The Deepest Night

Chapter 35

The next four nights were amethyst, but I resisted them. I would not go outside to bathe in purple light; I would not listen to the stars. Despite what I’d told Armand, we were only sleeping in the bed at the inn, sleeping with the balcony doors open and the surf and the gulls and the salty breeze that flitted in and out of the suite like a suitor who could not make up his mind. And it was all that I required.

Armand would need to travel to London soon. I would need to return to Tranquility, and then to Iverson.

Yet neither of us spoke of what we needed to do, allowing instead the mild lazy hours to waft by.

During the day, I counted out the planks of the boardwalk. I walked to the end of the pier and back, and gave the organ grinder pounds instead of pennies, and carried seashells and toffees to Mandy, who was gradually looking less like a pirate and more like a nobleman, albeit one itching to shed his cast.

It was quite a honeymoon. At least, that’s what the innkeeper thought.

“Mrs. Pendragon! How about some nice scallops for tonight, eh? Or fresh clams in chowder, or lemon sole. We’ve got—”

“All of it,” I’d say.

“Righto.” He winked at me, merry as a child at Christmas.

We were rather dear guests, I presumed.

But on the fifth evening the feeling of dreamy suspension I’d nurtured so carefully would not come. I could not ignore the summoning of the stars any longer. I could not ignore the color of the heavens suspended over the sea, that dark purple velvet dotted with fire, the deepest night beckoning.

We’d spent the afternoon on the sand, getting crusty and sunburned, watching the white lip of the tide rolling and reaching and retreating once more. We’d brushed the sand from our clothes and eaten our dinner and sipped our wine. I’d cleared the dishes and gone out to the balcony and at last given in, breathing in deep, allowing the stars to garland me with songs once more.

fireheart! fireheart! fireheart! Beneath the drumbeat of the surf, it was all I could hear.

Then, a counterpoint:

lora. low and lovely, sad and far.

I swallowed, searching until I found him, golden green, more beautiful than the moon.

Jesse.

miss you.

I couldn’t think of a reply. I could only smile and close my eyes so I wouldn’t cry.

above you, inside you, within and without, he sang. forever and always. remember?

Yes.

so we can wait. we can wait a while longer. love the earth while you can. love this last gift of time. love the dragon i’ve given you, who already loves you.

I did not need to see him to know that Armand had come to stand beside me on the balcony, leaning against the railing. But I opened my eyes anyway. He was watching me, somber, purple in his hair. The wind slipped between us, separating, then shifted and pushed the other way.

Jesse had become a nimbus, a shadow of light behind him.

“Thank you,” Mandy said to me. “It’s all right to say it now, isn’t it? Now that it’s over?”

I nodded. There were too many words crowding inside me to speak, words like I suppose so and You’re welcome and Don’t stand so near and Please come nearer.

“Thank you,” he said again. “Thank you, Eleanore, for saving me.”

He bent his head, slowly, slowly, never taking his eyes from mine. So when our lips met I was ready and not, because his kiss was more fiery than I’d thought it’d be, and sweeter, and spread like a wild and unknown fever right into my blood. I was alight.

He tasted of wine and magic. He tasted of hope.

I lifted my arms and wound them around his neck. We were pressed together at the rim of the world, water and sand, enchantment and flesh. Two beings fleetingly, lusciously exploring how it felt to become one.

Beneath the silver netting of the stars, I reveled in Armand’s kiss, and offered it back to him.