Hands Like Secrets, page 16
The cup slips out of my hands and rolls away, trailing dark tea drops and sweet blossom dregs across the table.
In the shocked silence of my mind, I become aware of the city Temple bell clanging in the distance. I should have been back at the gates by now, the unfrozen part of me notes. The rest of me is too busy waiting for the blow from above to fall.
As it must.
Surely, it must.
Rafel has openly threatened the gods. They should smite us both for what he’d just said.
However, as the seconds tick by and nothing happens, a different sort of fear twists its way under my skin. Conversation flows around us, waitstaff circle the dining room; I even hear one of the cooks scolding Bruin in the kitchen. That the world turns on, unconcerned, like nothing is amiss, is somehow far more frightening than any angry deity.
Do they seriously care so little about us that such a threat should go unremarked? Did they even hear him? In the yellow lamplight of the little restaurant, I feel like the entire world has jolted sideways, leaving me teetering.
A waitress ambles by, flashes Rafel a flirtatious wink, and collects our long-empty teapot. Somehow the normalcy of the gesture restores my senses; Rafel’s presence and bright eyes snap back into focus.
“Nothing happened.” My hands clench in my hair. “Nothing happened,” I repeat, my voice cracking.
“Saeli —”
“Something should have happened!” I comb fingers across my scalp, scraping hard enough to sting. “No, no, no, they should have punished you. You...you threatened them. Why haven’t they punished you?”
My breathing has picked up; I feel my heart pounding in my throat. I can’t seem to stop my fingers...
“Saeli. You need to calm down.”
His hand catches my wrists, gently bringing my hands back to the table. I am physically unable to meet his gaze. But his warm grasp on my inner wrists is grounding; finally, I’m able to take a deep, shuddering breath.
“I know this goes against everything you’ve ever been taught, but our gods are not as all-knowing as they claim to be. You have been lied to all your life.” His hands tighten on mine. “Yes, I threatened them. I have threatened them daily in the privacy of my mind for most of my life. I am still alive. What does that tell you?”
I shake my head, back and forth, less in disagreement at this point and more in lingering shock. No one would admit such a thing. No one would dare.
The fact that he had, and we were still sitting here, only proved his point.
He sighs.
“Look, I know what this feels like. It took long enough for me to get used to the idea that I can blaspheme and not be heard, and I’ve hated Iuril almost as long as I’ve worn the Cowl.”
That prompts me to meet his shadowed eyes.
“What did she do to you?” I ask in horrid fascination.
“Nothing.” He spits it out like a curse. “That’s all she’s ever done. When Mantles murdered my parents and made me watch, Iuril did nothing. When Iadnah fell, and thousands of my people were slaughtered like gausbirds, she did nothing.”
A tremor visibly passes through his shoulders.
“Not to mention, all the nights I spent praying for her to free me from that fiend of a ras I served. For five years, I prayed.”
He snatches up the fallen cup, gripping it so hard I’m afraid he’ll crack the delicate porcelain.
“And you know what? In the end, I had to save myself. Because Iuril did nothing.”
The venom in his voice wrings my heart. I ache to put my arms around him, to ease the pain I sense underneath this brittle rage. I settle for extracting the cup from his grip and covering his hands with mine, as he’d done for me three nights ago when I told him about my father.
“I’m sorry.”
His expression softens, but his eyes still smolder. For a long moment, neither of us speak.
So, he lost both parents to this stupid war and watched the last great Cowl stronghold burn.
What a life this enigmatic Cowl has led! Even after all he’s told me, I still feel like I know next to nothing about him. He’s just so much more real and alive and complex than I’d ever imagined one of his kind to be. Rafel didn’t seem the sort to shrink away from the truth just because it was far-fetched or terrible.
Such a contrast to my well-meaning professors, who wring their hands over Aschera’s rising poverty, and yet refuse to walk through a slum!
