Soul in Darkness Page 9

  I didn’t like his tone, as if he was aware I didn’t know Leodes well at all. But he could never understand the connection I felt after one conversation. My crossed-arms tensed, and I bit my lip, refusing to be baited.

  “He intrigued you?” When I only shrugged, he went on. “But surely you met many powerful, handsome men who intrigued you. Suitors?”

  “I felt nothing for any of them. Not a single one made me feel the way he did.”

  “Hm.”

  I hated when he said Hm. I couldn’t get a reading on that sound.

  “What if I told you, Wife, that I know this Leodes you speak of?”

  My eyes widened. “That’s not possible.” But then he went on to describe my Leodes in perfect detail. I clenched my jaw, in shock.

  “I make you this promise,” he told me. “If you behave, allow yourself to relax, when our time under these circumstances is over, you will see him again.”

  I struggled to inhale. This was too much to be true.

  “How do you know him?” I asked.

  “Not important.”

  “Is he married?”

  His long pause made my heart nearly die. “He is very much available to you, Psyche.” Oh, thank the gods.

  I exhaled in a fluster. “I just want to be loved.” I covered my mouth, but it was too late. The pitiful words were out there, making me even more vulnerable to my monster husband than I already was.

  “I know,” he whispered. “Sleep now. We will finish our game tomorrow.”

  For a moment I didn’t move. His words, soft despite the natural guttural rattle in the depths of his chest, caused ambiguous feelings to collide inside me. Did I trust him? Not at all. Did I fear him? With every piece of me, yes. The worst was yet to come—I knew that unequivocally—and yet I felt calmer. Perhaps it was the false promise of seeing Leodes again. Whatever the reason, I readied myself for bed, peeking over my shoulder now and again, but instinctively knowing tonight was not the night he would touch me.

  PASSAGE OF TIME

  Several days passed without any unwanted touches. He’d taken up reading to me at night. Poetry and essays out of Rome and Athens. His rumbling, monstrous voice was oddly pleasing, the rhythm of the words comforting. I’d never admit that aloud, of course. In a way, his voice reminded me of Papa’s baritone when he’d rail at his soldiers to rally them for battle. I hadn’t heard that war cry since I was a young girl, but I remembered the pride I’d felt at the power in his voice.

  My husband was nothing like Papa, though, so the comparison fell flat in my heart.

  Just as I’d promised, I never invited him to the bed. I wasn’t sure where he slept, or if he slept at all, but I always felt his presence in the room, remaining still, as if lost deep in thought.

  That night, I climbed beneath the downy covers and settled down, closing my eyes as the candles snuffed out all at once. Unlike the other nights, I could sense him prowling the room. In the pitch darkness, I could not see or even hear him, but that severe awareness was there. I felt him from across the room, near the windows, and then I felt when he was close. His nearness felt heavy this time. He wanted something. With my eyes closed, I felt him walk along the edges of the bed, back and forth. My heart beat steadily, listening to the silence, waiting.

  And just like earlier, the air around me seemed to still.

  “Husband?” I whispered.

  “Yes?” I jolted at the sound of him so near, only a breath away. There was something akin to hope in his voice that shook me.

  My voice trembled. “What is it that you want?” Ugh, why had I asked that? It was more out of annoyance than anything, but I heard him take in a surprised breath of palpable hope. If he wanted me to ask him to bed, he would be left wanting. Not now. Not ever.

  “I suppose…I want to touch your face again, but this time with my hand.”

  I gripped the blanket. “W-what did you touch me with last time?”

  “The tip of my wing.”

  Oh…it had been feathery soft. Could his wings be made of feathers? Not the waxy bat wings I’d been envisioning? I blinked the thought away, making myself concentrate. His wings didn’t matter right now. He wanted to touch my face with his hands. Hands that could shred me with their claws. Would he? I somehow didn’t think so, but he could.

  “If I let you touch my face, will you settle down and stop stalking about the bed?”

  He grumbled incoherently, then cleared his throat. “Yes.”

  “Then fine. One small touch. Be fast.”

