The Hanging City (78)

I blow a pale strand from my face. “I’ll have you know I was practically an Alpine, where I come from.” I mean it as a joke, but thoughts of my father’s household, of his power wars and my part in them, have never sat well with me, even seven years after my escape.

Azmar’s countenance softens. “Then I have chosen wisely.” He leans forward and touches his lips to mine. All my uneasy thoughts flee. The kiss almost distracts me from his fingers splaying mine and pressing something into my palm. I hesitate to see what it is. He tastes like honey and smells like jasmine. The only thing that keeps me from fully exploring him is the time . . . and the fact that I might not taste so sweet first thing in the morning.

When I pull back, I open my hand to see a piece of jewelry, a green stone with flecks of red entwined in looping copper wire, with a simple chain strung through it. It’s beautiful.

“You don’t have to keep it.” His voice is low.

I might not have realized what it was, had he not said that. Had his words not carried a note of uncertainty.

My heart squeezes, missing a beat. I trace my fingers over the glossy surface of the pendant. “This is a bloodstone.”

He nods.

“This is your bloodstone.” My pulse quickens with each breath.

“Our customs are different than yours,” he explains, watching the stone and not my face. “Unach has spoken of this to you before—”

“Why wouldn’t I keep it?”

His gaze meets mine. I can only guess what my face looks like. I’m surprised. It’s unexpected. So soon. And yet the validation, the significance, of such a gesture floors me. I’m falling through the canyon and floating into the clouds all at once.

Azmar . . . Azmar loves me.

No one has ever truly loved me.

My vision blurs. Blinking it clear, I clutch the stone to my chest. It’s utterly perfect . . . the green surface has blue hues, just like trollis blood. Hence the name: bloodstone. But it has red flecks as well, like human blood. Like the very gem itself condones a union that every creature in this city would surely spit upon.

The wire bites into my skin, yet I’m unable to release my grip. I search Azmar’s face; there are so many things there. Patience, hope, determination, dedication. A trace of fear.

I swallow. “I-I don’t have one. One to give you.”

I didn’t think his eyes could soften any more, yet they do. He brings a calloused hand to the side of my face, sweeping away a lock of hair and cradling my jaw. “That doesn’t matter.”

I lean into his touch. “But I would give it to you, if I had one.”

Letting out a long breath, he touches his forehead to mine. We stay like that for several seconds, sharing air, sharing thoughts. “I want you to stay here, Lark.”

“I’m not leaving.”

“Here, in this room.” He pulls back and meets my gaze. “In my bed.”

I swallow. “The council—”

“It isn’t illegal.” He frowns. “Technically.”

I press my lips together. “Perg told me what happened to his parents. I don’t want to hurt you, Azmar.”

He slowly drops his hand. “You cannot hurt me.”

“Oh, but I can, and you’re a fool if you think otherwise.” I grasp his hand in my free one. “I love you, Azmar, but you will sacrifice nothing for this. Though I am honored you would consider it.”

His other hand slides beneath my knee and pulls me forward so he can kiss me again. This time it’s less sweet and more distressed, harder, demanding. He may think me small, but I don’t cow to him. The bloodstone bites into my palm, and I battle with him, warmth building deep in my core. My soul sings to him in a way that is both enthralling and terrifying.

I don’t know how to read this, Calia, the Cosmodian once said.

But I can. All the stars and planets have aligned, my broken road mends, and the way is clear and straight before me. Wholly unexpected, the reading said.

The Cosmodian wasn’t wrong.

Azmar breaks away, and we both gasp for breath. Slowly, finger by finger, he releases my leg. Finger by finger, I ease my grip on his bloodstone. I will cherish it like I’ve never cherished anything else.

“I’m late,” he growls, but his frustration isn’t with me. Standing, he jerks on the ropes of his hair. Walks halfway across the room, pauses, and turns back to me. He looks angry and sad at the same time, and it’s like a needle piercing my heart. “Be careful, Lark.”

We watch each other for a moment more, reading and studying and questioning, before he grabs the sheaf of papers off the counter and leaves, shutting the door behind him with a force that reminds me of his sister.

Opening my hand, now covered in red marks, I cradle the bloodstone, memorizing its every facet. It’s beautiful, and I wonder if Azmar crafted the setting himself. But I cannot wear it. How would I explain, if anyone, even Ritha or Perg, were to find this on me? What believable story could I offer?

Because I can hurt Azmar. He’s essentially handed me the weapon with which to do it. And so while I wish I could pin this emblem to my breast and wear it with pride, I slip it inside my shirt, under my breast bindings and over my heart, and quickly ready myself for the day. I cannot let these adventures, wonderful as they are, disrupt my normal schedule. I need to be at Unach’s apartment and then the south docks, fulfilling my responsibilities. But first, I will hide this, somewhere safe, where no one else can find it. It will be difficult—I have so little space to claim as my own. But I will protect it with all I have.