That’s what keeps drawing me back to this man, I realize; not mere curiosity or any specific promise about ending the war, but his unwavering drive to change things. He sees what’s wrong in our world, like I do, and now I know he’s willing to spit in the face of the gods themselves to fix it.
I have always wanted that kind of vision.
It’s what I’d envied in Jeroen that night he died: a sense of having a destiny, something worth fighting and dying for. I want my life to matter. That’s something I’d never felt, trying to mold myself into the perfect Mantle.
“Rafel,” I say softly, forgetting and speaking his name aloud. “You...you’re talking about overthrowing the gods.” Again, I involuntarily cringe. “That’s what you think this Keeper of the Oath will do, don’t you?”
“Do you care for Isasar?” He runs a finger across the tops of my fingernails, which I realize have been tapping on the table.
“I...” I hesitate and frown. “What kind of question is that?”
“Why don’t you want to answer?” he retorts.
Why don’t I?
Do I feel anything for the god I claim to serve? A god I’ve already admitted I barely know?
I remember a night four years ago when Cowls led a nightmarish raid on Chisge, Aschera’s western neighbor and my roommate’s hometown. I specifically remember the next day, comforting Fien after they received the terrible news about their uncle and cousins. I had asked myself then: where was Isasar during that fiasco?
In my mind, I see rows upon rows of injured soldiers in the Ingrid Hall infirmary.
I recall my helpless frustration at being denied the Mantle, year after year because I was never “ready.” And now, thanks to a Cowl, I’ve discovered that not only does my god not care what I do or think...
...it’s possible he doesn’t even know.
Rafel slips a hand over mine.
“What has Isasar ever done besides ignore you? The gods don’t deserve our loyalty.” He turns to face me, forcing me to meet that pale-eyed gaze. “We’re better off without them.”
I still shake my head. “Who are we to decide that for the entire world?”
He puts his hands on either side of my face, tilting my head up and prompting a gasp from me. His palms are distractingly warm.
“Imagine our world at peace, where people are free to believe and be what they want. Where Mantles and Cowls and Grays can coexist, without the gods goading us to war.” He runs gentle thumbs over my cheekbones, sending tingles through my body. “Does that sound so bad?”
“But—”
Rafel silences me with a finger against my upper lip.
“Traveling to another world takes sattva and rashas qi working in tandem, wielded by a single majahel. Not only that, but the wielder must know enough theory to understand the weaves and possess enough strength to dance the forms. That’s why my plan was nothing more than a dream before. For where was I to find such a majahel? The only ones skilled enough were already claimed for one god or the other.”
Except me.
Now I understand why he’d stared so hungrily in the sorarc tower the other night, why he’d pursued me so relentlessly in the days afterward.
“Do you understand now?” His breath is feverishly hot on my face. “You are the only one who can make this happen. We can avenge my parents, and your father, and everyone on Verre who has died fighting this pointless war.” His fingers tighten. “But I cannot do it without you.”
Rafel’s passion spreads like a slow flame inside me. The thrumming in my chest blossoms into an ache. Unable to resist, I reach up and let my hands caress his knuckles. His skin is remarkably soft over the strong bones. I look deep into those pleading eyes and finally start to believe him.
He does know how to end the war.
We could do this.
“You’re asking me to betray everything and everyone I know.” My voice shakes.
“No.” He smiles. “I’m asking you to save them.”
I’m honestly not sure what’s holding me back now. What reason do I have to care about a god who’d let my father die, who lets parts of Aschera rot away, and who had never cared whether I earned the Mantle or not? I owed Isasar nothing.
The fire in Rafel’s eyes melts the last of my resistance.
I exhale, slowly.
“What would I have to do?”
Exuberance lights his face, dazzling me all over again.
“Oh, I really could kiss you right now,” he says, still holding my face. He leans in; my heart tries to leap out of my chest. His lips graze my forehead, but then to my disappointment, he lets go and leans back against the booth.
