A Strange Hymn
Page 15

“Yet,” I tack on, because I can be snarky too.
I open my eyes, and—I shit you not—in front of Des a churro shimmers into existence, plopping onto the table a moment later. It even has that cheap waxy paper wrapped around its base, just like what you’d find at a carnival.
I raise my eyebrows.
Des picks up the churro and kicks one foot, then the other, up onto the table. Shamelessly, he bites into the dessert.
I’ll give him this, he’s owning this moment.
Crossing his ankles, he says, “Tell me love, what’s a dream of yours?”
“A dream?” I repeat, another bite of ravioli midway to my mouth.
“Something you want out of life?”
I take my bite of the ravioli, chewing slowly.
Once I swallow, I shrug. “To be happy, I guess.”
“C’mon, cherub,” he says, pointing the churro at me, “Don’t make me take a bead. I know you’ve got something more specific than that.”
I stare down at my pasta, sucking my cheeks in. “I don’t know,” I eventually say. “Two months ago I would’ve told you that I wanted a husband and a family.” I’m surprised the confession comes out as freely as it does. Des might not be the only person learning how to be vulnerable.
The truth is, before Des came roaring back into my life, I was lonely—painfully, achingly lonely, the kind of loneliness that comes from feeling like your life is passing you by and there’s no one there to witness it.
The Bargainer squints at me, his face inscrutable. “You no longer want that?”
I meet his eyes. It’s so hard to read him when he’s like this.
I take a deep breath. “No, I still want that, but …” It takes only a few extra seconds to pry the words loose. “But now I don’t fear that it won’t happen.”
That’s what happens when you discover you have a soulmate. The fear of a lifetime of loneliness evaporates.
Des’s eyes heat at my admission, and I swear if we weren’t in a restaurant full of people, he’d sweep the place settings off the table and make love to me right here.
I clear my throat. “What’s a dream of yours?” I ask, feeling like my skin is lit.
He watches me, his body so still I feel like he’s waiting for a moment to strike.
Finally he says, “We share similar dreams.”
“You want a husband too?” I can’t help but tease him.
He flashes me a wolfish smile, choosing that moment to take another—very suggestive—bite of his churro.
“Perhaps …” he says, “but you’ll do.”
I all but roll my eyes. “I’m thrilled to be your booby prize.”
His lips curve up. He stares at me for a beat, then, coming to some sort of decision, he kicks his feet off the table. Tossing a few coins next to my plate, he reaches for my hand.
“But I’m not finished …” I complain. I’ve barely touched my ravioli, and I plan to eat the crap out of it. I’m a girl who can throw back her food.
“Want something to go?” he asks.
My lips part, but before I can respond, another churro drops to the table, nearly falling into my ravioli.
Now it’s Des’s turn to raise his eyebrows. “Looks like someone has a little case of food envy.”
I totally do. He made his churro look good.
I grab mine and let Des lead me out of the restaurant. Outside, the sky is still as dark as ever. I stare up at it as I take a bite of my churro, feeling oddly exhilarated.
Our boots echo along the street as we walk. I don’t know where we’re going, but I don’t much care. Nights like this are familiar to the two of us. Countless times Des took me to some foreign metropolis, and together we’d wander the streets. Sometimes he’d ply us both with alcohol, other times coffee and pastries.
“This reminds me of our past,” I murmur.
Des takes my hand, bringing it to his lips and giving it a kiss.
I feel my heart expand. I get to have this man forever. A lifetime of Des at my side. It’s such a wild thought, I’m not sure I’ll ever fully get used to it.
We get to the end of the block of shops. Here the street opens into a grand plaza. Right in the center of it is a sculpture of a winged couple holding each other in a tight embrace. Only this sculpture floats several feet in the air.
I pause in front of it.
“Who are they?” I ask, staring at the couple. The woman seems to be made of the same dark stone my beads are, her skin drawing in the light. The man she embraces is made of some shimmering sandstone, his skin seeming to glow from within.
“The Lovers,” Des replies. “Two of our ancient gods.” He points to the man. “He’s Fierion, God of Light, and she’s Nyxos, Goddess of Darkness.”
Nyxos … why does that name sound familiar?
“In the myths,” Des continues, “Fierion was married to Gaya, Goddess of Nature, but his true love was Nyxos, the woman he was forbidden from ever being with. Their love for each other is what causes day to chase night and night to chase day.
“Here in the Land of Dreams they’re finally allowed to be with each other.”
I stare at the sculpture a long time, finishing off my churro. Even though it’s just a myth, the tragedy of it still gets to me. I hate doomed love stories. Life’s filled with enough heartache as it is.
My eyes drift past the statue, to an enormous stone bridge the length of at least two football fields that branches off the grand plaza. Halfway across it the lamps that illuminate it fade into the misty darkness.
Beyond the bridge, I can just make out another floating island.
“What’s over there?” I ask, nodding to the landmass. There’s something about it, something insidious and compelling that calls to my darker nature.
Des frowns. “Memnos, the Land of Nightmares.”
“Memnos,” I repeat, staring at it. I remember Des listing off the names of all these floating islands weeks ago. “Are we going to visit?” I ask.
The Bargainer hesitates. “Do you remember the bog?”
How could I forget?
I nod.
“That’s just one of the many creatures that call Memnos home.”
I shiver a little.
Point taken.
“Eventually, I’ll show you the island, but right now …” he takes my hand, giving me a deep look, “right now this trip is for us.”
Chapter 10
The next morning, I wake inside our suite in Phyllia to the tickle of Des’s hair against my back and the press of soft kisses down my spine.
I stretch languidly, a small smile spreading across my face.
After a magical evening exploring Phyllia last night, the two of us checked into a hotel just off of the main plaza that boasted rooms that change color and theme.
Neither of us mentioned the fact that Des must surely still be camouflaging our appearances. Staying at a hotel like a normal couple is just not something kings can usually get away with.
The kisses down my back now pause. A moment later, Des nips my ear. “Have I mentioned how well you wear bedhead?” he says, his voice low and husky.
I laugh into my pillow, reaching out with a hand and pushing away his meaty body. He rolls, dragging me with him, stealing kisses from my lips. I blink my sleepy eyes open.
“This is my favorite thing,” he says, looking up at me.
I’m still trying to drag myself awake.