Give the Dark My Love

by Beth Revis

  “Why don’t you have this framed?” he asked. “It would look nice on the wall.”

  I raised my eyebrows at him. Did he think I put up with paper-thin curtains over my window and couch cushions as pillows for my bed because I was so focused on work? I hadn’t framed Papa’s map because I couldn’t frame it. It cost too much.

  “I understand,” he said, letting go. The large paper curled slowly, like a cat preparing for a nap.

  “What do you understand?” I asked.

  “This isn’t permanent for you.” Grey turned in a slow circle, taking my room in. “None of Yūgen is.”

  I picked up a book from the bed, fiddling with it. In a way, he was right. I hadn’t come to this school expecting it to be my home. School was merely a doorway for me to pass through in order to enter the rest of my life, not a place to make attachments or friends.

  But when I looked at Grey, at the hope that somehow still flared within him, the hope for us—none of my plans mattered.

  “What is this to you?” Grey asked me. “I know you are dedicated to your work. I respect that. But what about us? Do I have a chance, or should I—”

  I crossed the distance, wrapping my arms around him and pulling him closer to me. It was still so new, this easy way we touched each other, but it came from instinct. A week ago, I would never have dreamed of touching him like this, of feeling the length of his body against mine, but now it was as natural as breathing.

  He lowered his head as I looked up at him. My eyes fluttered shut as he kissed me. The book dropped to the floor, the sound echoing in the small room, and I reached up to slide my arms around Grey’s neck, pressing my lips hard against his. His hand cupped the back of my head, and shivers raced up and down my spine.

  Grey whirled me around, my feet skimming the floor, and he dropped me on the edge of my bed. I held on to him, pulling him down with me. My hands slid under his shirt, trailing up his back. He growled, the sound low and deep and needy, and he pushed me back against the mattress.

  I wasn’t sure how I felt—I wasn’t indecisive, I just couldn’t name this deep longing inside of me. I could see the same thing reflected in Grey’s eyes. Something primal. Something needy.

  Something hungry.

  As soon as the thought flitted through my mind, I shivered, repulsed that what I felt now reminded me of that moment in the factory. Dilada’s pain shot through my hands, up my arms, into the center of me.

  I pushed Grey aside. He sat on the edge of the bed for a moment, catching his breath. When he looked at me, there was concern in his eyes.

  “It’s . . .” I took a deep, shaky breath. “There is work to do,” I said.

  His worry was replaced with disappointment.

  “There’s more to life than work,” he said.

  I got up and moved to the couch. “I know,” I said, but I didn’t think he heard me.

  I stared down at my book, not comprehending any of the words on the page. After a few moments, Grey got up from the bed. He strode across the room and knelt in front of me, one hand on my cheek. “I understand,” he said.

  And I knew he didn’t. He couldn’t.

  But I loved him for trying.

  Before I could say anything, I heard a voice outside my window. My room faced the street, but the gatekeeper must have been lax about letting Tomus outside the campus grounds after curfew. He was clearly even drunker than he had been before, and he was singing a bawdy song at the top of his lungs.

  “He doesn’t know this is your room,” Grey said, frowning at the thin curtains over the glass.

  I nodded. Tomus wasn’t being overtly threatening. He was just there, closer than I’d like him to be.

  My mind flashed with the anger Tomus wore beneath his mask. He was used to getting what he wanted, and he seemed intent on finding someone to blame.

  “I can make him leave,” Grey started, standing. I wasn’t sure if he intended to shout at Tomus out the window or go down there and physically remove him, but I caught his arm, holding him back.

  “No,” I said. “Just . . . stay?”

  He looked at me for a long moment, a flicker of desire still in his gaze. “Of course,” he said.

  We spent the night reading, pretending like everything was normal. And then I curled up in the center of my bed, and Grey stretched out on my couch. I turned down the wick of the oil lamp. It was dark. Tomus was long gone. The city was asleep.

  I stared into the blackness and tried not to think about how Grey was just over there, lying on the couch. I could hear his breathing, and I knew he was awake, too. I tried to force myself to fall asleep, but I heard every tiny motion Grey made.

  Before sleep could overtake me, I threw my quilt back, swung my legs over the side of the bed, and padded across the room to him.

  “Grey,” I whispered.

  He sat up immediately.

  I didn’t speak again. I didn’t trust myself to. I took his hand, and he followed me back to the bed, under the blanket. My heart was oddly calm, but I could feel his pulse thrumming chaotically in his chest as we settled onto the mattress. Questions hung around him, but when I curled up next him, resting my head on the space where his shoulder met his chest, one arm flung across his body, his breath softened. A long, low sigh escaped his lips, and he held me closer, tight, like he was afraid I would slip away. And then I felt his entire body sink into the bed, relaxing. Within moments, he was asleep.

  And for the first time since I danced too close to Death, I felt safe.

  THIRTY

  Grey

  When i woke the next morning, it took me a moment to remember where I was.

  I sat up, rubbing my bleary eyes. Nedra was already dressed for the day, her long skirt flowing under a tunic, with a cloak over her shoulders, the big square pockets bulging. Her alchemical bag sat by the door, and I could see her crucible peeking out from inside it.

