Page 50 of Insolence (Eisha’s Hidden Codices #1)

Itissa

S tormdrift trudges on at a glacial pace.

Cordelia and Sadrie continue keeping to themselves for the most part, which is just as well.

Shame at what happened between me and Sadrie claws up my throat; rage at her reaction scratches behind my eyes. Sometimes I daydream about shaking her, telling her that what happened was her fault and what she did was wrong.

At least fury is better than the misery that threatens to drown me from time to time. If I’m honest, part of me is suffocating with loneliness. And it’s the lonely part of me that’s weak.

That part wants to collapse at Sadrie’s feet and beg her to talk to me, to be my friend again. It wants me to crawl into her lap, weep and kiss her, and tell her how much I miss her.

I remember what Elodie said about making myself and others ill. I’m very careful to keep myself under control, being mindful of my breathing and only allowing my temper to break loose when I’m alone and in private.

In the middle of the night near the end of the month, I can’t shake the memory of plunging the letter opener into Elodie’s shoulder, the hypnotic ooze of her blood as it seeped down her shirt, and the deranged delight I felt at spilling it.

I toss and turn, trying not to think about what I might have done that day in the greenhouse or why I have no recollection of it. I can’t get the image of sigils glowing on the backs of my hands out of my mind.

“Arcane beings. Preternatural, unearthly creatures wrought of chaos and magic.”

Elodie’s words from our shared lunch force me upright in bed.

I creep to the washroom, keeping to the shadows, and splash icy water on my face. “If I’m not a creature of chaos and magic,” I ask my reflection, “what other explanation is there for the monster inside of me?”

Tears prod the backs of my eyes. I’m suddenly doubting the precious little I think I know about myself.

My intent is to go back to bed, but somehow I end up outside of Elodie’s rooms, praying a sister on patrol doesn’t catch me. I have no idea how late it is when I knock.

“Tiss?” The Second High Priestess is still fully dressed when the door swings open. “Everything all right?”

Relief floods me at not having woken him.

His long hair is loose and hanging around his shoulders, released from the tight knot he wore it in during class today. Of the events I can’t recall the day that Bibi tore open my arm, I have retained the realization that sometimes he’s a man.

Now that I’ve acknowledged it, it’s something I can’t unsee.

He invites me in and offers a tincture for sleep. Grateful, I accept. Waiting on the settee while he fetches it, I feel idiotic showing up so late and wearing only my rumpled sleeping shift and soft-soled slippers.

“Here.” Elodie returns with the medicine, sinking onto the cushion next to me. “Now. Would you like to tell me what’s bothering you?”

I swallow the bitter concoction and make a face. “It’s that obvious, huh?”

“Not the first time you’ve arrived on my threshold late at night.”

The next thing I say spills out of me in a rushed hiss: “Will you please tell me what’s wrong with me?”

He snorts. “I’m afraid I’ll need a little more specificity there, Tiss.”

“I feel like I’m losing my mind,” I whisper. “The monster inside of me has been silent for weeks now, but what if it doesn’t remain dormant?” My tone rises with my anxiety, my true concern breaking the surface: “What if the lottery results were mistaken? What if I’m really a demun?”

“Tiss—”

“ Please , just help me understand.” I shake my head. “I can’t stop thinking about losing control. Stabbing you. Draining Sadrie. I feel like I’m suffocating. What if it means—”

“There aren't any mistakes during the lottery,” he says. “The process isn’t actually sortilege at all.”

I blink back my surprise. “It isn’t?”

“No.” He fixes me with that unnerving, level gaze of his.

“The spheres are old. Probably as old as the temple itself. They’re made of solid gold, and all of them are identical.

” He hesitates, as if considering how to word the next part.

“They’re Altered with illusion magic—an illusion that changes the spheres’ outward appearance. It’s triggered by touch.”

Understanding breaks over me in a warm wave. “Which is why they wanted our gloves off.”

“That’s right. The spheres turn white when a mage touches them and black when in contact with a demun. But it has to be skin contact, or it won’t work properly.”

The relief flowing through me is indescribable.

“What color sphere did you draw, Tiss?”

“White,” I say, feeling as if I can breathe for the first time all night.

“Better?”

“Much,” I whisper. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure.” His tone is indulgent.

Listening to the hypnotic pop and hiss of the fire, I realize this is the first time in far too long that I’ve felt comfortable in my skin. Finally, “Can I ask you a question that might be… personal?”

