Page 82 of A Dance of Water (Moon Song #2)

THE WAVES WATCH… SO DOES HE

LUELLA

L uella’s bare feet dangled off the edge of the balcony. Her cheeks pressed into the stone columns of the railing, fingers gripping them tightly as she peered over the side. Her skirts bunched up around her calves, and her legs swayed back and forth in the roaring winds.

A soft rain misted her skin—nothing more than a slight drizzle this afternoon.

But the sky was dark, thick towers of clouds ready to burst. The roaring tempest of days past had abated, if only briefly, after her sight had been returned to her, leaving the kingdom in a haze of humid fog and dampness.

Sighing, she leaned against the stone, eyes greedily absorbing the sights before her.

She kept touching her face, feeling the skin around her eyes, reminding herself it was not a dream. She had her sight back. She could see .

And what a glorious sight it was.

The balcony off her room gave way to the sloping cliffside, the ocean waves crashing against rocks below, seafoam curling against mottled greys, and shadows created by hollows.

Fear coiled tightly inside her, an awaiting serpent, poised to strike.

She swallowed, hands numb from the cold as she gripped the railing, looking down, down, down…

Into the water.

Every wave that crashed into the rocks made her flinch. The black sky made the surface of the ocean appear as an endless hole that could swallow her up.

"It’s okay. I’m okay," she repeated… and repeated.

Maybe one day, she would believe it.

Caught in a maelstrom of memory, she didn’t notice it at first.

A soft caw pierced the misty air.

Luella looked up.

Nestled high upon the eaves of the castle, a spot she would not have noticed if she weren’t truly looking for it, a raven perched. His wings fluttered, and even from such a distance, she saw deep blue eyes staring at her.

An echo of a smile touched her lips.

Her watcher was back.

She released her grip on the railing, flexing her stiff fingers as she lifted a hand in a half-hearted wave—fingers reaching out in a plea.

The raven fluttered his black wings in response, hopping side to side as if in thought before he swooped down from his perch.

Midair, he changed.

Feathers turned to fabric—a flash, one blink, and you would miss it. Graves stood before her. Two inky feathers twirled, floating around the thick folds of his cloak as they drifted to the balcony floor.

Her neck ached from peering up at him. He was without a cowl; the scar on his face looked darker in the dim light. Strands of black hair peeked out from under his hood. The hair on his jaw made her mouth dry, remembering how it had felt against her cheeks.

He stared at her.

She stared at him.

"You’ll catch your death out here," Graves said, voice like rough coal.

In mockery of his words, a sharp gust of wind made her shiver, goosebumps erupting on her bare legs and arms.

It was the first time she had seen his face in a fortnight. She couldn’t look away.

She was so captivated by him, she nearly forgot all about the ocean under the balcony. Until a rumble of thunder shook the sky, tearing her attention away from him and back to the world outside the railing.

From the way she sat, looking out from behind the stone columns, it was reminiscent of her time in the dungeons—behind iron bars. Locked away. But these bars were not rusted iron, but a polished, ornate stone. And the sights beyond were not haunted, dark halls and unlit sconces, but freedom.

Even the ocean.

It called to her, a song in her bones, its roar nearly as loud as the sudden trill of the thread between her and Graves. Nearly.

Leather brushed against her bare shoulder, and she turned, craning her head. Graves extended a gloved hand to her, palm upturned as he waited.

She placed her hand in his. The fabric of his glove was warm and thick, his thumb rubbed absently over the top of her hand as he pulled her to her feet. The skirts of her gown fell back to her ankles as she stood.

She turned her body to the side, keeping the ocean in her view at all times. She would not turn her back on it.

"You won’t speak to me? Did Tharen take your voice, this time?"

How could she tell him that it wasn’t Tharen who had taken her voice, but the mere sight of him , standing before her, that did?

He seemed to realize she would not speak right now, for he nodded, a slight dip of his chin, then turned out to face the ocean and mountains, gloved hands braced on the balcony.

She copied his stance, her smaller hands resting upon the rail of the balcony as she faced the ocean. Her legs wobbled. It stretched on and on and on?—

A tremor wracked her frame.

Finally, she spoke. "Distract me." She didn’t meet his eyes, held hostage by the sea.

"What were you doing out here?" Graves asked.