  I stretched, yawning hugely. Nedra turned, watching as the blanket fell away from my bare chest, and a surge of heat filled me—I liked the way she looked at me. “We could stay for a little,” I said, lifting an eyebrow at her suggestively.

  Nedra smirked at me, but she said, “I need to go.”

  “Then I’m coming with you.”

  “You don’t have to. It’s not like I’m getting extra credit or anything. Master Ostrum won’t even be there.”

  “I’m not going for him,” I said. “I’m going for you.”

  Nedra glanced at the window and the red light of the rising sun creeping through the curtains, then she turned to me, still mustering the energy to get out of bed. “You better hurry, then,” she said, mockingly. I faked a yawn that turned real, my jaw cracking. She laughed and dropped a kiss on the top of my head.

  I liked that kiss just as much as the passionate one last night. This kiss was casual, easy, the kind of kiss people share when they’re certain of each other.

  I dressed hurriedly in the same clothes I’d worn last night. As we left, Nedra made a point to check the lock on her door. “Thank you,” she said in such a small voice I almost didn’t hear.

  “For what?” I asked.

  “For being on that side of the door last night.”

  * * *

  • • •

  Blackdocks was already busy by the time we arrived. I could sense Nedra’s impatience with me; I was slowing her down from her usual schedule. Transport boats crossed the bay from the north carrying produce or tools and crafts—these were subjected to a new waiting period while one of the governor’s inspectors checked for signs of the Wasting Death among the crew. But there were ships from the mainland as well, and even some from Doisha and a grand caravel from Euris. Lunar Island was a safe port and restocking area for the surrounding island colonies and the countries to the east that traded with the Allyrian Empire.

  The hospital had its ow
n ferry that ran back and forth between the island and the dock, and there was already a large crowd waiting.

  “Please,” a woman pleaded, making her way along the line of flat-bottomed boats that knocked against the stone steps of the dock. “Please take us now! I can pay!”

  One of the boat drivers spit at the woman’s feet. “You couldn’t pay me enough to take a sickie.”

  The woman begged some more, but a man pulled her away by the arm, saying something to her in a low voice. He led her to a group of people waiting for the hospital ferry to arrive. They huddled around a small boy with glassy eyes and blackened fingers, and my heart sank.

  “There won’t be room on the next ferry for all of the sick,” Nedra said, her eyes scanning the crowd by the dock, her fingers moving as she took a silent headcount.

  “We can leave room for two more seats,” I said. I went down the stone steps to the flat-bottomed boats used for local rides. “Take us to the hospital,” I said, tossing my coin at one of the closest ones.

  The skipper caught it, but she looked at me questioningly. “You sick?”

  “Do I look sick?” I said. Nedra held up her hands, turning them backward and forward to show that there were no inky stains on her fingers.

  The skipper jerked her head for us to board her boat. The ride was quick and mostly silent. The skipper was so eager for us to disembark that she pushed her boat away from the hospital’s steps before I was even fully on the island. I slipped, almost falling into the water.

  A large sign hung on a post on the steps leading up to the grand front doors of the hospital: NO VISITORS.

  It was chaos inside. Aides directed people where to go, shouting down the usually peaceful corridors.

  “No visitors,” an aide said when I stepped forward.

  “I’m not a—”

  She started to snap at me again, but then saw Nedra. “Oh, thank Oryous,” she said, rushing to her. “Can you help with the east wing?”

  Nedra nodded. “We both can.”

  The aide gave me an appraising look, but she didn’t ask me to leave. “Half of our alchemists didn’t show up today.”

  “Why not?” I asked.

  “They’re quitting.”

  Behind us, the large mahogany doors opened, and a stream of people poured inside. The ferry had arrived.

  “We can’t handle this many new people,” the aide said, a hint of panic in her voice as the mob of new patients streamed in. “There aren’t enough rooms, the next shift of workers hasn’t even shown up yet, and we’re almost out of tincture. We can’t do this.” She spun around to Nedra, as if she would have the answers.

  Someone in the crowd from the ferry started shouting. Potion makers and alchemists rushed forward, hastily sorting patients.

  Nedra grabbed the frantic aide by the shoulders. “Focus on one thing at a time,” she said. “You can’t do everything. So do what you can.”

  “But—” the aide started doubtfully.

  “It’ll be enough,” Nedra said, with such conviction that even I believed her.

  THIRTY-ONE

  Nedra

  When i first arrived at Yūgen, I was flummoxed by the iron gates surrounding the campus. I didn’t understand why the students were caged like animals, a zoo of teenagers and books.

  Now I finally understood: It wasn’t a matter of keeping the students in. The gates kept the rest of the world out.

  As Grey and I made our way through the east wing of the hospital, helping where we could, praying when we couldn’t, I realized that despite the fact that Grey had been at Yūgen longer than I had, he was overwhelmed. Yūgen had kept him safe. It kept him ignorant. Patients in textbooks were made of ink and paper, their illnesses detailed on a chart.

  I could see the weariness etched on his face. I wondered if Master Ostrum started out this way, and he only looked old now because he had seen too much of the darkness in the world.

