Dark Harmony
Page 51
Normal people don’t get this, but I do.
Temper reads our wedding vows, and the Night King and I recite them again to each other—with a few additions of our own.
“From flame to ashes, dawn to dusk, for the rest of our lives, be mine always, Desmond Flynn,” I say. My wings have come out, exposed by my raw emotion.
The Night King brings my knuckles to my lips. “I’m yours, Callypso.” His own wings are folded at his back. They’ve been visible ever since Temper first started reading the rites.
Des lowers my hands, his eyes search mine. I can feel his magic gathering in the air, the darkness pressing in on us.
“And mountains may rise and fall, and the sun might wither away, and the sea claim the land and swallow the sky. But you will always be mine. And the stars might fall from the heavens, and night might cloak the earth, but until darkness dies, I will always be yours.”
And so we get married before the ruins of Lyra, Des’s mom watching us from where she lies amongst the undying flowers, the stars our only other witness.
Before we leave the ancient temple, Malaki, Temper, Des, and I share a bottle of fae wine from Lephys, where the fruit itself is grown from the island’s glowing waters. It tastes like hope and love and the sweetest memories.
This might be the first time the four of us have ever sat together outside of a professional setting, and I find that Malaki has a dirty sense of humor, and that he and Des act more like brothers than best friends.
“Thank the gods you finally made an honest man of Desmond,” Malaki says, leaning forward to clink my glass.
“‘Honest’?” I raise my eyebrows. “Are we talking about the same man?”
Malaki laughs, and his teeth are blindingly white against his olive skin. “Aye, that’s a fair point.”
“Letting you two be friends might be my worst decision yet,” Des says, gesturing between me and his general.
“Now you know how I feel.” The only thing worse than Temper or Des on their own is getting the two of them together.
“I still can’t believe you two fuckers did body shots without me,” Temper grumbles.
“What’s a body shot?” Malaki looks genuinely confused.
“Oh, you sweet thing,” Temper pats his cheek. “I’ll show you later.”
After the wine’s run out, Temper and Malaki return to Somnia. Des and I linger amongst Lyra’s fallen temple a little longer, the evening breeze rustling the wild grass and making the flowers sway.
There, amongst the ruins, the Bargainer makes love to me, each stroke of his hips a promise. The two of us share a bond, a single life, and decades and decades of unwritten future.
Eventually we leave the ruins, trading in Lyra’s undying flowers for silken sheets and the comforts of Des’s palace.
It’s only in Des’s chambers, my body draped over his that the silence swarms in. I lift my head from his chest. The King of the Night is already asleep, his breathing deep and even.
I stare at his devastating features in the dim lamplight. Something thick lodges in my throat.
Husband.
It’s just one more title to tuck away, one more claim I have on him.
I trace one of his pointed ears.
I’m unspeakably happy—and yet.
And yet I still don’t get to have this life. The easy, uncomplicated one. I might be living a fairytale, but fairytales aren’t just full of princes and fair maidens and moonlit weddings. They are full of monsters too. Monsters and violence and terror and death.
My hand shakes as I continue to trace Des’s ear.
Tonight is the beginning of something … but I fear—I fear it is also the end.
Chapter 28
“Congratulations to the new bride.”
I turn and face the Thief of Souls.
He reclines on a chair made of gold, the metal worked into strange and twisting spires that arch far above the headrest. I glance around, and I realize I’m back in the room made of pale stone. The same blood red, flowering vine grows up the wall, and the humming pool sits off to the side of the throne, even now vibrating with power.
All around me, the columns look like bones, and there’s a faint smell here, like soured wine …
“Where are we?” I ask.
“You know, I never understood the point of small weddings. Why go to the trouble of marrying someone if no one’s there to see it?”
Guess I know the Thief’s answer to the question, “If a tree falls in the woods …”
“Apparently you saw,” I say.
He lifts a shoulder. “In a manner.”
I narrow my eyes at him.
He leans forward, the leather he wears creaking a bit at the motion. “Have you figured out who I am yet?”
No.
I stare at him.
