‘“You don’t fool me, any more. A blackheart doesn’t make people saintsday gifts, nor arrange swordplay lessons for their friends, nor spend time convincing the abbot to let your sisters learn to protect themselves. There’s pure gold beating beneath your breast.”
‘“Oh Mothermaid, you are enchanted, aren’t you?”
‘She met my gaze, and I didn’t look away. I could sense a precipice, and though I knew we both enjoyed this game, I was wary of the edge. I should be abed. I’d need my strength for the ride ahead, perhaps the battle at the end of it. But the liquor was warm in her cheeks, and the thought of leaving her again so soon was a stone in my chest.
‘Astrid offered the bottle. “Another? Or is the rest for your queen?”
‘I shrugged. “One more won’t kill me.”
‘“Famous last words, Little Lion.”
‘“I don’t plan on dying tonight, Majesty.”
‘“And what about tomorrow?”
‘I looked at her then. Into the haze of those long, shady eyes. She was upset, that much was plain. But I thought she’d smoked herself numb because of Isabella – the sight of the Empress who’d exiled her to this prison, the thought of what might’ve been. Astrid Rennier was a royal bastard who but for a quirk of fate, might well have been a princess.
‘But looking at her now, I saw no self-pity. That wasn’t Astrid’s way. Instead, gazing into the bloodshot dark of her eyes, I saw fear. Not for her. But for me.
‘“I’ve been thinking,” she declared.
‘“I wondered what that grinding noise was.”
‘She scoffed. “Prick.”
‘“Bastard.”
‘“Touché. But I like it better when you call me Majesty.”
‘I leaned back, laughing. “What have you been thinking?”
‘Her tone turned serious, the small smile dying at her lips. “About your tale of what you did to that fledgling. And what Chloe and I found in that book.”
‘My smile died also. Thoughts returning to Skyefall, and the blood of that deadboy boiling at my touch. With the Forever King rushing at us headlong, all the noise and bustle of the last week, it was hard to find time to fret on it. But aside from that strange name – Esani – I still had no true idea what I was. Nor what I could do.
‘“I was thinking,” Astrid continued. “If it’s a bloodgift, then you must train it like any other. And I know you’ve got no one here who can teach you, nor any real idea how to conjure it. But if you wish help to master it … I’ll offer.”
‘“You mean … try to use it on you?”
‘“You need practice if you’ve intent to wield it with any skill.”
‘“I don’t want to hurt you, Astrid.”
‘Dark eyes glittered as they met mine. “A little pain never hurt anyone.”
‘Despite myself, my belly thrilled a touch at those words. I matched her stare, and I could see it, sure as I could see my own reflection in the dark of her pupils.
‘Want.
‘This was dangerous now. I knew all too well the peril that came when such talk was mixed with smoke and drink. This girl was promised to God, and I was soon to be sworn as his soldier. For all the thrill of our little flirtations, there was no future in this. Nothing to be gained, and everything, everything to be lost.
‘But Great Redeemer, she was beautiful. Smoky lashes, framing pools of midnight black. My gaze traced her cheek, down the line of her neck to the secrets beyond.
‘I should have told her no.
‘She should never have offered in the first place.
‘But in truth, that was the allure of it all.
‘“All right, then,” I said.
‘She pushed the bottle and books aside, climbed up onto the table in front of me. I could smell vodka on her lips and dreamweed in the air as she offered her hand. I felt a frisson through her fingertips as we touched. I thought of Skyefall, of the surge of heat running up my arm as I boiled that fledgling’s blood.
‘But sitting this close, all thought of bloodgifts and practice melted away. As I’ve said, not even God Himself can come between a girl and a boy truly in want of each other. And looking into Astrid’s eyes, I knew what she wanted. And God help me, I wanted it too.
‘“This is foolish,” I whispered.
‘She wove her fingers through mine, thumb brushing feather light along my skin.
‘“Let’s call it reckless.”
‘I don’t know who moved first. I don’t know who followed. I know only our first kiss was more a collision, a meeting of powder and flame. She sank down into my lap and crushed her mouth to mine, dragging her fingers through my hair. I pulled her closer, hard as I dared, the strength of the dark blood in my veins singing. And the taste of her, the smell of her, the feel of her, alive and warm and wanting in my arms awoke it inside me – that same hunger I’d known in Ilsa’s bed. I felt that thirst rise like a flame, roaring through me, fangs stirring in my gums, heat in my veins. Wishing became wanting, and wanting became needing, and all of it, all of it was need of her.
‘But this was madness. This was wrong. This was against the rule of the monastery and the commands of our betters and even the will of heaven itself.
‘“Astrid,” I whispered. “We cannot do this.”
‘“I know,” she breathed, kissing me again.
‘She reached down between us, and I gasped as I felt her fingertips running up and down me through my leathers. Her kiss deepened, desire bleeding into me, and though we knew this was a sin, somehow that only made us burn the brighter with it. Her mouth was open, her kisses hungry, and I heard her hiss as my fangs scratched her lip and a stab of impossibly bright and burning blood splashed upon my tongue.
‘I gasped and tried to pull away, terrified of hurting her. But her hand slipped inside my britches and closed around me, holding me still. She could have steered me with the lightest touch then. She could have killed me with a whisper. She looked me in the eyes and I could see the truth of it, curled at the edge of her bloody smile.
‘There’s no sin so dangerous as the sin that is chosen.
‘No sin so glorious as the sin that is shared.
‘“How does a man pray, Gabriel?”
‘I was breathless, speechless, licking her blood from my lips and shaking my head.
‘Astrid took my hands, pressed them to her body. Guiding my touch over the swell of her breasts, down her ribs to the maddening curves of her hips. She licked her bleeding lip, eyes fluttering closed, hips rolling as she swayed against me. Leaning close, she pressed her bleeding mouth to mine, the taste of her almost driving me mad.
‘“How does a man pray?”
‘“I don’t know. I don—”
‘“He prays on his knees, Gabriel.”
‘And then she pushed herself back up onto the table, slid her hands over my shoulders, pulling me closer, down. The taste of her blood crashed and burned upon my tongue, and her eyes looked deep into mine as she whispered the words that made me completely and finally fall.
‘“Pray to me.”