“I can’t guarantee I’ll answer, but go ahead.”

“Sometimes you’re different. You, ah— Hmm.” I stop myself and try again: “Like today. You’re wearing trousers. When you do, you seem much more masculine. But the rest of the time you’re quite feminine …”

He rakes crooked fingers through his dark hair, looking almost amused at my flustered state. “I have a mutable soul, Tiss.”

“Mutable soul?”

“It means sometimes my gender aligns with my biological sex. Sometimes it doesn’t. Sometimes I sort of flow from being a woman to a man.”

“Do you have a different name you prefer when you’re a man?”

“El, if it’s just you and me. But Elodie is always fine.”

El. I incline my head, taking in the angle of his jaw and his high cheekbones. With his hair down, his features are much softer, but I like it both ways. “Would you like to be referred to as ‘he’ instead of ‘she,’ El?”

“That’s up to you,” he shrugs. “Whatever you’re comfortable with. I’m still me. But it’s risky to make a habit of changing my pronouns whenever you notice my gender has shifted. Do me a favor and don’t go switching them in front of Sadrie or Cordelia, either.”

“Understood. I would never,” I say. “Still, I don’t want to offend, if I can help it.”

“You’re not going to offend me.” The flickering smile becomes a grin, warming me like the sun breaking through clouds.

“‘She’ and Elodie are always fine, no matter what. ‘He’ is fine when I’m El, and we’re on our own.

If you’re unsure, you can always ask, although you seem fairly attuned to my shifts already. ”

A comfortable quiet expands between us, breathing like a living thing. Not quite ready to return to my rooms and sensing his reluctance to dismiss me, I take in the snapping fire in the copper bowl and the cedar beams spanning the ceiling. The dyed wool rug beneath our feet.

We sat close like this, on this same settee, the first day I met him.

My gaze drifts to his sculpted mouth, his lips slightly parted, and I’m suddenly dangerously close to succumbing to the memory of their softness; the firm hunger behind the kiss before it was over much too soon.

Or the vicious appetite with which that sculpted mouth devoured mine in the fissure, my own hunger swallowing me in response.

Watching me a little too carefully, he says, “I’m not trying to scare you, but you’re right to worry about your monster coming back. It will. When it does, it’ll be hungry.”

Oh, gods. “I was afraid of that.”

“Mm. Sooner or later, you’ll have to feed it again. It’s stronger than you are. It won’t give you a choice.”

My breath hitches at the abrupt, silken lilt of his tone. “What can I do?” I ask, equal parts miserable and strangely enthralled.

“There are mental and emotional wards you can put in place during,” he says.

“With practice, they’ll temporarily keep the worst of the hunger in check.

Keep you more in control. It’s not a perfect method.

Unfortunately, there’s no such thing when dealing with forces we can’t completely comprehend.

But with patience and practice, they can make a difference.

” A hint of dark desire flashes in his eyes.

“If you’d like, I can teach you how to put the wards up. Help you practice keeping them strong.”

Seeing as he knows exactly how my monster “feeds,” there’s very little mystery as to what he’s insinuating. “It sounds like you’re rethinking your promise never to fuck me, priestess,” I blurt, unable to suppress the slight bratty edge to my words.

“Well. I might have been a bit hasty that day, but I made no such ‘promise.’ Believe me, the omission was deliberate.” His magnetic gaze travels over me, brimming with a familiar hunger that turns the tightness in my chest to flutters.

“Goddess, Tiss. I’m not trying to be rude, but the truth is, I wish with every fiber in me that I could fuck you every damn day.

All day long.” His voice is a velvet rasp, the space between us choked with desire. “Is it all right to say so?”

My skin flushing, I whisper, “Blue.”

“It’s not exactly a secret I’ve had any success in keeping.” His hand lifts as if to touch me, only to stop short of my hot and throbbing cheek. I hold my breath, my heart pounding, before it drops. “I’d never get tired of it. I’d always want more.”

A shiver skips down my spine. “I’d like that very much.”

“If we go down this path together, we’ll need to be careful, Tiss.”

“Oh, I fully comprehend the risk involved.”

“Good,” he says, and it’s nearly a purr. “We’ll start at the beginning. Keep things simple.” He moves close enough that our knees brush.

“What,” I sputter. “Now?”

“Is there another time you’d like to reschedule for?”

“No,” I snort.