  “You there!” an authoritative voice cut across the hallway. Silence fell immediately. A broad man with white hair and pallid skin pointed at Grey and me. “Fetch your masters.”

  I crossed the corridor to the man. “Our master isn’t here.”

  The man glanced at the golden crucible in my hands. “You any good?” He was dressed stylishly and spoke with the quick, clipped tones of someone from the city.

  “She’s the best,” Grey said, his voice icy. I wondered if he knew the man standing in front of us. He did look familiar, but I couldn’t quite place him.

  The man jerked his head toward a nearby suite of rooms that had clearly already been prepared for him. A potion maker stood to the side, a large bottle of tincture of blue ivy in his hands.

  The man got into the bed in the center of the room. I blinked away my surprise—he spoke with such authority that I’d assumed he worked at the hospital, not that he was a patient. But then I noticed the black stain on the fingertips of his left hand.

  “Do you have plague anywhere else?” I asked. “There are many more people outside who need immediate attention—”

  “It is not that gods-forsaken disease!” the man roared, clutching his hand to his chest.

  Grey moved protectively behind me. “Lord Anton,” he started.

  The man barked with bitter laughter. “So, you recognize me.”

  And I did, too—the man Master Ostrum had argued with in his office, who had a large gold crest on his hat.

  “This is not the plague,” Lord Anton said, extending his hand past me and to Grey. “I do not interact with the filth of this city.”

  My jaw set, and I stepped back. So. It was like that.

  “Excuse me,” I said as Grey attempted to examine a man whose diagnosis was as visible as the nose on his face. “I have filth to attend to.” I left the room before Grey could protest.

  And I bumped directly into the governor, almost knocking her down in the hallway.

  “Your, um . . .” I started. She was the governor, ruling in regency for the Emperor, so she wasn’t technically a “highness.”

  “Hello,” she said kindly. “I’m Adelaide.”

  “Yes, ma’am, I know, ma’am,” I stuttered foolishly.

  She was one of the most beautiful people I’d ever met. She wore a dress of embroidered silk that cinched in at the waist with a silver girdle, and her hair was chestnut brown, shot through with strands of white that looked almost decorative. A silver diadem was woven through her locks. Even though the hospital was muggy and oppressively hot, she was cool and collected, and made it seem as if we were the only two people in the entire building.

  Her smile was kind and genuine. “Are you an alchemist here?” she asked.

  “Studying to be one,” I said.

  “At Yūgen?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Good,” Governor Adelaide said. “We need all the people we can get to help with this plague—both in treating patients and in finding a cure. Who is your master at the academy?”

  “Master Ostrum,” I said.

  I had become accustomed to people being impressed when I mentioned my master’s name; his reputation was well established. Instead, Governor Adelaide frowned slightly. “I’m afraid he doesn’t like me very much,” she said when she noticed my look of concern. “But he’s one of the best, that’s for certain.”

  “If it helps,” I said, “I don’t think Master Ostrum likes much of anybody.”

  Governor Adelaide laughed.

  “Get that infernal woman out of here!” Lord Anton bellowed from his suite.

  “Well, off to work,” Governor Adelaide said, and although I knew she was trying to be cheerful in the face of Lord Anton’s rudeness, her smile was strained. She entered the suite. I hesitated a moment, but then followed her inside.

  “Lord Anton,” Governor Adelaide said.

  Grey’s
eyes widened as the governor swept into the room. He looked past her shoulder, probably expecting an entourage of lords and ladies, and seemed a little surprised when it was only me.

  “Get out,” Lord Anton growled.

  “I came to wish you well,” Governor Adelaide said. “I heard you were ill, and—”

  “Your hospital sent me here,” Lord Anton said. “Despite the fact that I do not have the plague.”

  Governor Adelaide looked down at his hand, but did not say what we were all thinking.

  “It’s a filthy, disgusting poor man’s disease,” Lord Anton muttered. “This is just another attempt to malign my good name.”

  “We’re no longer campaigning for the governorship,” Governor Adelaide said gently.

  Lord Anton wouldn’t meet her eyes. “Get out,” he grumbled. And then, after no one moved, he added, “Please.”

  “Young lady,” the governor said, turning to me, “would you be so kind as to show me how I may help out here?”

  “Nedra, ma’am,” Grey said. “Her name is Nedra Brysstain, and she’s the brightest alchemist at Yūgen.” Pride radiated from him as I escorted the governor from the suite, leaving him with a grumpy Lord Anton.

  “Nedra,” the governor said, musing. “I’ve heard your name here before. The potion makers speak highly of you.”

  “Thank you,” I said.

  The governor maneuvered her dress through the crowd of people in the corridors waiting for a room. “I must confess,” she said, “that I am ashamed of myself for not coming to the hospital sooner.”

  “It’s best for your health to stay away—” I started, but she cut me off with a wave of her hand.

  “The Emperor is still at the castle; did you know?” she said. “He came for my inauguration, but since the plague hit . . .”

  She didn’t want to say he was too cowardly to leave the protection of the castle, but she didn’t have to.