A Song in the Night (TEMPTED KINGDOM: The Series Book 1)

by Jessa Lucas

  “What?”

  “What is it that you imagined, Saylora?”

  I shrugged. “I pictured myself the way I must’ve been. Or will be.”

  Jabari shook his head softly. “No, no.”

  “What ‘no, no’?”

  “You did not conjure something in your heart, Saylora. You conjured something in your mind.”

  “You never specified that there was a difference.”

  “The head sees what is rational, what it can configure. But the heart, though it sees abstractly, sees truly.”

  I felt my hair fall back around me in long waves, no longer silky or curled. Our dance sent us past the windows again, and I couldn’t help but glance at myself. I was unextraordinary once more. Not unappealing, but not especially noteworthy. A perfect average.

  It was the me I recognized, the one I was familiar with, and though I didn’t distain her, it was hard to imagine that she was enough. I couldn’t envision this me ever being worthy of a ball, or a crown, or a people.

  “At least my dress isn’t so ghoulish anymore,” I grumbled.

  “Blue is honest, you see? The sky burns and the sea thrashes. Both are alive. Why should you wear black when you are awakening?”

  “Poetic,” I said. “But seriously, what was wrong with how I looked a second ago?”

  “Nothing at all.”

  “Then why didn’t you let it stick?”

  “I had little to do with it,” Jabari answered. “I took the image you willed to me and made it appear before you. But you saw your reflection wasn’t honest and you no longer believed it, because you used your mind and not your heart.”

  “Bullshit.”

  Jabari raised his gaze at my challenge and I rolled my eyes. “Fine. Maybe I didn’t, but is ‘dressing the part’ not a thing in the Five Realms?”

  “What part is it that you were ‘dressing’ for?”

  “The one where it makes sense for me to be a princess.”

  “You cannot be one as you are?”

  “I’m not put together, or brave, or a badass with super ancient weaponry. I’m the farthest thing from a savior that there ever was, Jabari. And princesses are, like, graceful and charming and probably way more worthy of—”

  I stopped short of the word. The stupid word that would set us free. The stupid word that sounded like a prison to my heart, and made prisoners of us all.

  “The truest gifts are ones we have not earned,” Jabari said quietly.

  “What are you getting at?”

  “You need not change to bring change. You need not be better to do better. And you mustn’t be more beautiful to manifest beauty in a world in desperate need of it.”

  “Valtronya was beautiful,” I said without thinking.

  “And yet look at all that she destroyed. Valtronya used her beauty, a trivial beauty, as a source of control and persuasion over a very hopeless people. Strength lays itself down for goodness, Saylora. Power does not.”

  “You think power is inherently wrong?”

  “Power becomes strength in its surrender, Princess.”

  I was thoughtful a moment, tucking this little theory away. “Sy told me once that I tempt kingdoms,” I said.

  “Yes, but not because you are beautiful or prone to domination.”

  “Because of what I am.”

  “Tell me, Saylora, do you believe it is what we are that gives us our strength, or who we are?”

  “If you’d known the life I believed I had— if you knew the me that I think I am— you’d agree that this person isn’t any more deserving of a throne than Valtronya is.”

  I stared up into Jabari’s sea green eyes, the confession sour on my tongue. How many of my men would I admit my weaknesses to? How was it that they could have such sway over my better judgement?

  I stiffened as Jabari kissed my forehead.

  The clacking of glasses, the bitter jolt of a swig of beer—

  Those soft green eyes crinkling as mine fall to the smile on his face—

  And then Jabari negotiated my body so that his skin didn’t touch mine, and the visions fell away.

  “There’s much for you to learn about this world,” he said into my hair as the music slowed. “I will take you to the library when you are allowed a break from training.”

  “That would be never.”

  “You may tell Gilles that knowledge has the might of many weapons.”

  “Tell him yourself. He’ll actually listen to you.”

  “You hold more authority than you realize, Saylora. And not due to your beauty or your siren.”

