“Well, Cephora stops by plenty as of late, but I can’t say I’ve seen the other gentleman you were here with,” Clarice said over her shoulder. “Want me to pass along that you’re about when next I see her?”
Noctis froze. Cephora was nearby. Perhaps Madigan is as well? Somehow? It was a fool’s hope, he knew. Wherever his brother might be, if he’d been within Undermyre or any of the surrounding areas, the Crow would have known. He sighed inwardly and shook his head, then realized that Clarice seemed to be waiting for something. She was watching him intently, concern plain upon her face.
Of course, she asked you a question, idiot. “Please do.” His voice sounded hoarse. He took a drink and realized he was gripping the glass so tight his fingers were turning white.
“Do you have a place to stay?” Clarice’s look bordered on pity.
Noctis frowned, again realizing his disheveled state. I must look like a derelict. He quickly downed the last of the Bottled Embers and stood. “I, I do,” he stammered as he went to push the stool in. “Thank you, but I’ll be fine. I have a place.”
“Sit.” Her tone brooked no argument and Noctis nearly laughed. Her hands were busy out of sight beneath the bar while she spoke. “Listen, kid, I don’t know your story. I don’t need to know your story. But I know that it intertwines with Cephora’s story, and that? Well that one has enough going on in it to give me nightmares for years to come.” She held up a finger as another patron called from farther down the bar. “So, you plop a squat right there, I fix you another drink, and while you sip at it you let me pull a few strings.”
Noctis raised an eyebrow. “Really, that isn’t necessary. I’m not lying. I’ve got a place to stay.”
Clarice gave a quick flourish and passed another Bottled Embers over to him. “Most people have a place to stay. That doesn’t mean it’s safe.”
Noctis sighed and accepted the drink. “Safety is a luxury I haven’t been able to afford in some time, Clarice. I appreciate the offer but I’ll be fine.”
She almost hid the frown with an easy laugh and wink. “Drink,” she ordered. “Stay and drink for the evening. The night’s on me.” She held up a hand to stifle his protestations. “No, I don’t want to hear it. Whatever you’re in, you’ve got the look of someone who needs a night of freedom.” She flashed a bright grin at him. “And that is exactly what I offer here at the Street.”
She didn’t allow him to answer; she was already turning and making her way down the bar. Noctis watched for a moment. Clarice’s laughter and smile while she collected money and mixed drinks was such a contrast to the world he had come to know. He stared into the depths of the Bottled Embers, getting lost in the fiery core. I should go, he mused. I should . . . His thoughts trailed off as the music’s rhythm beat at him again. The Nordoth could wait. Jero din’Dael could wait. Clarice is right. A night off from the world would be nice.
Noctis indulged.
Hours passed and the glass before him was never dry. Slowly, ever so slowly, the weight of memory lifted from his shoulders and he found himself relaxing. He lost himself in the music and the burning fire, letting the filth and waste of time slough off his shoulders. One night where I don’t carry the weight of a world I don’t even know. One.
Gradually, the Street began to empty. The music quieted. The dancers left. Soon all who remained were patrons who looked as though they never actually left the bar but simply faded into the woodwork when the alcohol stopped flowing, only reemerging when the taps resumed the following day.
I need to talk to Cephora, Noctis mused while resting his head on his arms and staring into the hypnotic drink. Everything suddenly seems in flux.
He lifted his drooping head from his fists and drank. He spun on the stool and stared at the empty dance floor. Clarice, cleaning the tables, glanced up at him. He smiled drunkenly back at her. “I think I’ll be off.” His voice was slurred and thick.
Clarice raised an eyebrow. “You sure you don’t need a place to stay?”
Noctis smiled and waved a dismissive hand in the air. “Appreciated.”
He turned and stumbled for the curtains. Clarice called something after him that he could neither hear nor understand, so he twisted back and opened his arms in a wide shrug. A theatrical smile plastered across his face, he dropped into a deep bow and doffed his nonexistent hat. He rose and, with a flourish of his filthy cloak, strode through the curtains and out into Undermyre.
