Oliver shushes me. “All of that may be true, Amelia, but I can guarantee you their family and friends stopped loving them when they found out.”
More tears come. “How can you say that? How can people suddenly stop loving?”
He touches his forehead to mine. “I don’t know, Amelia. I really don’t know, but they do because all my friends, anyone who ever knew me, stopped caring when they found out.”
“No one can stop loving a person just like that.”
“It doesn’t matter. Love is supposed to be unconditional. Amelia--” He tips my chin up and puts his lips on mine, his kiss penetrating the frigid sadness deep within me. “--I love you unconditionally.”
Winter feels like summer. In my mind, the snow melts, flowers push through the slush, lush leaves perch on the boughs of the plum trees, and Warbele finds itself in eternal spring. “Y-you love me?”
His eyes are so genuine. These are the same eyes of the boy who helped me clean the latrine, the boy who would sneak treats for Colette and I, the boy who took in Nathaniel as his own brother. This is not the boy who would ever kill me. He would only ever protect me.
Oliver runs his thumb along my jawline and kisses me there. “Of course I do. I should have been there yesterday. It must have been awful. I can’t imagine what you and Natty must have gone through. How is he?”
I turn my back to him and cuddle against him, Oliver wrapping his arms around me and resting his chin on my head. “He couldn’t sleep last night. Father took him to a small chapel to pray, hoping that would help heal him. But he’s young. He’s resilient.”
Oliver pulls me down to the wood flooring of the gazebo, turning me around so that we are eye level with one another. He strokes the side of my face with the back of his hand, sending pleasant shivers that warm my body. “Stay with me, Amelia. Stay with me forever.”
With the way he talks to me, I can’t believe Colette’s words. Maybe the mere process of turning into a Shadowman changed her. I should tell Oliver about what Colette told me, but her words are hollow to me now that I am this close to him. So instead I will tell him about her warning.
“Olly, I met with Colette yesterday during the burning. I’m certain she was the one on the train who gave me that vision, but she told me the Shadowmen Alliance is going to strike Malva any day now. What are we supposed to do about this?”
Oliver pulls me in for another kiss and runs his fingers down my spine. He pulls away, goes to my ear, and whispers, “Amelia, stop worrying about this. I promise you, I will have everything figured out by then. I have allies on my side, a few from Cathedral Reims in fact.”
“We’ll terminate them before they get a chance to strike.”
I open my mouth to reply, but his is already back on mine, deepening our kiss. His tongue pushes against my lips. I open my mouth, joining my tongue with his. The kiss links us in a way I wasn’t certain I’d ever be ready for. Oliver briefly pulls away from me, his voice airy. “I love you, Amelia.”
The natural response should be to reply with the same, but all I can do is kiss him back while trying to bury Colette’s words in an untapped part of my mind. Seeming unperturbed by my lack of response, Oliver has no problem keeping our lips together, our tongues and breath and touch dancing and mingling in ways that should veil me in shame. I push Oliver to the ground and straddle his waist. I look at him, observing the way the sunlight from the snowy sky frames his cheekbones, making him appear manlier. I could just take him right now. No one would know. We’re hidden amongst the naked trees of the plum orchard, the gazebo buried so far back that only those who care to wade through the snow would come.
He’d be mine. No one else’s. He’d be my sin, and for this one moment, I could forget all my feelings and pretend that I’m not doubting Oliver, Colette, or anyone else in this world.
My breathing comes on hot and heavy. I tighten the space between our faces so that the tips of our noses touch. Oliver puts his hands on my back and rubs me, inching his hands down until they cup my bottom. He lets out a sigh, then a small moan. He squeezes me, thrusting his hips forward. He brings his hands to my sides and entwines his fingers in the fabric of my wool gown, and lifts it enough so that his hands snake along my back until they find the laces of my corset. Undoing those, Oliver slips the thing down my ribs, and yanks it off me. I feel like I am now free to breathe, when I’ve held my breath for what feels like eighteen years.
“What do you want?” he asks, running his cold hands along my warm skin and cupping my bare breasts.
