Page 33

“I…cannot?” It’s a question, and he frowns, then reaches into his po cket, and passes me a small ball of something wrapped in rough wool.

“This must be a secret between us, Cerid–” He stops himself.

His tone is too nervous to be a command; I bend toward him unintentionally.

Nothing about this moment is known. It is all shimmering and different, and I am not sure I want to open the small, strange thing in my hand.

There is something about it that will bind us together in a way that I have not considered.

“I mean it, Keeper. This is nothing that can ever be said outside this moment. It is a Death Silence. Like your eyes.”

The words stop my heart, my breath, my lungs.

Like your eyes. Like your eyes. “Breathe, Ceridwen.” He pauses.

“I’m sorry. You don’t like that name.” He’s frustrated with himself, and mumbles quietly, “I don’t know what to call you.

” Sighing, he shakes his head. “I know. Of course I know. I have known since the day they went white.” He pauses, corrects himself, almost as an afterthought.

“ Almost white…” he says, and a sleeping child at night would be louder than his voice in that second.

“I know you like I know my own skin. And I have never said a word. I need you to do the same.”

All thought has fled me, and my hands act of their own accord, unwrapping the gift while my mind is still tripping over his revelation.

Like your eyes. Like your eyes. Inside the dull wool is a strange, round ball.

It is textured, scent sharp and sweet, like nothing I have ever smelled before.

But most surprising is the color. It is bright and blinding, almost hurting my eyes.

It is like fire, and reflects the cool light of the sun back in warmer, almost painful ways.

Rannoch leans forward now that this secret is revealed, eager and anxious.

Even still, even in the closet privacy of the vines and the shadow of the cistern, he looks around and around, searching for prying eyes.

He pauses, reaching out a single finger to caress first the strange ball, then cautiously, cautiously, like a feather or ash falling from the burning pits, he traces the hollows of the knuckles on my hand.

I do not understand this moment, but am caught in the shadows of his skin on the pale white of my own.

“The Traders are coming. ”

All air disappears in his words, dissolves into a vacuum of void and chaos.

The Traders are coming. Suddenly the strange little ball in my hand makes a terrible type of sense.

Now that the secret has been spoken into reality, the words rush from his mouth in staccato breaths, almost unintelligible, though I’m not sure if it’s the pulse of my blood that fades them in and out, or if it is his inability to speak what should not be spoken.

“Silas and I met them on the hunt….still four days away, perhaps five….their wagons are not full, but they have some things….we cannot tell anyone…only Silas and I know. The Council would…they would turn them away….we cannot tell…we’re not sure…

” The command in his voice is clear now, all softness has fled in the aftermath of his own realization that he has stepped a foot into death, that even he would not be protected if he misjudged the cavern of my silence. “You must promise.”

What truths are being told here, what depth of secrets? Why would the Council turn the Traders away? Traders we desperately need? Who could save our village in a rabid time, when the Storms are approaching and the silos are empty?

I cannot look away from the glowing ball in my hand, my eyes watering from the viciousness of its color.

“What is this?”

I know the question surprises him, but he scratches a nail across its surface, and a flare of stinging, clean scent pearls rises from it, tiny pearls of liquid on its skin beading up from the line.

Then he takes it from me, and digs into it, peeling back its outer layer, exposing a second ball of pale, almost translucent, matter underneath.

He splits it into pieces; the water of it spreads across his fingers.

Locking eyes with me, he holds his breath for a moment, before very carefully reaching out a finger and tracing it along the bottom curve of my lip.

I have…I have never been touched like this before, never tasted the skin of another human, and without thought I pull my lip back under my teeth, but his finger follows, brushing the tip of my tongue, and the earth shifts beneath me.

Eyes wide, I cannot move, and he is not breathing, and only the flood of a sweetness I have never known spreading across my tongue takes me from the moment.

My body ma y be frozen, but my eyes flick down to the gift in his hand.

A smile of singular and starlight sweetness breaks across his face like fire warmth.

This is too much for one moment. I think.