It was as close to nighttime as the city ever seemed to get. Its strange, lingering breath of daylight made him think of what summers in Alaska back home must be like. Back home. He shook his head at the thought, unable to fathom the concept of home anymore, of that life before Aeril. It had been a world of prepping for Aeril, nothing more.
No—he shook his head and stumbled into a wall, catching himself with a hand—that’s not all. Cascania had been real, just as much a part of him as anything. I knew that world, once. But after all this? He scanned the silent street, drew his eyes to the luminous sky. How could I ever go back now, if I wanted to?
The night was cold, colder than it had any right to be. Almost immediately, Noctis’s teeth began to chatter. He huddled deeper into his cloak and pulled the hood, his mouth a grim line against the chill. Since when is this city cold? He could see his breath in the air. His throat hurt when he tried to swallow, dry and scratchy, but he brushed it to the back of his mind and set off into the night.
Weaving down the street, Noctis focused entirely on putting one foot in front of the other. The city seemed surprisingly empty; he couldn’t remember ever seeing a single part of it so abandoned. Not that I have a lot to go off on that last point. He placed a hand against a wall to steady himself again, his legs rubbery. Maybe one too many tonight. Perhaps I—
He stopped, nerves suddenly on edge. His key had been tingling since he’d left the Street, but suddenly it was popping and growing wilder by the second. His thoughts were muddled but he struggled to bring himself back to sobriety. Something’s wrong. Something’s coming.
A sound echoed behind him, the shifting tumbling of gravel scraping along cobblestone. Warm static filled the air as electricity danced across Noctis’s skin. Lightning split across his clenched fists as his Flare raged to life.
“Will.”
The voice was hoarfrost on iron. His knees suddenly felt off-balance and his head swam. The single word was filled with loathing, but the voice was unmistakable. Noctis turned.
She stood barely an arm’s reach from him. Her ivory skin reflected the evening light, her black hair still cut short to frame her face. But the playful, crooked smile was gone. Instead, her lips curled down as she stared at him. Her anger-filled eyes, so dark they were nearly black, were fixed firmly on him.
Noctis’s throat was suddenly very tight. Something warm ran into his eyes. The crackling electricity dissipated. A dream. This has to be a dream.
“Morella?” The word came out as a near cry. His key blazed against numb skin. He took a tentative step toward her. She did not soften. “Is it really you?”
“You look sick,” she said, her eyes darting over his face. “The exterior finally matches what’s inside.”
Noctis’s head swam. He felt cold and hot. Something in the back of his throat seemed to be ticking. “Morella, I thought—”
“Don’t,” she sneered. “Don’t you dare.”
For a moment her expression nearly resembled Valmont’s from the last time they’d been together, surrounded by the sorcerer’s undead army. Noctis broke under those hateful eyes. Tears started to run down his cheeks. She’s alive.
“I thought he killed you,” he said, taking another step closer. “I thought he—”
Her slap nearly drove him to the ground.
“Not another word.” Her voice trembled. “Not one more word.”
Noctis stood, stricken. His head swam from the Bottled Embers. His face stung. He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it and looked away from her hard eyes.
/> “You left me.” Her words were venomous. “You abandoned me with that monster. Look at me, Will.”
His head seemed to wobble when he raised it to meet her eyes. He felt sick beneath her gaze but he did not turn away.
“You, Will. You.” Her words were calm, detached. “Everyone I’ve ever met has beaten me down, Will. Everyone abandoned me. But I never thought that you would be the worst of them.” There was a slight tremor in her voice, a small crack in her armor. Her eyes filled with tears, and her next words were barely audible. “Why did you leave me?”
What could he say? The sight of her drove everything from him, all the hardened armor of his training pierced by her words. How could he tell her that he never wanted to leave her behind, how many times he had cursed din’Dael for pulling him away from her? How many nights had her screams for help filled his head? No words came. He tore his gaze away. Self-loathing overwhelmed him.