I don’t know what I want. My body knows what it wants; yet, I do not. “I don’t know,” I whisper against his neck, letting my lips graze the salty skin. I should be freezing, screaming for the warmth of a fire, especially since Oliver’s skin feels like ice, but the warmth rippling through me will not allow me to feel anything but this moment.
“But do you want this?” he asks, his voice so lost I feel he is only asking me to reassure himself that he isn’t being a depraved fool lusting after a former sister.
“We’ll find out now, won’t we?” It’s true. I won’t know what it’s like until I experience it for myself.
Oliver pulls away from me and grabs my hands, urging me to undo the belt buckle on his black slacks.
My hands develop a mind of their own.
Pants down. Bloomers off. And I don’t say no, even as he pushes me to the ground and takes control.
#
It hurt. A lot. Drops of blood stain the white wood. It wasn’t anything like it was in my dream.
Oliver couldn’t bring that feeling out of me that I woke up with, and I wasn’t even sure how to do it. I don’t even think we knew what we were doing. But here we lay, side-by-side, breathing contended sighs as we bask in the rawness of our beings, the warmth flooding our veins--or mine, at least. Our fingers are entwined, and in a way I feel like I’ve been joined with him because Deus witnessed what we did. Though what we did is supposed to be sinful, I feel relieved of the pressures of life. I don’t have to worry about them as long as Oliver is with me.
How long were we wrapped in each other’s bodies? It’s dark outside, the wintry clouds tucked away for another day. “How many stars do you think are out there?” I ask Oliver, gazing beyond the gazebo.
Oliver pulls me close to him, and I nuzzle against the slickness of his skin, smelling sweat and cold and earth.
“Too many to count,” he says.
“Should we count them?” Counting stars was something I always did with Nathaniel. Back at the grotto in Norbury, we’d lie awake at night counting stars until both of us fell asleep. We never got as far as we wanted, but if we just kept counting, then we could keep living. “I’ve counted a thousand stars already.”
Oliver pulls back, smirking. “Oh, really? How do you know you haven’t counted the same star twice?”
“I don’t know. What does it matter? They go on forever, so counting the same star twice is like counting a star that’s probably out there but you can’t see. Or, rather, a star that no longer exists. Maybe it’s a new star?”
Oliver kisses my forehead and laughs, buttoning his collared shirt. He is lanky, to say the least, but he is beautiful because there is muscle pushed under that pale skin. He is just right though: not too muscular, but not too frail.
“I should probably get going,” I tell him, remembering that I must meet with Colette.
I go to stand, but Oliver grabs my wrist. “There’s something bothering you, Amelia. You’re really good at hiding your feelings, even from yourself, but you can’t fool me.”
I pull my wrist away. “Nothing’s wrong.”
Oliver sits up. The moonlight accentuates the sharp angles of his face. “No. Something is wrong with you, and I want to know what it is.”
“Olly, I’d rather not think about anything right now.” For the moment, I want to forget what Colette told me and let myself enjoy this euphoria, however short it may last. I’ll deal with those tumultuous feelings l
ater.
“But it’s bothering you, Amelia. You know that I’m not fond of people shirking their problems for a later time.”
I pull my bloomers up, hissing as a sharp pain races through my groin. Oliver will not let up until I give him something to go by. My mind grasps for something else it could be upset at, something that isn’t as stressful as Colette, and I do find something to say. “It bothers me how lax you are about the Shadowmen, Olly. I desperately want to help you, but you keep pushing me away. I understand you want to protect me, but if you die Olly, that’s it for you. If I die, at least I’ll come back as a Shadowman.”
Even through the burgeoning darkness of the night, I can make out the sharp intensity that makes his silver eyes seem piercing. “It’s too dangerous, Amelia. Far too dangerous.”
“You keep saying that, Olly, but that just makes me feel helpless, and I hate that. Why don’t you teach me how to control my fire then? Why don’t you give me a means to protect myself? If I have that, then you’ll have a reason to worry about me less.”