  I wanted to believe him, and so I didn’t argue.

  “One day they shall write books about you to line the shelves of libraries.” Jabari smiled to himself as though this happening epitomized his vision for a perfect future.

  “If we get out of here, they better,” I said. “I’m thinking like a totally badass picture of me smirking the way I do for the cover, and... like, holding one of those fireballs in my hands, you know?” I smiled, lost in a fond image of dogeared books shoved untidily into the crevice of a shelf. “My mom— the one in the dream, I guess— left behind all these old fantasy books after she died. They all had the corniest titles, but the covers were epic.”

  Jabari grinned at me warmly. “I am sure something could be arranged.”

  “Yeah,” I agreed. “If we get out.” The tension of blending beats reverberated through the chamber as our song converged with the next. “Hey, say it one more time, Jabari? The spell.”

  “Laïntar vé-ah aldaron-nen var-ávanya,” he murmured as he kissed my cheek, lips leaving tingles in their wake, before passing me dutifully to Gilles who reached for me like he knew it was his turn.

  “Here I am, surprised you’re willing to take me into your arms,” I drawled as I transitioned gracefully to Gilles with a flourish of my wrist.

  “Here I am, shocked you haven’t yet fallen on your face after having forgotten all your princess lessons.”

  “Me too, honestly,” I said, allowing a short respite from the banter. Never hurt to keep the guy on his toes with a slice of honesty pie. Unfortunately for me, the words came out in a heavy pant. Not cool, basically-paralyzed-for-five-decades body.

  “Out of breath?” he smiled slyly.

  “I must be in need of your training, Sir Gillsyn, my genius lord. Please! Teach me to be ladylike!”

  “I can’t teach you how to breathe, Princess.”

  “Did you plan to take my breath away instead?” Proud of myself, I offered him a sweet smile and Gilles just shook his head. I scrunched my face into a fake pout. “Why are you so unromantic, Gilles? What happened to that great tryst between us that you insinuated?”

  “I never said that I loved you in return.”

  Stung, I turned my back to him, my reaction easily masked by the smooth promenade we glided into. Of all the jabs he could’ve taken at me, these particular words were especially slicing... and so very damning for us all.

  He bent his mouth to my ear. “Come on, don’t be upset. You don’t care much for how I feel anyway, Princess. You don’t even take my dress recommendations.”

  I scoffed, whirling around on him. “First of all, points for paying attention. Your shining example will have me learning that attentiveness in no time. Second of all, fuck you—”

  But Gilles’ eyes were trained just above my head and he was grinning in that way that revealed how much delight he took in taunting me.

  “You like me,” I announced. “You can’t help it.”

  “Wow,” he raised his eyebrows, still not looking at me. “I’ve gone from loathing you to loving you in a single day.”

  “Like any truly passionate affair,” I countered. “Guess maybe you were right.”

  Gilles didn’t say anything. His mouth became a thin line, and I couldn’t tell if I’d thrown him off or unknowingly confirmed that his joke was a vulnerable truth.

  He was surprisingly smooth on the dance floor, g
uiding me gently with the same touch and confidence with which he’d instructed me earlier. With his hands on my body, I thought about what he’d said. That I’d been in love with him.

  If only. Being in love with Gilles seemed like an unimaginable feat. And Gilles being in love? I’d have to see some pigs fly to believe that was possible.

  Ugh. I was probably gunna have to rethink my hyperboles with magic in the picture now.

  Either way, Gilles wasn’t about to play his cards. I shook my head after a minute of silence between us, annoyed that I could never totally figure him out. Something about Gilles set me on edge, gleefully tormenting me in his game of vulnerability hidden just underneath the façade of bitterness. This man was going to make me lose (what was left of) my mind.

  “What?” Gilles muttered, flipping me back to face him. The pinpricks began to stud my skin where our hands were joined, crawling up my wrist and onto my forearm.

  “What do you mean what?”

  “You’re shaking your head in disdain.”