  “Be fast? Are we an old married couple already?” He chuckled darkly, and I scowled, sitting up.

  “What is that supposed to mean?”

  He made a pleased sound as if my question were cute. “You are an innocent.”

  I worked over the words I’d said and realized what he meant, embarrassment heating my skin.

  “Enough. Let’s get this over with.” I sat up straight, pretending to feel brave when in actuality I would have passed out if I’d tried to stand at that moment. I closed my eyes tightly, grasping the blankets with all my might, expecting the scratch of rough appendages against my soft skin. What was he waiting for? Depths of Hades, how could I have been such a fool to give him permission? I was about to move away and tell him I’d changed my mind when I felt warmth cup my cheek and I stilled. My heart gave a low, slow thud. Then another.

  Gods…that did not feel like a monstrous hand. His fingers moved outward, enveloping the skin around my ear, his fingertips—talons?—moving to touch my hairline. And then he added his other hand, and my face was fully embraced. The pads of his fingers moved, and I swore, I could not sense scales, only smooth, warm skin. Thumbs skimmed my cheekbones, then traced my closed eyelids. Nothing sharp. But that couldn’t be. How was he doing this? Disguising the feel of his true self?

  “You are so soft.” His voice was a low murmur. A caress. My eyes fluttered at the scent of summer honey, drizzled fresh from the comb onto my tongue. “Psyche.”

  I felt his breath against my lips and gasped, coming back to myself. When I instinctively began to lift my arms to push him away, a blast of air smacked my hands down and he released me.

  “Must I bind your hands?” he said. “How many times must I remind you—you are not to touch me!”

  “I’m sorry!” I scrambled back and pulled the blanket over me. “I forgot!”

  “You must not forget,” he ground out emphatically. “One touch from you and everything changes. For the worst. Do you understand?”

  “Yes!” No, actually, but I believed him because he sounded upset. If I broke this rule, it would change things for him, as well. I wished I could figure out how it all fit together. This mystery of my husband and who ruled him.

  He didn’t move away. I sensed him still close to me, perhaps even leaning against the bed. His voice softened.

  “Now tell me…how would you describe my touch?”

  My face heated, and though it was impossibly dark, I dropped my eyes. “I…you…” I swallowed. “Your hands felt normal. I don’t understand.”

  “Hm.”

  “What does that mean? Hmmm?”

  “Trust your senses, Psyche.”

  I quieted and felt him move away.

  “I will not stalk about anymore,” he said, sounding disgruntled about how I’d described him earlier. “Sleep.”

  I hunkered down, practically pulling the blanket over my head, hoping I could suffocate the uneasy feeling in my stomach. I thought of my husband’s strong, smooth, warm hands on my face. What kind of creature was he? And exactly what sort of mind-altering punishment was I up against? Was I strong enough to fight this?

  PLAYTIME

  I slept without dreams. At least, none that I could recall. I slept deeper than any other night I’d spent here. Surprise coursed through me as I sat up, fully rested, wondering why I’d let my guard down so much. It was dangerous. I couldn’t help but to question everything, even my own thoughts, feelings, and actions. How
much of that was his power influencing me? He was clearly trying to soften me with his odd gentleness, but why? Getting comfortable would be a grave mistake.

  Renae brought my morning meal and urged me to explore the property today.

  “Your husband will be gone longer this day, to return at dusk.”

  “What does he do?” I asked, sipping my hot tea.

  “Oh, Highness.” Renae giggled, and for the first time she touched me, patting my shoulder and giving it a soft squeeze. “You know I cannot say.”

  I smiled into my tea. “Off terrorizing villages, no doubt.”

  Renae let out a high laugh. “Some might consider it so. His work is…complicated.” She tsked. “I’ve said too much. Listen. Why don’t you visit the archery range today? There is a bow just your size. But I should warn you—an enchantment has been placed so that your bow and arrows cannot leave the range. If you try, you will feel an unfortunate zap.”

  A zap? I shivered. And he knew of my interest in archery? It wasn’t something most females enjoyed. It was disturbing how much he knew about me.