She threw herself into his arms, nearly knocking him over as she broke down into sobs. Her hands clung at him, cradled his face while she kissed his cheeks and neck. “What happened to you, Will? Where did you go? Why didn’t you come find me?”
Noctis couldn’t speak. He stood, immobile, before eventually enough life returned to his limbs to wrap the woman he loved in his arms. Because I do love her, don’t I? He pushed the thought away; it was a question for another time. Right now, what mattered was that she was alive. She was present, tangible, and in his arms. For the first time, he realized that her scrolls and books were nowhere in sight. She lost everything.
“I love you, Will.”
Noctis felt himself go rigid. Spinning. Spinning, just like the night we met.
“I love you, but I’ll never forgive you.”
She reached up and took his head in her hands and pulled herself up to kiss him. She tasted like tears and misery. When she drew away, her face had hardened once more. “Goodbye, Will.”
14
A Traitor’s Blood
Noctis stood in silence, the sting of Morella’s slap as warm on his face as the breath of her lips from the kiss. She was gone, disappeared. He didn’t know when or how it happened; one second she was there, the next she was gone. It took him a moment to realize that he was standing in the middle of the street watching the swirling wind. A single snowflake drifted from the amber sky. He felt empty.
Where had she come from? Where had she gone? Why had she chosen this moment to appear? He had known the girl, once. He knew that if she had approached him now, it was because she had been watching him for some time. Had she been in the bar? Had she been amongst the spinning dancers? The revelry, the intoxicating flavor of the place, maybe he had missed something. He didn’t want to believe that he could have missed her, of all people, but it was entirely possible. Things had changed. He had changed. He was not who he once was. No, not at all.
Noctis gathered his thoughts while another gust of wind set his teeth back to chattering. His mind was still fogged with drink, the brief sobriety from the fear of a potential attack had immediately been overshadowed by the shock of seeing Morella. Any momentary clarity had immediately departed with the slap of her hand and the taste of her lips. Now he existed between two states: one, cold and sober, calculating what he should do next. The other, the foolish part, desperately wishing to scour the streets and find Morella and throw himself on her mercy.
Logic won.
He pulled his hood back up and took a deep breath. He forced himself to stand upright, though the movement made his head spin. He swayed as he took a few steps on the ancient cobblestones. How many others have walked on this road? Were these roads older than the Roman roads in Casc, set years before he could even fathom? And yet here they lay, threatening to twist his ankles. The floating lanterns seemed dimmer, like they, too, had turned away from him. Not just the lanterns—the entire city seemed to have turned against him—the dark, the cold, the absence of human life. Whatever momentary peace he had found within the Street of Ash was gone. Now he felt nothing but confusion and a rekindled loss.
At least she’s alive.
More snowflakes swept from the sky. He had never seen the weather turn like this, not in the entirety of his visit in this world. He chided himself after a moment, realizing the foolishness of the thought. Of course not, idiot. You’ve been holed up in the damn Sapholux. Desert nights got cold, but not that cold.
Perhaps, like time, all aspects of Aerillian life flowed unending and without reason. It had been warm during the day, then at night there was this? Nothing here is very real by my standards.
Noctis smirked, despite his mood. Why should it be? Why do I still hold to the truths of a different world? He glanced up. Was dawn near? Another brilliant day? How are you even supposed to tell? He supposed that once he arrived at his quarters in the tower the sun would already be shining once more, the snow just a memory. He hoped so.
He stumbled through dim streets, the floating lanterns muted by the incoming fog. Snowy nights in foggy streets. I should find this beautiful. He did not. His head pounded, his throat was dry, and his heart ached. He felt even more alone than on the day he lost his family and found Jero. No. That wasn’t me. That was a foolish boy.
Still, he could not explain the walls that pressed in on him and surrounded him in this loneliness. He longed for something familiar. He longed for the warmth of Morella. He longed for his Shade.
Noctis never had a Shade—he shook his head—that was someone else. The same someone Morella loved. Someone who no longer exists.