“All right, then.” He motions for me to place my hands in his. “We’re going to close our eyes and relax our minds together. Try to feel each other.”

Unsure what to think, I lay my hands on his upturned palms. The thread between us shivers the moment we touch. With heat flooding my bloodstream, I let my eyes drift shut. I focus on his warm fingers around mine, his grip steady and sure.

“That’s it. Can you feel me?”

“Yes?” Of course I can feel him.

“Not physically.” His soft laugh ghosts across my cheek. “I mean, can you feel me here?” He releases one hand to rest his palm directly over my heart.

My thoughts are buzzing with Sadrie ignoring me, the heat of his hand on my sternum, and the fear and doubt and endless wondering if I’ll ever be able to tame the restless beast I can’t begin to understand.

When will it come back? What will I do when it does?

“You’re struggling.” El’s voice pierces the mental racket, but his tone is neither judgmental nor displeased. Merely observant. “Clear your mind.”

“I don’t know how,” I whisper, adrift and unmoored within myself.

“Match my breathing. Think about how you feel when you’re doing something that brings you joy, like reading a good book. Enjoying a favorite food. Passing a test.”

I huff a soft laugh.

“Laughing with friends.”

“I have no friends.”

“You have me,” he says, and my heart leaps.

“Focus on that feeling and relax into the rhythm of our heartbeats. Be mindful of your body and mine.”

Pausing, I listen for the breath rushing softly from his lungs and follow it with mine. I think of the bite of pickled blueberries on my tongue and the drumbeat of my pulse when Sadrie would get me laughing really hard.

His hand on my heart is reassuring, his touch grounding. All the while, the intoxicating combination of amber and cedar makes my head feel light. Gradually, the building around us fades, and there’s only me and El, the feeling of remembered happiness, and the swirling dark behind my closed eyes.

“I’ve got you,” he whispers. “You can let go now.”

I give myself permission to release the fears and anxieties shackling me in place.

Suddenly the fabric between realities stretches so thin that it wants to shred apart completely. I become overly aware of my life-force—my very essence—living both inside and outside of my body.

Realizing there’s nothing holding me together, I fear I might dissolve into nothingness but for El.

That’s when the darkness sunders before me, revealing a thread stretched between us. Taut like a zither string, it pulses with otherworldly light.

My stomach does a somersault, my breath catching. A moment later, I understand.

El is my anchor , my tether in this world and the next, a tree rooted deeply into the earth. For unaccounted moments, I’m clinging to him for dear life to keep from coming completely apart—flying into pieces and losing myself forever to the yawning abyss.

Just as I’m wobbling between realities, trying to decide between letting myself veer into nothingness or clinging to my sanity awhile longer yet, he reaches through the dark and churning vortex lapping at the edges of my substance. He offers his hand, showing me the way.

Inside the shared expanse of our minds, I take it.

“Mmm, there you are.” He says it so softly, at first I’m scarcely aware he’s spoken. “Can you let me in?”

“Yes,” I whisper, my consciousness suddenly splitting apart like an opening blossom as we breathe one another's breath.

My heart and mind are in two places at once. I realize I’m occupying space within the confines of my own consciousness and inside of his, too . Internally, he moves over to make room for me.

And I make room for him.

“Good,” he sighs.

Strangely, everything is right with the world. My eyes flutter open to find his gaze locked on mine. It’s gleaming with approval.

“That was very, very good, Tiss.”

As always, his praise is irresistible. His green and brown irises seem more vibrant, the fire’s hiss more pronounced. The vague stench of smoke is sharper now, more acrid; the amber and cedar headier and more consuming still.

“You have the power to reach inside of yourself anytime you want to find this calm. This peace. It's the same concept as breathing through your emotions. It’s another step on the same path.”

Feeling his warm skin beneath my fingers, I look down to find my free hand wrapped around his wrist. His hand is still positioned over my heart.

We release each other. Fingertips feathering over my jaw, he takes my chin between his thumb and forefinger. “Is this all right?”

“Yes,” I croak. “I think I wouldn’t mind you touching me again, without asking first.” Damn it. I didn’t plan on saying that. “You know, if you want to.”

“Oh, I want to, Tiss,” he breathes. “I can't wait to show you more.”

Again, I’m caught in his sway, helplessly enthralled with his nearness and the strange alchemy between us. Our connection pulses stronger now, as if I’ve thrown a door wide open that I wasn’t aware existed.