  “Ring if you need me.” She bustled out with the clomp, clomp of heavy feet.

  I pondered her responses so long my tea cooled. Then I brushed out my hair, dressed in a sky blue stola that clipped on one shoulder with a golden beetle pin, and found my way out of the grand palace.

  Just as the other times I’d been outside, I found the quiet perfection unsettling. I walked the gardens, marveling at the plant sculptures of creatures celebrating. They were dancing animals—bears, leopards, and monkeys—with arms and legs lifted in glee. Centaurs with drums and satyrs with lutes at their lips. The garden party seemed endless with hybrid creatures I’d never heard of, every combination of human and animal one could conceive. I found myself imagining the lure of the music as I walked between them, the sounds of their laughter and banter floating up from my imagination. Flowers as small as ants and as large as my head, every color and variety, wound around the gardens with vines that made pathways for my feet. I followed them so far and for so long I wondered if I might get lost.

  I finally made my way out of the celebration maze and came upon the archery range. And just as Renae had promised, a bow was waiting in my exact size, finer than any I’d ever beheld. Smooth, light wood, both strong and pliable, with fire-etched vines along its length. I nocked an arrow and steadied my gaze at a life-sized target of a man. I released my arrow with a clean zing and gasped at how smooth it sailed, embedding into a shoulder.

  Yes, I would enjoy this bow. When I went to retrieve the arrow, I stared in confusion. Over the dummy’s heart was a deep crevasse, as if it had been struck there repeatedly. When my eyes searched, I found no other marks on the cloth body except the one I’d made in the shoulder. A quick look down the line of various targets showed more of the same. Only the bull’s-eyes had been struck.

  “Of course,” I muttered. “My husband is a perfect marksman.”

  I set my bow and arrow back down, shaking off a feeling unease, promising myself I’d return to practice each day.

  I next headed for the hills with the forest beyond, beginning at a walk, and then breaking into a run. It felt good to stretch my legs. I ran as fast as my body could handle until I was deep in the swaying trees, breathing hard to catch my breath. When I finally settled, the only sound in the entire outdoors found my ears: moving water.

  I walked until I found the stream. It was delightful, running clear over smooth stones. I slipped off my leather flats and stepped into the water, splashing about. But when I thought about crossing to the other side, the water came suddenly rushing up, and the landscape changed from rambling stream to deep river. I quickly swam back, landing in a pile on the bank. The stream was enchanted not to allow me to cross.

  I let out a harrumph, standing and wiping off my bottom. When I went to pick up my shoes I noticed the water was already gone from my legs and dress. I was completely dry. Definitely enchanted water. I turned toward the trees and found that they had shifted and moved, creating a straight path out of the forest, back to the hills and the palace beyond.

  I eyed the forest and gave the trees a grin. “What if I don’t want to go that way?” My feet took me between two trees on the side, their branches so low and entwined that I had to bend and work my body between them. A scream ripped from my throat when I felt something straight press against the back of my thighs, pushing me through the gap. Before I tumbled to the ground, roots shot out and spread, catching me in a makeshift cradle. I peered behind me to see the branch that had pushed me retreating. Laughter bubbled through me.

  “Thank you?” I patted the roots and got to my feet, watching in awe as they retracted back into the ground.

  At that point it became a game. I tried to wiggle my way through the hardest spots I could find, and to my delight, the trees played with me. They played with me! It was something from a dream. I climbed high in one tree as its branches moved round and round its enormous trunk like a spiral staircase. And when I got to the top, it wound vines around my middle and swung me down, making my belly swoop as I yelled with excitement. It was a far fall, but the tree never let me go. Then it swung me up and the next tree caught me.

  By the time I made it to the other end of the forest, my face hurt from smiling and my entire body was spent. I was also sweating through my dress, and I loved it. I gave the final tree a hard hug and kissed its magical trunk, rough under my lips.

  “I’ll be back,” I promised my new friends before trudging away, exhausted.

