“Everything I love?” I scoff lightly. “That’s a short list.”
He catches my gaze. In his handsome face there’s so much uncertainty and naked longing—it steals my breath.
“You’re on the list,” I tell him impulsively.
Oh gods. Why did I say that? What possessed me to release those words, the words that make me vulnerable, the ones that show my hand, expose what I really want—
Locke sets aside the tray. His eyes are wide and fierce, his face tense. “Do you mean that?”
I open my mouth to recant, to withdraw the confession—but then he smiles, and it’s like he has never really smiled before because this expression is bright enough to shed morning over the entire island—the entire ocean.
“I don’t want to be your whore,” I whisper. “But I know you can’t offer me anything else.”
“I said I couldn’t offerother womenanything else,” he says. “I didn’t want a relationship or a future with anyone until I met you, and learned you. Now I can’t imagine an existence that doesn’t include you at my side—you, my thorny darling, my exasperating conscience, my beguiling ruination.”
“Such lovely names,” I murmur. “I have some for you as well. They’re not as nice.”
“I can imagine.” His lips brush mine, velvet-soft. “Tonight I will ink my magic into your skin, and tomorrow night I will ask you a question before all my people. And you may answer it however you like. No allegiance or obligation.”
With my heart in my throat, I nod, tipping my mouth to his. He cups my face in both his large hands and yields to the kiss with a hum of primal satisfaction. I flick my tongue along the seam of his lips, questing until he opens for me. He is warm slick sweetness tinged with salt. I could twine my tongue with his forever; I could die from the exquisite taste of him, the way the spice of his mouth thrills my soul and my body.
But we have to breathe, and when we separate he says, “Would you trust me to choose your tattoo and its placement?”
I hesitate. Are love and trust the same? I suspect in our case they might not be—not quite yet. I already trust him to protect me, not to hurt me. It’s his actions against others that I don’t always trust. But if I’m going to make this work between us, I need to sink further into that trusting space.
“I’ll let you choose,” I tell him. “But nothing horrible, or embarrassing. Please.”
He clucks his tongue. “Nick, when have I ever embarrassed you?”
I snort, and he flashes me a grin. “Have a seat, and we’ll begin.”
70
That night in my enormous empty bed, I touch the tender skin on my left side, at my waist. I close my eyes, remembering the gentle pressure of Locke’s fingers against my flesh, the sting of the needle, and the hum of his magic as I vowed never to betray Ravensbeck.
Now I have two small moths inked on my skin, one the mirror image of the other. Between them is a black crown, flanked by a row of tiny moons in phases ranging from waxing gibbous to waning crescent. It’s a beautiful mark, and it feels like a vow from him as well as from me.
I don’t see much of him the next day, but I enjoy breakfast on the balcony with Puck and two girls he apparently brought here last night. While we eat, Cyprus lingers in the dappled shadows along the balcony’s edge, nibbling a piece of bacon.
For the rest of the day I spend time with Puck and the girls, because they’re fun and I’m finally back on land, and I need something to take my mind off the dark cloud in the back of my brain, the revolving storm of murder and magic that is my brother. I can’t do anything about it, not now, though the itch togo, go, goto him is as strong as it was when he lived at home. There’s a panicked, learned response inside me:Mordan’s been out of my sight too long—I have to find him, to check on him, to stop him. That innate need has been crawling through my veins for weeks, months, years. Ever since he left. And now that I know or suspect where he is, I can hardly bear it.
So I force myself to smile, and I play games on the garden lawns while a couple of Locke’s guards lurk nearby, probably for my protection. There’s a late luncheon during which Puck drinks far too much wine, after which his two girls strip to the waist, rubbing their soft unblemished skin over his chest while the warm sun drenches them all, limning them in golden light. They trade languid kisses while I watch, entranced—but when Puck invites me to join in, I decline and retreat to my room.
As the sun is setting, Thora brings in several gowns for the gala. They’re not quite what I expected. Instead of stuffy, over-starched monstrosities packed with hoops and petticoats, she presents me with wide swirling dresses that can actually move, dresses I can dance in. I select a dark blue one with cutouts at both sides of the waist, to show off my new tattoo. It has a swishy skirt and a bodice that’s daring but secure, so I won’t risk popping out of it when I dance.
Back in Ivris, the dances were just as staid and proper as the dinners. They involved barely any physical contact between parties, and their regimented steps and careful blocking made me want to scream. I suspect the dancing at the Pirate King’s gala will be quite different.
“The Pirate King asks that you wait in your rooms until he calls for you,” Thora tells me.
Reluctantly I comply, though I’m itching to descend to the floors below or run out onto the back balcony. Through my open windows I can hear the musicians tuning their instruments, and voices passing along the paths as the cooks and servants set up for the party.
Before long the music swells, bold soaring melodies much different from the chamber music of Ivris. The voices outside increase in volume and number, and I try to ignore the tantalizing mayhem while one of the maids fixes my hair and offers me a selection of jewels.
“These are from the Pirate King’s private treasury,” she says, with a knowing smile. “He doesn’t keep many such things for himself, but he said to tell you these are special, and that they’re yours.”
She holds out a red velvet cushion on which lies a stunning necklace of silver filigree, with a black diamond at its center. Beside it lie earrings with smaller black diamonds, and a bracelet encrusted with tiny chips of the same precious stone.
These are diamonds from the mine Locke dug with his father on Caligo. Precious stones carrying precious memories of escape and freedom.
