. “Just as this glass over our heads is.”

He gazes back up at the domed sky. “It looks so … real.”

Ashara seems to find that funny. “I am sure you have heard many things about us. I trust enough in you to admit that yes, even our kind have certain vulnerabilities. The most obvious of which, of course, is sunlight.” When Kaleb looks at her again, he finds her giving him the fond gaze of a mother. “You should come to this spot during the daylight hours, sweet Kaleb. The illusion is quite impressive.”

“I will,” he agrees, nervously returning her smile.

“Come. I was on my way to see my brother. You should meet him. It would do him good, to see our new violinist. Don’t worry about the wine,” she adds with a mirthful laugh, “we have people who handle such … menial cleanup tasks.”

Kaleb nods, then sidesteps around the shattered glass and spilled wine, mutters an unintelligible apology down at it for some reason, and follows Ashara.

The two say nothing as they navigate through the beautiful forest and winding cobblestone paths. Before Kaleb realizes it, they have passed under a different, wide, low-hanging archway. Suddenly they are strolling down a stone promenade with one side open to a spectacular valley of rolling hills and distant mountains, with a waist-high wall along the path lined with tall columns.

Kaleb gazes with wonder at the view, realizes he’s slowed down, and hurries to keep up with Ashara. She moves so quickly, it is as if she floats over the floor under her long green dress.

The view is taken away as they reach another, shorter hall, which leads to a completely white room with nothing but a set of doors across the way, bookended by two odd vases and two odder, identical ladies with long hair covering their faces. The contrast of environments they have passed through in just a short time has Kaleb reeling, as if he walked through someone else’s dream.

“Markadian, Lord of Vegasyn, is currently having dinner,” say the strange women in perfect unison, “and—”

“I am aware.” Ashara moves to the door anyway, lets herself in, then stops. “He isn’t having his dinner here?”

“No,” say the two women, then frostily add, also in perfect unison, “which you would have known, had you let us finish our sentence before barging in.”

Entirely unfazed by them, Ashara turns and starts to head off. “His bedchambers, then? Or the library?”

“Neither,” answer the women.

Ashara stops, a flicker of irritation in her eyes. She smiles with patience, turns to the women, makes a decision as to which one to address—the right one—and says, “Perhaps you can care to mind your attitude more around me, Miss May, lest I suggest to my brother that you are overdue for a haircut .”

The women are silent for a time. Then: “The concert hall.”

Ashara gives them a curt smile. “Delightfully fitting. Enjoy the rest of your night, ladies.” She turns and walks away. Kaleb, after a second’s glance at the strange women, follows her out. As they go, Kaleb whispers, “Are they twins? Those women?” To which Ashara flippantly answers, “No one knows, and no one can be bothered enough to care.”

Kaleb loses track of how many different hallways they walk down and stairs they ascend before, quite unexpectedly, Ashara pulls open a large set of double doors that reveal an enormous concert hall full of empty seats. She strolls down the aisle, with Kaleb reluctantly following. None of the lights are on, save for a single spotlight upon the stage where a grand piano sits.

As they draw close, Kaleb realizes there’s a man seated on the edge of the stage, barely caught by the spotlight. Athletic build, buzzed head, handsome face, with two tiny loop earrings. Fitted grey tuxedo vest. Matching grey slacks that hug his shapely legs. Rectangular buckle catching a glint of stage light.

Kaleb is surprised by how human Lord Markadian appears. Despite the man’s authority, there is something unmistakably vulnerable about him, in the way his legs dangle from the lip of the stage like a child’s at the playground, in his weary posture, a man exhausted from his day’s long affairs and obligations. Yet his demeanor remains strong, eyes exuding strength and power.

Those eyes flick up upon seeing Ashara approach, and it is only she he addresses. “So you found me.”

Ashara comes to a stop at the front row, tilts her head. “Are you so bored of your office that this dreary auditorium is a more appealing site for dinner? I can’t even remember the last time you used this place for a proper performance. And speaking of dinner, there’s no one here at all.”