“Ah.” He pulls the answer from my face—or maybe he knew it already. “You may have your wiles, enchantress, but you are not one for puzzles. A shame, really,” his eyes turn sly, “when your mate so clearly is.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
The Thief looks so self-satisfied when he lounges in his seat. “He’s figured out quite a bit more than you have.”
It’s just one more lie to add to the rest.
“What have you been doing now that you don’t have women to rape and soldiers to kidnap?” I ask.
The smile he gives me is downright spooky.
“Don’t you know, enchantress? I’ve been preparing for you.”
A short while ago, a confession like that would’ve undone me. But I’ve been changing in some subtle yet fundamental way.
“That makes two of us.”
His eyes flicker with dark excitement. “How very intriguing. I do await our true reunion.”
He leans forward, steepling his fingers. “Tell me, does knowing I’m cobound to Galleghar in any way diminish my mystery?”
I almost take a step back. How does he know that?
The Thief’s eyes sharpen on me. “Truly, I’m disappointed at how magnificently you’ve underestimated me. I have spies more thorough than the Night King’s pixies. I thought you would’ve been aware of that by now.
“I know what you ate for breakfast, how many times you spread your pretty thighs for your mate in the last day. I know that fool Galleghar attacked you on your way to capturing him. I know he wants to do it again. I know that you are not nearly so worthy of destruction as the fallen king seems to think you are. In fact, I just might keep you.”
This is … alarming. He’s been watching me like a hawk tracking prey.
I glance down at the thin shift I wear and finger the thin material. The dress is white and gauzy and leaves precious little to the imagination.
“It seems unfair,” I say, looking up at the Thief.
He rests his chin on his fist. “What seems so?”
I walk towards him, the action causing the fairy to arch an eyebrow. Not many fae who know of his true nature would willingly approach him.
“If we’re playing a game, how am I ever supposed to truly engage with you if you know so much of me, and I know so very little of you?”
His fingers idly tap against his gold armrest. “Impatient human. I thought you made a career for yourself in deduction?” His fingers still. “But I do have an unfair advantage—and well, we can’t have that now, can we?” The Thief settles back in his seat and lifts a hand. “By all means, voice your questions.”
Temper reads our wedding vows, and the Night King and I recite them again to each other—with a few additions of our own.
“From flame to ashes, dawn to dusk, for the rest of our lives, be mine always, Desmond Flynn,” I say. My wings have come out, exposed by my raw emotion.
The Night King brings my knuckles to my lips. “I’m yours, Callypso.” His own wings are folded at his back. They’ve been visible ever since Temper first started reading the rites.
Des lowers my hands, his eyes search mine. I can feel his magic gathering in the air, the darkness pressing in on us.
“And mountains may rise and fall, and the sun might wither away, and the sea claim the land and swallow the sky. But you will always be mine. And the stars might fall from the heavens, and night might cloak the earth, but until darkness dies, I will always be yours.”
And so we get married before the ruins of Lyra, Des’s mom watching us from where she lies amongst the undying flowers, the stars our only other witness.
Before we leave the ancient temple, Malaki, Temper, Des, and I share a bottle of fae wine from Lephys, where the fruit itself is grown from the island’s glowing waters. It tastes like hope and love and the sweetest memories.
This might be the first time the four of us have ever sat together outside of a professional setting, and I find that Malaki has a dirty sense of humor, and that he and Des act more like brothers than best friends.
“Thank the gods you finally made an honest man of Desmond,” Malaki says, leaning forward to clink my glass.
“‘Honest’?” I raise my eyebrows. “Are we talking about the same man?”
Malaki laughs, and his teeth are blindingly white against his olive skin. “Aye, that’s a fair point.”
“Letting you two be friends might be my worst decision yet,” Des says, gesturing between me and his general.
“Now you know how I feel.” The only thing worse than Temper or Des on their own is getting the two of them together.
“I still can’t believe you two fuckers did body shots without me,” Temper grumbles.
“What’s a body shot?” Malaki looks genuinely confused.
“Oh, you sweet thing,” Temper pats his cheek. “I’ll show you later.”
After the wine’s run out, Temper and Malaki return to Somnia. Des and I linger amongst Lyra’s fallen temple a little longer, the evening breeze rustling the wild grass and making the flowers sway.