The sudden absence of his touch leaves me dizzy.
“I’ll have to teach you enough rashas qi to manage the bridge form from my notes.” His expression turns calculating. “That means the whole Strand sequence, plus some intermediate rashas theory. That’ll take a moon or so, assuming you can come to me regularly. If not, it could take longer.”
My heart flip-flops at the thought of seeing him so often, but then reality hits like a splash of cold water.
“We don’t have a moon,” I say. “They’re going to dedicate me at Midsummer, and I’m confined to campus.”
Rafel’s eyes widen, and then narrow.
“Damn, that’s right. And if they dedicate you, you’ll lose the ability to do rashas. I don’t suppose you can sneak out again?”
I shake my head. “Tonight was a long shot.”
“Fair enough. I’ll need to think about this. Meanwhile,” he glances around the café. “It’s past time for you to be going, isn’t it?”
I gasp. “Shayol.” How long ago had the Temple bell rung? “Fien’s going to kill me!”
Rafel slides out of the booth and stands up, with me on his heels. It’s completely dark outside now, and much of the bustle has died down. Dread coils in my stomach. Kark, kark, kark. The school gates are certainly closed by now, which means my chances of getting back in unnoticed are nixed.
I might not be let back in at all tonight, and that will be noticed.
“I have to go, now,” I say.
“Take this.” Rafel presses something smooth and round into my hand. “Contact me if anything changes.”
“What about dedication?” I ask in a hushed voice. “It’s in less than a half-moon!”
Rafel reaches out and sweeps a finger along my jaw, which immediately drives every other thought from my head.
“You let me worry about that,” he croons.
I nod.
He smiles, and I wonder, suddenly, what he would do if I leaned in and kissed him. In the soft haze of lamplight, and without his Cowl blacks and red hood, he’s not nearly so intimidating. Would he let me?
I want to so badly it’s killing me.
The café’s front door jingles. I jump back, distracted, and freeze. I’d know that broad-shouldered silhouette in the doorway anywhere.
Yan.
He glares at Rafel and me with an expression of naked fury.
Chapter 19
I mutter some words that don’t bear repeating in polite company.
“Aschamon uniform. Red cord,” Rafel observes. “And judging by your colorful language, someone you weren’t expecting. Boyfriend?”
“Go,” I hiss, unable to take my eyes off the door. “Right now.”
Rafel presses my fingers around the round object he’s placed in my hand. “Until next time.”
He brushes his mouth against the tops of my knuckles and steps away.
I slip the thing into my skirt pocket, too anxious to even look at it. Rafel, meanwhile, bears down on Yan, who shows no inclination to move out of the doorway. My chest constricts.
For a moment, they stand side by side.
Dark brown eyes meet pale blue; tension crackles between them. Rafel stands an inch or two taller, but Yan would win any arm-wrestling match between them. Yan’s hot glare follows Rafel as the Cowl strides past, close enough to clip Yan’s shoulder. My friend, glowering, turns to watch him saunter away.
Rafel never looks back.
After he’s gone, Yan marches up to me. I grimace. He doesn’t scare me the way Rafel can, but he is a red cord, and I’ve learned to give his temper plenty of space on the rare occasions I’ve seen it unsheathed.
This is one of those times. Tendons stand out in his clenched fists, and his neck is flushed.
“Hey,” I say tentatively to the top of his forehead. His brows furrow, and I cringe.
“We’re going back to campus.” He speaks in a flat tone that somehow also crackles with rage. “Right now.”
With that, he spins on his heel. I bite my lip and follow him to the door, shielding my face from the other customers’ curious stares. Outside the café, he peels off and heads toward Main Street, clearly expecting me to catch up.
Rafel is long gone, of course.
I walk beside Yan with my shoulders hunched, too embarrassed to speak.
“That was the beau, I take it?” Yan says finally, his voice clipped. “Rude of him to leave without saying a word.”