“Until now.” He sounds mildly annoyed at being found. “I am suffocating in that office twenty-five hours a day running this cursed House. I deserve to enjoy any part of it that I please.”

“Ah, if only there was an extra hour a day,” sings Ashara, “how much more we could accomplish with it …”

“We would piss it away like we do the first twenty-four.” It is only now that his eyes fall upon Kaleb. “Who’s this?”

Ashara seems delighted he asked. “This is our new official House Violinist. I happened to find him myself,” she then adds, “and after he proved himself loyal to me, I brought him out of the cells and awarded him a room on the Velvet Row.”

“No human’s lived in that hall for years.” He remains right where he is at the edge of the stage, his gaze locked on Kaleb, growing more curious the longer he stares.

Ashara glances back and forth between them for a moment, then leans in. “You should hear his music sometime. Exquisite. It may provide your soul some much-needed calm.”

“So that’s what this is?” he asks, still studying Kaleb like a puzzle. “A human tranquilizer?”

“Exactly. Where’s my thanks?” Ashara comes closer, sits on the stage next to him. “Brother, I’ve been meaning to ask—”

“It is arranged already.” His eyes still haven’t left Kaleb. “A few days’ time, the directors will be treated to a banquet with us. I will ease all their minds, answer all their questions, the nonsense expected of me … It’s been too long since I’ve suffered Cindy’s bubbly voice and Zara’s nauseating stoicism. And we all know how much of a glutton I am for punishment.”

“A glutton indeed,” agrees Ashara vaguely. Her eyes flick away for a moment. “It’ll also be useful to us if, during this … timely banquet … we can discuss the possibility of—”

“What’s your name?” asks Lord Markadian, cutting her off.

Ashara masks her annoyance, puts a smile on her face, then turns expectantly to Kaleb, awaiting his response.

Kaleb swallows, clasps his hands, lets them drop to his sides again. “K-K—” Why is his throat so dry? “Kaleb, s-sir. Lord.”

“Just Markadian will do.”

Ashara glances at her brother, surprised.

“Markadian …” murmurs Kaleb, as if testing the name. Then he smiles with a pinch more confidence. “It is nice to meet you finally, at last, to … to meet you.”

His jumbled sentence appears to amuse Markadian. “Seems my reputation precedes me. Where’d you hear of me?”

“From Raya,” answers Kaleb quickly.

It’s clear the name means little to Markadian, for the way he brushes it aside. “I would be surprised if you hadn’t heard of me yet, seeing as you’re now living among us. Do you find your new living arrangements suitable?”

“Oh, yes, definitely, more than.” Kaleb worries he’s being too eager. He takes a short breath, nods, and relaxes his voice. “I’m … very grateful for what I’ve been given. It’s more than I deserve. Thank you.”

“Do you mean to say you think you deserve less?” When the question appears to stump Kaleb, Markadian smiles. “Who is to say what we deserve in life? Some of us get it all. Some of us get nothing. Most of us wish we had what others have … even if it appears we already have everything.”

Kaleb squints in thought. “Are you … trying to say you’re not happy with what you have?”

Now it is Markadian who is caught off-guard.

Ashara steps in. “Brother, might I suggest that we—”

“Sister,” he says, cutting her off, his gaze trapped on Kaleb like he suddenly isn’t capable of looking away, “be a dear and go let Miss May know I shall most certainly not be returning to my office until dusk tomorrow.”

The assignment doesn’t seem to please her. “Very well. I’m being … dismissed.” She chuckles at her joke. He does not. She smiles again anyway, apparently deciding to make light out of his shift in focus. “We will talk more about the banquet later. Enjoy getting to know our … talented new musician. Please do send him back to his room in one piece, if it isn’t too much to ask.”

“Farewell, sister,” says Markadian distractedly. Ashara slips off the stage, winks at Kaleb as she saunters by, heads up the aisle, then is gone from sight and mind.

Leaving Kaleb.

Alone.

With the king of the gods.