  “I’m not ‘shaking my head in disdain.’ I’m shaking my head in” —what, exactly?— “Aggravation! Confusion!”

  “You seem to have caught on to the dancing alright, Princess. No need to be confused.”

  “Stop calling me that,” I retorted, “and it’s not about the dancing! It’s about you. I don’t understand why you’re such a dick to me all the goddamn time!”

  God, we were like an old married couple and I didn’t even remember the good years.

  “I’m not a dick,” he said matter-of-factly. “I have one. Apparently you’re confused about a number of things today.”

  “No!”

  “Did you just angrily stomp your foot… in time with the music?”

  “I did! Are you going to keep ridiculing me,” I demanded, “or are you ever going to give me a real answer about anything?”

  Invisible flames ravaged my skin now, beckoned by my agitation, stoked by my exasperation. The sensation of touching Gilles came with contradiction, like ice melting against sun-warmed skin in the heat of summer, or near-boiling water hissing against frigid air in the dead of winter. After the initial relief always came the burn—

  A stench wafted into the room. The music quieted at the intrusion of a dull sound, like a motor.

  The Hound.

  I could hear it rumbling in my subconscious, feel the looming sound of the road begin to overtake me, and that siren surfacing to convince me Gilles was a great option for some physical relief as the sting of our touch swiftly began smarting.

  I threw Gilles off of me a handful of seconds before our dance officially concluded.

  “What’s your deal, Saylora?”

  It was the same question I’d been asking him. I slipped my eyes up to Gilles, feeling weirdly ashamed. His tone hadn’t been quite accusatory, but... the quietness with which he’d spoken made the question hit me somewhere between my heart and the pit of my stomach.

  It was strange with Gilles; it was as if the irritation was a palpable force between us which fueled the attraction. Every insult was like a secret language between the two of us that I couldn’t quite translate yet. But I knew it was personal. Intimate.

  And potentially suspicious, what with the way his touch set me ablaze.

  Fortunately for Gilles, my unwillingness to return to the bus and/or witness myself kill someone tonight took a bite out of my attitude, so I simply raised my hand up in a surrender of wills. He stared at me a moment and then relented, an understanding of respite passing between us before he retreated from the dancefloor.

  “Saylor.”

  I turned to see Sy looking over at me and I bristled at his tone, knowing what came next. “I’m fine,” I said. And to my credit, I was. Just a little overexposed to men, thank you very much.

  He bowed his head in acknowledgement and held out a hand in offering. I stared at it a moment, not sure I was up for more dancing. But the thought of a touch, free from sexual repression— I took a deep breath and clasped his hand.

  Sy put a very respectable distance between the two of us as we moved across the marbled floor in the middle of the assembly. I kind of appreciated it. But I was also exhausted and my body longed not to be spun around, not to be tempted. Just to sink against another’s and be held.

  I inched closer to him and relaxed into his arms, my body drooping against his. “This okay?” I mumbled, closing my eyes as he led me in a gentle turn.

  “Yes,” he said. The word didn’t hold the sound of his usual resignation. It was almost... tender.

  I pushed the observation aside, not wanting to think about it too much. Sy and I weaved fluidly between the throngs as imaginary guests began to meander into the open space around us, taking partners into their arms and easing into the to and fro of this slower cadence.

  “Thank you,” I said against Sy’s chest after a minute. “For letting me stay and talk to you the other night. I haven’t gotten to do that, process like that, with someone before.”

  “I merely listened.”

  “Well, coming from a relative stranger”— the word suddenly felt so false— “it meant something to me. That’s all I’m trying to say. The man bun works for you, by the way.”

  “What is a ‘man bun’?”

  “A cultural phenomenon.”

  I tilted my chin up to him, staring up into his brown eyes as they flickered down to me and then back up again. His soft sigh brushed against my hair, and something wobbled in my throat when he said, “I will always listen to you, Saylor.”

  Because… well, maybe he always had. Maybe Sy was my oldest friend and I just didn’t remember him. “You know me, don’t you?” I mused quietly.