He purses his lips, folding his arms across his broad chest. “Amelia, no. I’ve kept the Shadowmen away from you this long, I can continue doing so. Asch hasn’t bothered you since that day, has he?” I shake my head. “Good. Then there is no reason for me to teach you how to control something that could get you caught. Everything is going to be all right in the end, Amelia. You have to trust me.”
I want to trust him, I do. “Olly, no matter how much I trust you, that doesn’t keep me from feeling vulnerable. I don’t understand why you wouldn’t want to teach me to protect myself. The Shadowmen are leaving me alone for now, but you can’t possibly protect me from every single one. That’s impossible, no matter how beautiful or brilliant your magic is.”
Oliver sighs, smearing his hands down his face. “I just can’t, Amelia. You have to trust me.”
I turn away from him and leave, the pleasant heat within me rising to a searing boil. “You know, Olly, you’re not giving me a reason to trust you. If anything, you’re giving me a reason to doubt you.”
Colette’s warning takes its effect on me, and I hasten down the steps, Oliver’s calling my name a mere echo in the wintry air.
Chapter Twenty-Two
The sky is an inky black, the only light from a sliver of moon and the scatter of stars. The cold should cut through me, but my blood has turned to ice. Part of my heart is still warm, though, and feeling raw doubt that lingers on the cusp. If Oliver won’t teach me, then I’m certain Colette will. She has no reason not to, unless she is wrapped in conspiracy with Oliver to keep me from ever exploring my true potential. It’s nonsense, keeping me vulnerable and helpless. I can’t imagine why Oliver would want me that way, and I don’t even want to think about it.
The bleating of goats meets my ears, assuring me I haven’t lost my way. The barns come into full view, and their straw and mold smell, taking me back to the days when Colette and I would clean them together. There’s a barn at the corner of the north transept, a single, solitary one for horses. Colette loves horses, which is probably why she suggested this particular one. She tried to teach me to ride horses my first month here, but I was either bucked off or kicked.
I cross over and press myself against the barn, listening for any unusual sounds. All I hear are soft knickers, restless walking, and the lapping of water with thick horse tongues.
I put my hand against the wooden bolt that keeps the barn closed. Pushing it to the side, I open the door just a crack. Shadows pour through, replacing the pale moonlight that paints the ground in a soft gray. I hold my breath, listening for further sounds. Just knickers and restless pacing. I slip through and close the door.
Now I grope for a lantern to throw some light on the spot where Colette may be. She didn’t say how she wanted to be found, but I assume she knows I’ll figure it out if only to make certain it’s me who finds her and no one else. I feel around, keeping my hands against the door of the barn and sliding them down the wooden wall for safe support. My shin bangs into a crate, nearly eliciting a string of inappropriate words from me. But something that sounds metallic falls off it and lands on the concrete flooring.
I reach down, scoop up the object, and realize it’s a lantern. I feel on the crate and find a book of matches. I strike one of the red-tipped beasts and light the lantern.
The lantern throws an orange glow on my surroundings, revealing horses with perked ears, curious eyes, and muzzles poking through stall slats. The light also reveals dust and cobwebs and spilled grain. An enormous spider makes its home on one of the crossbeams far above my head. I walk down the center aisle of the barn and say, “Colette? Are you there? It’s me, Amelia.”
A creaking sound echoes at the end of the barn. I hold my breath.
“Amelia?”
At the end, I make out the outline of Colette. I release my breath. “Oh, good.” I make my way toward her. She is standing by the open door of an unused stall. “I’m sorry I’m late. Olly and I got in a bit of spat, and well…”
Colette gestures me inside, bolting the stall door when I enter. She also closes the top half, leaving only a slit that doesn’t show much but darkness. I set my lantern down on a flimsy crate.
Colette sits down on a bale of hay. “You saw Oliver tonight, didn’t you?”