He’d known exactly where to find me and with whom. I have a sinking suspicion I know why.
“You talked to Fien.”
He shoots me a pointed glance. “Who do you think sent me?”
We reach Central Plaza and ‘port to the split-off, where the tree-lined road to Aschamon begins its winding ascent.
“Yanka, look, I—” I start as we march on.
“They told me everything.” He won’t even look at me. “Were you too proud to introduce me, or what?”
I close my mouth. He sighs and passes a hand over his face.
“You know why I’m really angry? Not because you disobeyed our High Priestess’ explicit order to stay on campus. Not even because you tricked me.” His voice cracks, just the tiniest bit.
“I hated that part,” I admit miserably.
“Then you shouldn’t have done it!” Yan rounds on me. “Damn it, Saeli, don’t you understand? There is a Cowl assassin after you.”
And you just brushed shoulders with him.
“I’m sorry.” My voice is barely a whisper.
He sucks in a breath, visibly calming himself. Less than half the walk to Aschamon stretches ahead of us; Yan’s furious pace has covered the distance in far less time than it had taken Fien and me to traverse it earlier.
I don’t know what to say.
It hits me then...just how much participating in Rafel’s crazy plan could cost me in terms of breaking rules and trust with people I care about.
“You could have told me.”
His sudden change of tone makes me look up.
“Would you have helped?” I frown. “You said it yourself; you haven’t broken a school rule in —”
“That’s not what I meant!” Yan casts me a sharp glare, which inexplicably turns desolate. He turns away.
“What, then?” I press.
But he only bites his bottom lip and refuses to elaborate.
The qi lamps lining the path flicker to life as we walk. Nappers flit past, attracted to the light, while the raucous yellownapes that nest in the trees have calmed down for the night. In less time than I would have liked, the silver, hand-wrought gates of Aschamon loom in front of us, closed and bolted for the night...as I’d expected.
Those gates are among the most exquisite pieces of art in the region, but like most Mantle architecture, they’re meant to be viewed in daylight. Leeched of their detail in darkness, the whirls and sunbursts become jagged silhouettes, grotesque caricatures of the awe-inspiring light they were created to mimic.
I fight down a shiver. For the first time in all the years I’d called Aschamon home, those closed gates intimidate me.
Yan’s current mood makes me think I’d better resign myself to being caught. The same notion seems to cross his mind as he glances back. He runs a hand through his perpetually messy hair.
“Bluefly,” he orders.
I blink. “But —”
“Do it before I change my mind!”
My mouth clicks shut.
He marches up to the entrance as I wreath myself in Bluefly on the Wall before following.
Yan hails the guards while I cower behind him, more ashamed than ever. I’ve deceived him to meet a Crimson Cowl in secret, and yet here he is, breaking the rules for my sake. Doubts assail my mind.
Rafel’s plan is mad, no matter how you look at it.
Away from his charm and his overpowering presence, the sheer insanity of what he wants to do is obvious. Overthrow the gods? Seriously? If Yan or Fien were to learn whom I’d truly met this night, or what I’d agreed to do, they’d both disown me.
If the war had never happened, Aschamon might not need gates, that Rafel-ish voice in my mind whispers. If it wasn’t for the gods, Rafel might not be an enemy.
The silver gates glide open, accompanied by the metallic clicking of the gate mechanism. Yan strides through.
I hesitate.
How close did one have to be to trigger the Arch? A female guard with a clipboard meets Yan inside and strikes a name from the list she holds. One name, one person, and they have no record of me. How is he going to sneak me past?
Fien has already “tested” the Arch once today, and probably did on their way back as well, to maintain their cover story.
I don’t have to wonder long.
Yan takes another step forward and thrusts his hands to the side. Sattva prickles icily on my skin; the Arch blazes to life.
“Hey!” The female guard shields her eyes. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“Testing the Arch,” Yan says coolly. “I got clearance yesterday.”