  Intense as always and silent as usual, my watchman didn’t answer. His gaze lingered on something far away and I decided he hadn’t heard me.

  Fuck. For the first time since being in this godforsaken tower, I wanted to remember not because of some evil curse or my building identity crisis, but because of that look hanging in Sy’s eyes, that permanent crease between his brows that was absent only in his sleep. It was killing me that I didn’t understand it.

  Colors blurred around me, skirts rippling against the air in smooth spins. Partners bowed and curtsied to one another as the song ended, acting out their charade as Sy and I floated into the next ballad without paying formalities any mind.

  Sy’s body tensed suddenly, and I tilted my head at him curiously. He just shook his head at me dismissively, but his jaw tighten as he lead me in a turn. The melody drifted over us, and I realized that the music was mine. It was the song.

  I stiffened instinctively, and after a beat wondered if this was the source of Sy’s reaction as well. I threaded my gaze through the fabricated masses to my three remaining watchmen. It seemed as if Gilles had just said something funny; Jabari was smiling, Dash roaring with laughter. None of them showed any obvious signs of having noticed that this was the soundtrack to our tragedy.

  I felt my expression tighten in consideration of my men. My extraordinary watchmen whom I knew so little of and who knew so little of me. And yet— here we stood as uncertain company in half-baked partnership, eternally bound by the horrific circumstances which had fused our lives together. Surely this made us family. Surely there was even the faintest whisper of a hope that love had roots here.

  As I watched them, my heart yearned for this, holding the burgeoning possibility captive with a tight fist and terrified to relinquish it to words or actions. But before I could entertain my optimism, the expressions of my watchmen shifted doubtfully, the song now noticed. Gilles must’ve felt my eyes on him because his gaze whipped to mine. I looked away, only to find Sy staring at me transfixed, something indecipherable in his faraway gaze. My eyes pivoted between him and the others, unable to determine the thing that I was beginning to sense had gone wrong.

  I opened my mouth to speak, and Sy immediately withdrew from my arms. By the time I fully registered that he’d left me high and dry o
n the dance floor, he was already tearing up the stairs and heading purposefully towards the exit. I watched, baffled, as Sy’s back receded through the threshold and he disappeared from view.

  My heart lurched, and for a reeling second I stood there, bitterness and angst and frustration all rolling over me. All this damned confusion. And an ache... deeper than I could reason an existence for inside myself.

  First Jude slipped away, then I snapped on Gilles, and now Sy was bailing? For a ball with six real attendees, this was turning into quite the catastrophe.

  I was tired being entirely too tragic, so the emotion that took the place of disappointment was anger. High on my own irritation, I stalked after Sy. As I bounded up the stairs, one of my shoes hooked against the edge of a step, dropping off my foot and tumbling down to the ballroom floor.

  I paused for a fraction of a second, positive that literal steam was on the verge of shooting out of my ears.

  Tell me this wasn’t actually happening right now.

  Taking a steadying breath at the cliché I’d become, I flung the other shoe off without so much as a backwards glance, and stomped off barefoot after Sy.

  “Where’re you going?” I huffed when I caught up to him in the hall, dropping the skirts of my dress back down to my feet. Sy turned slowly, surprised I’d followed him.

  “I think I shall turn in for the night.”

  “The ball just started.”

  “I doubt my presence is needed with three others there to entertain you.”

  The words were free from judgement but I heard it anyway, remembering that look he’d given me when my eyes had wandered to the others.

  I stormed up to him, crossing my arms. “You think I don’t care if you bail? You think I’m a...a...” I stuttered, searching my inventory of Shakespearean-sounding words, “a floozy?”

  So I obviously didn’t know the common term for slut in the Five Realms, but the message seemed to get across as Sy raised a brow in curiosity. “Well I’m so very sorry to lead you to that very judgmental impression of me,” I continued, “but I’ll have you know that I’m a siren and whether or not I like it, that has its repercussions. I’m sorry if you find that so offensive that you have to leave.”