She exhaled. "Facing my fears."

"Did it work?"

Did it ?

The undulating waves reflected the dark sky, filling her with unease.

"No." She shook her head. "It didn’t."

There were a million things to say, but she couldn’t find it in herself to say any of them.

She knew why he had come: time was a noose wrapped around her neck, tightening with every passing moment.

Nightfall loomed. The King of Serpentis would wait for no one.

She had sequestered herself in her room, afraid to see the icy change that would, once more, take hold of the castle.

The air was thick with anticipation, starker, darker than before.

Something about this night was different than the rest.

It was the fourth night of the Solstice.

Maybe the ocean rocks would be a better fate.

"How did your journey go?" she inquired, grasping at anything to distract herself. The Binding mark hummed; she had to be careful of her words, unable to ask freely due to the King’s order.

"It was…" Graves trailed off, and she looked at him. Even one for few words as he was, when he did choose to speak, it was always done unfalteringly. He ran a hand over his jaw. "It was ."

She studied his profile.

His hood shifted as he turned to look at her under the dim light cast by the dark clouds. "I’ve missed your eyes," he mumbled. "They’re such a unique shade of blue, even better when every emotion flickers through them. Telling."

"Graves—" Her brows winged up as she silently implored him to extrapolate.

He cut her off. "Like that, sweetheart—a window to your thoughts." A warm hand cupped her cheek. She hadn’t realized he had removed his gloves. "How does it feel, to see?"

"It feels as though I’m flying," she whispered as he held her. A hand moved to hold her waist, and he shifted to stand behind her, his chest pressing into her back. They were facing out at the sea, the railing of the balcony dug into her stomach, and her bare toes brushed the edge.

"Have you thought about flying?" His fingers indented her waist, just below her ribs .

"Sometimes… In S-Solis, when it became too much to be trapped, I imagined I was a great bird, flying through the sky.

It made my worries seem smaller, to imagine I was above it all.

" Speaking like this, without looking at him, it reminded her of the safety found in darkness, how freeing it was to be blindfolded—one thing she would miss.

His hips pressed into her back. She breathed out shakily, head turning to the side, trying to find him in her periphery. He caught her head and faced it forward.

Slowly, Graves took a few steps, just enough to make her toes hover over nothing. His hand brushed from her waist up along her side, tracing the individual bones of her ribs under her gown, before they skimmed along the underside of her arms, forcing them up and out.

His fingers laced with hers as he held her arms out by her sides.

Wet air tickled her cheeks, and wind lifted her skirts and made her white hair flap around her face.

Thunder rumbled like a rolling drum throughout the sky. Lightning zigzagged throughout, sparks of white breaking through the darkness.

"Beautiful," she breathed.

Graves’s hands tightened on hers as their arms were stretched out at their sides.

He held her as if she were a feather; one sharp gust of wind, and she would be torn away from his clutches.

"Nothing can replicate the feeling of soaring through the air, but if I were to try, this would be close.

" His stubble scratched against her cheek. "Close your eyes."

Her eyes fluttered closed, head tipping back onto his chest.

And she felt .

Her toes scrunched into nothing, her arms felt weightless, held by him, and the rumble of thunder drowned out the beat of her heart.

Flying.

She was a bird, flying.

She didn’t know how long they stayed there, but eventually, he lowered her arms. Blood rushed through the numbness, filling her with pinpricks.

Trepidation threatened to carry her away; she knew what came next.

Luella turned to look at him, a damp, white strand of hair grazing her cheek. "Can we stay here a little longer?"

Graves clenched his jaw, staring back into the glass doors leading to her room.

Ina and Osa fluttered about, preparing her gown and blending oils.

"Right." She sighed. "I know better."

She shook the thoughts away, starting for the doors.

Graves’s voice reached her ears just as her palms closed around the gilded handles.

"Luella, what happens tonight and every night that follows, know we are trying to keep you safe."

Unable to stop herself, she turned back to look at him. But he was gone. A single black feather floated to the ground in his wake. The only sign he had ever been there.

Lavender and vanilla smoke curled through the air, thin tendrils rising from the burning incense. Steam filled the room, wafting from the cracked doors of the bathing chambers.

The bath had been filled, warm and rippling, but she would not budge. She knew it wasn’t healthy; she couldn’t rely on Az forever…