FIND MORELLA.
Noctis reeled, the pounding voice roaring within his skull. Loud and harsh, it repeated its order. There was less fury in it this time, but there was something else to it. It seemed more . . . present. Perhaps his drunkenness was bringing him closer to the void between sleep and dreams? That’s where it lives. The world of ghosts.
FIND MORELLA.
Noctis winced. I did find her. Or rather, she found me. Regardless, she wants nothing to do with me. Not for the first time, Noctis wondered if he was going crazy. So many voices. So many things. So many people I’ve let down.
The gates of the Nordoth grew closer. Noctis threw back his hood and stumbled. The guards eyed him when he approached supporting himself against a wall, but they said nothing. They acknowledged him when he passed and lifted a hand. They seem to know me already. How does the Crow do it?
His legs ached as he made the climb to the citadel; the drunken haze could not hide that fact from him. In fact, the drunken evening seemed to be hiding nothing. It was as though the universe had dredged up every could-have-been from the depths of his heart while the night held up a mirror and cast all his disappointments out into the world.
He passed through the inner gate without issue and crossed the courtyard to the hidden stair that led through the Nordoth. He dreaded another climb, but he braced himself against the wall with his shoulder and gripped the handrail. Then, forcing one foot in front of the other, he began to climb.
By the time he rose to the top of the stairs and stumbled through the halls to his room, a thin sheen of sweat covered his forehead. Thankfully, the door to his chamber was still unlocked. He opened it and stumbled into the dimly lit room. As the door closed behind him, he saw that Ynarra had left a tray of bread and wine for him. He smiled. Just what was needed.
He grabbed both the loaf of bread and the wine before setting off for the library. He needed a distraction. Something to take his mind off everything. The Veleriat, perhaps? It was well past due. Maybe see if I can pick up some more things Grandda missed. He smiled and ripped off a chunk of bread with his teeth.
“Off on an evening stroll?” said a voice from behind him.
Noctis froze midstride and glowered. He chased the bread with a swig of wine before turning to answer. Cephora was dressed in her same mottled green and black garb, but she wore thin plates of armor over it. Her staff and a bow were strapped to her back. She still bore her habitual look of casual boredom. Not
hing’s changed, it seems. And yet, as he studied her, something did appear different; something in her eyes.
“I’m not one for staying in one place these days. Not unless I have to, and I have had to for far too long.” He brushed back the hood of his cloak and heard Cephora take a startled sniff. Yeah, one of us changed, he mused, taking another drink.
“So it would seem.” Cephora crossed the room and poured herself a glass of wine from a second bottle he had not seen. “It has been quite a while, Will. It is good to see you.”
Noctis just stared at her. He felt her eyes crawling over him, inspecting. What is she looking for?
“Will—”
“It’s Noctis, now,” he said, removing the cloak entirely. “I was christened that in the fires of Sapholux under the guidance of Jero din’Dael.”
“Were you, now?” Cephora’s eyes were hard. “Very well, Noctis.”
Noctis’s head was swimming but he stood his ground. “I don’t recall inviting you, Cephora. Nor do I believe that Clarice would have had enough time to pass along my message. Why’re you here?”
“Do friends need invitations?”
Noctis laughed, a harsh, biting sound. “Friends, is it?”
Cephora frowned. “My, my. You have most definitely been spending time with Jero din’Dael.”
“Meaning?”
“You sound nearly as bitter as he.”
Noctis cocked his head and glared at the Seeker. “Perhaps he’s been equally disappointed by those he considered friends.”
Cephora mirrored his head tilt and raised an eyebrow disdainfully. Noctis sneered at the sight, frustration and disappointment filling him. Do not be weak, came din’Dael’s voice in his head. When he looked at Cephora, however, he realized that his anger, his words, were petty things. Weak things.
“I’m sorry,” he said after a moment. “I’ve had a rather long evening, filled with unexpected reunions.”
Borne Rising Page 15