There, amongst the ruins, the Bargainer makes love to me, each stroke of his hips a promise. The two of us share a bond, a single life, and decades and decades of unwritten future.
Eventually we leave the ruins, trading in Lyra’s undying flowers for silken sheets and the comforts of Des’s palace.
It’s only in Des’s chambers, my body draped over his that the silence swarms in. I lift my head from his chest. The King of the Night is already asleep, his breathing deep and even.
I stare at his devastating features in the dim lamplight. Something thick lodges in my throat.
Husband.
It’s just one more title to tuck away, one more claim I have on him.
I trace one of his pointed ears.
I’m unspeakably happy—and yet.
And yet I still don’t get to have this life. The easy, uncomplicated one. I might be living a fairytale, but fairytales aren’t just full of princes and fair maidens and moonlit weddings. They are full of monsters too. Monsters and violence and terror and death.
My hand shakes as I continue to trace Des’s ear.
Tonight is the beginning of something … but I fear—I fear it is also the end.
Chapter 28
“Congratulations to the new bride.”
I turn and face the Thief of Souls.
He reclines on a chair made of gold, the metal worked into strange and twisting spires that arch far above the headrest. I glance around, and I realize I’m back in the room made of pale stone. The same blood red, flowering vine grows up the wall, and the humming pool sits off to the side of the throne, even now vibrating with power.
All around me, the columns look like bones, and there’s a faint smell here, like soured wine …
“Where are we?” I ask.
“You know, I never understood the point of small weddings. Why go to the trouble of marrying someone if no one’s there to see it?”
Guess I know the Thief’s answer to the question, “If a tree falls in the woods …”
“Apparently you saw,” I say.
He lifts a shoulder. “In a manner.”
I narrow my eyes at him.
He leans forward, the leather he wears creaking a bit at the motion. “Have you figured out who I am yet?”
No.
I stare at him.
“Ah.” He pulls the answer from my face—or maybe he knew it already. “You may have your wiles, enchantress, but you are not one for puzzles. A shame, really,” his eyes turn sly, “when your mate so clearly is.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
The Thief looks so self-satisfied when he lounges in his seat. “He’s figured out quite a bit more than you have.”
It’s just one more lie to add to the rest.
“What have you been doing now that you don’t have women to rape and soldiers to kidnap?” I ask.
The smile he gives me is downright spooky.
“Don’t you know, enchantress? I’ve been preparing for you.”
A short while ago, a confession like that would’ve undone me. But I’ve been changing in some subtle yet fundamental way.
“That makes two of us.”
His eyes flicker with dark excitement. “How very intriguing. I do await our true reunion.”
He leans forward, steepling his fingers. “Tell me, does knowing I’m cobound to Galleghar in any way diminish my mystery?”
I almost take a step back. How does he know that?
The Thief’s eyes sharpen on me. “Truly, I’m disappointed at how magnificently you’ve underestimated me. I have spies more thorough than the Night King’s pixies. I thought you would’ve been aware of that by now.
“I know what you ate for breakfast, how many times you spread your pretty thighs for your mate in the last day. I know that fool Galleghar attacked you on your way to capturing him. I know he wants to do it again. I know that you are not nearly so worthy of destruction as the fallen king seems to think you are. In fact, I just might keep you.”
This is … alarming. He’s been watching me like a hawk tracking prey.
I glance down at the thin shift I wear and finger the thin material. The dress is white and gauzy and leaves precious little to the imagination.
“It seems unfair,” I say, looking up at the Thief.
He rests his chin on his fist. “What seems so?”
I walk towards him, the action causing the fairy to arch an eyebrow. Not many fae who know of his true nature would willingly approach him.
“If we’re playing a game, how am I ever supposed to truly engage with you if you know so much of me, and I know so very little of you?”
His fingers idly tap against his gold armrest. “Impatient human. I thought you made a career for yourself in deduction?” His fingers still. “But I do have an unfair advantage—and well, we can’t have that now, can we?” The Thief settles back in his seat and lifts a hand. “By all means, voice your questions.”
