Crescent (Book 1)

+ 65 +

On the night of Ireodran, I dreamt of dread. I felt it coiling in my gut all night, tightening around my lungs. Dread spread through me like ink through water when I saw Rhiannon's blood fall. Her blood didn't flow like the others. Hers fell in pearled beads of red, sliding from her wrist to the molten mix of blood on the pillar. Her eyes melted out of focus when the power hit us.

She didn't look at me after that. Rather, she looked through me. Fear filled her scent, it filled my very being. Something like the scent- the color, the taste- of death filled the murkiness after. Dark and violent. On the scales of serpents, on the wings of ravens. Death. Followed by light.

The dread remains.

||||||||||

Two shafts of lilac tulle do little to cover my chest. Strapped between them at a raised waistline is a golden blade. The blade is carved to look like that of a falcon whose golden wings are spread wide at the hilt. The length of it fits down my stomach, protected only by a leather guard and the ruffled bustle of my dress. I was the one to choose the cascading lavender dress for tonight. Elegant but daring. Audelia was the one to decide on the chain-like jewelry that will fall like golden armor over my shoulders and drape down my back. In another life, it might be a dress I'd choose for myself.

"The Lady of Vervale." The hair I just finished curling into a ponytail falls as I turn to the voice. Gabriel. He stands at the open doorway, hands in his pockets, the same easy-demeanor as always. But, he looks... disheveled. As if his hair is unkempt from hours of running his hands through it.

I don't know why I stand or why my heart hammers when he looks at me, eyes burning into mine. I clear my throat, looking away. "What am I supposed to call you now?"

"The same thing you've always called me."

"Gabriel..." I'm not supposed to call him that either. I grip the armoire, forcing myself to focus on getting ready. I adjust the curls framing my face, steeling my voice. "You know it changes everything." I don't have to say what it is when it's hanging between us like a live wire. He's a high lord. I'm nothing more than a fraud.

His breath is rough, hoarse. "It changes nothing, Brenna." He means the words. I've never felt like anything but his equal. Even lying, I've never felt like less than him.

The music down the hall grows louder, but I keep my back to him. "Will you help me?" I motion to the jewelry still laid out on the armoire in question. Unhurriedly, he pushes off the doorway and steps toward me. I gather the length of my hair over one shoulder. I feel the hard line of his chest against me as he reaches for the golden chains. The thin couplings are cold as they fall over me, but then his nimble fingers are at my neck, binding the clasp. In the mirror, I can see the heated look in his eyes.

"You are not a pawn," he murmurs. His hand follows the necklace down my back, leaving heat in its wake. I nearly gasp as his hand grazes my spine. I catch his hand, turning toward him suddenly. We both watch each other, neither of us willing to cross the line completely. I should stop him. But I merely watch as one of his hands finds my neck. He trails his rough hand into my hair, gripping my curls, baring my neck to him. His breath caresses my lips, warm and inviting. "You are no one's pawn."

In his eyes, I can see that he means it. His hand carefully tugs out the ribbon in my hair, and my hair falls over my shoulders. He watches as the locks come down to frame my face, just like they had that day in the woods, and he smiles. He steps back, and I feel like I can breathe again, but my skin is still flush. Light returns to his face and his steel-edged exterior falls into place as he reigns in whatever thing he'd just laid bare between us. The mask of the high lord now stands before me.

I bow, knowing that I'm half the title he'll ever be. "Lord Caldwell."

He bows just as deeply. "My Lady." I give him a full-blown smile. Bright- with all the happiness I can muster. "Maybe one day I'll take you to see Glalas for yourself."

Tonight. The celebration of Glalas. I fiddle with the jewelry dangling low across my chest, smiling despite myself. "If we can make it through tonight, that is."

The corner of his mouth twitches. "We can certainly try." He holds out his arm, careful not to wrinkle my dress as we leave together. We say our goodbyes before the stairs, and I hold his hand for just a second too long before he releases me. With his departure, my smile is gone. I walk the rest of the trek alone.