I nod, almost tempted to tell her about the moment I had with him. In fact, there is so much I want to tell her, so many burdens I feel like I need to release from my heart. Not only this, but I want to talk with Colette as my best friend and not as a Shadowman. Peering into her face, however, tells she is all business and isn’t here to rekindle a friendship that began dying the day the Shadowmen took her life. This thought strangles my heart in a noose. Things between her and I may never be the same again. I don’t know if I can, or if I will ever be able to accept this.
“Amelia,” Colette says, rousing me from my thoughts, “I told you to be careful around him. Being alone with him is not wise.”
Then she would shun me if she knew I made love to him.
I sit down on a pile of hay, moving the lantern so that its light shows Colette’s Shadowman face. “I don’t want much to do with him. I know you want me here to talk about more things, but I first want you to teach me how to properly use my fire.” This is the only way to calm me down, because if she teaches me, I can throw this in Oliver’s face and make him feel guilty for not teaching me. “And I’ll keep pressing you until you do so. Olly refused to teach me, so you have to. I’m not going to be made a victim.”
Colette moves her head a little, obscuring her face in the shadows. I pick up pieces of hay, stripping a single straw, piece-by-piece, as she seems to mull over my request. She moves her head, bringing her face back into the light. “All right, but you have to get Oliver--”
“I will, Colette! All right? But can we please not bring him up for one night?”
Colette reaches into the hay and grabs a fistful of straw she sets on a small patch of concrete. She sweeps excess straw aside, likely to ensure that when I am able to manage fire that the fire doesn’t spread anywhere else. Cathedral Reims doesn’t tidy the barns too often, so there is plenty of flammable material for fire to feast on. Once she finishes sweeping the area of excess debris, she locks serious black eyes on mine. They match the shadows from the lantern, sending a slight chill through me.
“This isn’t going to be easy, Amelia. I’m not even sure if you’ll be able to grasp it in one night. Deus didn’t curse witches with this power so that they’d be able to naturally control it, but it is doable.
“You have to clear your mind of everything, every bad feeling, every good feeling, every doubt. If your mind finds itself straying for even a split second, the fire will not work. Or worse--it will work, but will not do what you want it to do, and this is about controlling that which Deus cursed us with. Are you absolutely certain you want to go through with this?”
I look into the flickering flame of the lantern. It casts an eeri
e glow in the stall and tosses shadows in odd places, shadows in the shapes of strange creatures that look like they could haunt one’s nightmares. They dance along the wall, mingling with the light of the glow and the shadows the lantern does not create. But it isn’t these dancing shadows that hold my full attention. No. It is the dancing flame in the lantern. The way it dances on the wick captivates me, and I need to make fire. Real, raw, hot, scalding fire. The fire witches are forced to endure when they’re strapped to stakes and burned alive. The fire witches can’t fight against. The fire Pope Gilford finds so appealing to use on innocent souls.
If I can conjure fire, I can make those Shadowmen suffer for what they’ve done--rather, what they want done to witches, all in a foolish attempt to start an uprising against their oppressors.
“I have to, Colette,” I say at last.
“Put your hand over the straw pile then, and close your eyes.”
I close my eyes and put my hand above the pile. “What is your role in this?”
“To guide you, Amelia, to keep your thinking on track. Now think about fire.”
“All right.”
Fire. Fire. Think fire. With my mind focused on nothing but a single dancing flame, all else is nonexistent. Only I and the pile of hay exist in some dark space conjured from my mind.
“Don’t forget to breathe,” I hear Colette say in the background of my mind.
I heed her words, breathing in through my nose and out through my mouth, in through my nose and out through my mouth. The single flame from the lantern dances in my mind’s eye, and within the center of that flame--is Oliver? No, no, no. I can’t think about him. This won’t work if I do, so I imagine an inky blackness blotting out his face, my thoughts still centered on the flickering flame. Then I imagine reaching out to the fire, my hand teasing the flame as it goes close but doesn’t touch. Instead I move my hand in languorous motions that tempt the fire to follow the movements. Wherever my hand moves, bits of flames follow the path. I will have to tempt the entire blaze to follow me if I am to make this work.
When Stars Die (The Stars Trilogy) Page 18