  I fell against the side of a green, fluffy hill. I mean, really, what kind of grass was this? If we had this grass at home, we could drag blankets outside and sleep in comfort under the stars. There wasn’t a single bug in sight to sting or bite.

  When my strength returned, I walked back to the palace. The doors burst open at my arrival and Renae’s voice fluttered out.

  “Highness! Are you all right! Did they hurt you?”

  “Who?” I asked. “The trees? Not at all! We had the most fun!”

  “Fun?” She walked alongside me when I got to the hall, the doors shutting behind me. “But those trees have been known to mangle trespassers. They rarely let anyone see them move! I looked out the window and nearly died of the shock when I saw them so active! I even called to your husband—”

  “You didn’t.” My heart gave a hard series of beats.

  “I did, and I’m not sorry. He came immediately and laughed at my worry, assuring me you were quite all right, but I couldn’t imagine what all the fuss was out there.”

  “What else did he say?”

  “He said, ‘Worry not; they are entertaining one another.’” She said it in his same gruff voice, and I giggled. “Whoever heard of the trees entertaining? And a guest enjoying it!”

  “Well, dear Renae, you’ll have to get used to it because I plan to visit them every day.” I smiled at her scoffing sound and ran the rest of the way to my bedchamber, loving the feel of dried salt on my skin. It reminded me of how I’d felt at home after a day of exploring and getting into trouble, tired and sweaty, my long hair tangled and wild.

  But halfway through my bath, my dark mood returned. Yes, I’d adored every minute with the trees, but I couldn’t forget what awaited me. My mysterious punishment. As famished as I was from my day of play, I barely picked at the meal Renae left for me. And though it was still sunny out, I opted for a nightgown instead of another dress. I sat, staring off, my hair still wet and unbrushed, when the massive windows opened, and the presence of my husband came whooshing in. I wrapped my arms around myself.

  “What is the matter?” He was standing over me. I shivered.

  “I’m tired.”

  “It is more than that.” I heard him sit in the chair opposite me. “You were filled with joy when I saw you today.”

  I peered down at the cushion I held on my lap, picking at the tassel. “You watched me?”

  “I only had a moment to spare, but yes. I�
�ve never seen the trees behave that way.”

  It felt strange knowing he’d seen me in that state of laughter and smiles, both things I withheld from him. It was like two parts of myself were clashing. I missed the old me. Being on guard and scared all of the time drained the life from me. I rubbed my face.

  “Tell me what you want, Psyche.”

  “I want my family.”

  “I am your family now.”

  His words were gentle, but my eyes burned, and I kept my hands over my face. “I want to know what your plan is for me. When you will finally hurt me. When the punishment will be fulfilled.”

  He didn’t answer at first. I sniffed and forced my emotions down.

  “I cannot ease your mind.” He sounded regretful. “Not with words. What else can I do?”

  “I miss…” I stared out the windows. “Animals. It’s strange to be outside and not see a single bird or bug or animal.”

  “Very well,” he said.

  I peered at where he was sitting. “You’ll bring animals here? A puppy? Or a kitten?” A glimmer of glee trickled within me.

  “That is simple. Tomorrow you shall have your wish.”

  That easily? I smiled down at the pillow, and whispered, “Thank you.”

  “Psyche?”

  “Yes?”

  “May I brush your hair?”

  “Um…” My face went warm and I looked everywhere except in front of me where I knew he sat. For some reason, the thought of having him brush my hair was even more intimate than allowing him to hold my face. I needed to be more careful. “I can do it.” And to prove my ability, I grabbed the palm handle of my brush from the side table and began to roughly drag it through my hair, pretending I hadn’t just denied him a simple thing. Why did I feel guilty? I had nothing to feel bad about.

  My hair was mangled from today’s activities. I ripped out tangles until my scalp was tender, then I set it back on the table and cleared my throat. “See? All done. I should go to sleep. Is it nearly night yet?”

  At my question, the sunlight disappeared, and the candles lit themselves around the room. “Thank you,” I told him, standing stiffly and rushing across the room to climb into the bed, pulling the blankets up all around me. No funny business tonight.