The Sweet Far Thing

Page 192

“What are you doing here?” I demand, my heartbeat quickening.
“I was invited, luv.” He grins like a devil.
I snarl low in his ear. “If you do anything to me or my family or my friends, if you make any move at all, I shall employ the magic against you in such a way that you’ll never threaten anyone ever again.”
Fowlson’s grin is quick and wide. “That’s the spirit, luv.” He puts his mouth dangerously close to my neck. “But don’t fret, Miss Doyle. I’m not ’ere tonight for you. Is your friend Kartik ’ere? If not, it’s no worries—I’ll find ’im, I’m sure.”
Kartik.
I turn and run from the room as the little girls curtsy politely, like the adorable dolls they are, and the guests applaud them. I’m out of breath by the time I reach Kartik in the boathouse. “Fowlson is here. I believe he’s come for you,” I gasp. “To hurt you.”
He doesn’t seem alarmed, doesn’t make a move.
“Did you hear what I said?”
“Yes,” he says, closing his book. “The Odyssey. I’ve finished it, if you’d care to read it.”
I grab hold of his arm. “We have to hide you. I could turn you into someone else or—”
“I’ll not go into hiding again,” he says. “And I’m not concerned about Mr. Fowlson.”
“You’re not?”
He places the book on a high ledge by the window. “I’ve changed my mind. I need to know if Amar…I need to know. Do you understand?”
“You’re ready to see the realms,” I say.
“I don’t know that I’m ready,” he says, with a small scoffing laugh. “But I would go. I would see them.”
I offer him my hand. “Trust me.”
Kartik laces his fingers in mine. “Show me.”
“We must be careful,” I say. With everyone watching the performance, the lawn is empty and silent. But I wouldn’t want to draw any attention. We crouch and run low across the grass until we reach the turret of the East Wing. I put my hand out. The air crackles. The door shimmers into view. Kartik’s face shows true awe.
“That is extraordinary,” he whispers.
“That is nothing,” I say. I grip his hand and lead him through the corridor, and when we go through the door, he is a man transformed.
“Welcome to the realms,” I say.
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
I SHOW HIM THE GARDEN FIRST, BECAUSE THAT IS WHERE I first came to know this world and because it is so beautiful I want to share it with him. Kartik spins around, his head leaned back. White blossoms rain down, coating his hair and eyelashes like snow. He opens his palms to accept them. “This is the garden,” I say almost proudly. “There is the river. Over there is the grotto where the Runes of the Oracle once stood. This is where the Order ruled, where the Rakshana once ruled with them.”
“I feel as if I’m in a dream.” Kartik strides to the river and moves his hand over the singing waters. Eddies of silver, gold, and pink spring to the surface where he has touched it.
“Look at this,” I say. I blow on blades of grass and they become a flutter of butterfly wings. One lands on Kartik’s outstretched hand before flying away. I’ve never seen Kartik so happy, so carefree. He finds the hammock I wove weeks ago and falls into it, listening to the sweet murmuring of its threads. He rolls the sleeves of his shirt to a point above his elbows, and though it is immodest, I cannot keep myself from stealing quick glances at his exposed arms.
“Would you care to sit?” He offers the narrow strip beside him.
“No, thank you,” I manage to say. “There is so much else to see.”
I lead him through the poppy fields below the Temple, pointing to the high cliffs that rise above us. Etched into the sides are the sensual carvings of half-dressed women that brought a blush to my cheek the first time I saw them. From the corner of my eye, I watch Kartik, wondering if he will find them scandalous.
“They remind me of India,” he says.
“Yes, exactly so,” I say, hoping my voice does not betray me.
Kartik’s gaze dips to my neck and shyly down.
“I should show you the Caves of Sighs,” I say, my voice slightly hoarse.
I lead him through the narrow passage in the earth, up the mountain pass, among the pots that belch their colorful smoke, and to the top. The Hajin bow to us, and Kartik returns the gesture with respect.
“These are the Caves of Sighs,” I say. We pass the engraving of the two hands clasped inside a circle. Kartik stops before it.