Too much, too much , but his hands are already moving, taking a section of the gift, and pushing it into my mouth, before eating one himself.

I chew, cautiously at first; the flavor is like nothing I have ever known, have never dreamt of.

It is fragrant and tart, and tastes like its color, vibrant and biting.

There is little of it to eat — it is almost a drink as it has so much liquid in it.

A sound of happiness I have never made sings in the back of my throat, a murmur of pure pleasure, and Rannoch’s eyes flare open in response.

Without thought he reaches out to hold the side of my face, then bends his own close to mine, so close we share a breath, so close his nose brushes mine, and the song in my throat stutters to a fluttering silence.

“I must,'' he whispers, the words forced from his throat, and once said, his hand wraps around the back of my head, fingers threading through my hair, tangling and taut, and he pulls me against him, his lips closing in on my own. The first press of them against mine is a star exploding, a phoenix dying and being reborn. I don’t push him away; he takes it as an invitation, pressing my back against the cold, grey stone of the cistern, tongue darting out to caress my own in my mouth, a guttural moan torn from his chest. He tastes like the gift, bright and sweet, and he is drinking me in, tipping my head back to open my mouth to his, exploring every inch of my lips with ravenous thoroughness.

Even his teeth close on my lip in a gentle bite, before pressing a kiss to the spot.

His other hand breaks apart a piece of the food, and, pulling back, without breaking his stare, he runs it along the outline of my lips, the juice from it running down, and my tongue darts out to catch the taste before he leans in to lick the flavor from my skin.

“When you are mine and mine alone, I will have you naked before me, and I will bathe you in the juice of this fruit, then spend hours licking it from your skin.”

The words are a dark promise, a whispered dream brought to life in a fervent vow .

Keeper!

I pull away immediately, shuddering, pressing a hand against my chest. He sees something in the movement and smiles, not the secret soft movement from before, but something more feral and fierce, and it is like the flame from the Everfire , the heat so wild it hurts.

I do not know how to speak, but a sudden, unexpected shout from the Oldest Mother shatters the moment.

BoneKeeper!

Looking around frantically, I realize the only place for him to go is further in, because if anyone discovers us in this moment, there will be nothing but skin and blood for him, and closed towers for me.

“I’m sorry…” I whisper, and confusion laces his face before I shove him back, further into the area where even I do not always venture.

The vines are too thick, the thorns sharp and cutting, and realization floods his eyes as his ears pick up some sound I do not yet.

But I don’t need to hear. The bones do it for me.

Nodding once, sharply, Rannoch separates the vines with more skill and care than I am able, and slips silently into the shadows within.

I take my flask from my side and waste precious water washing my hands and skin, rinsing my mouth and spitting it out, and a flash of hurt lights his eyes before he can stop it.

“It is not you…” I try to explain, against my better judgment.

Let him think it was him! This should not have happened!

But it would be a betrayal I could not stomach to leave that in his head.

He grins, satisfaction bright and brilliant, then is gone, and I reach through the vines to the wall in front of me, fingers laying gently on the Oldest Mother, and I pray and pray and pray.

She is quiet, and I think, perhaps, she used her energy to warn me, because she has so little that her shout must have drained her, but after a moment she whispers against my fingertips.

Stay, calm, stay. It is not much, but I take her council, and do not move, pressing my head against the wall, carelessly through the thorns, a cutting crown around my head anointing me in thin rivers of blood.

“She is this way. A child saw her come. ”

“Why would she be here? Who is with her?” The second voice makes me shudder, but I calm my breath and stay flush to the bone.

“BoneKeeper?”

There are three Lorcan says, voice tight, and I try to remain still, lost in the bones. If they find me, it is the only explanation. Three Councilmen, though. It is never a good sign to have so many of The Twelve on the hunt for one small rabbit.

“Here she is.” The voice is disgusted. “Keeper!” A bark, a command that even I cannot ignore, and I pull away from the bone, blinking blood from my pale lashes.

“Councilmen?” My voice is far away, in a dream, and I can sense their confusion.