To Bleed a Crystal Bloom by Sarah A. Parker

They came stomping up the stairs, boisterous voices tossed back and forth the entire way. I thought one of them would knock the other out before they made it to the top, but it seems that was just wishful thinking.

Now, they’re outside my freshly rehung door, stabbing each other with vulgar expletives like a couple of mindless brutes.

I sigh and drop off my perch on the windowsill, plucking a path through my belongings still littering the floor from Rhordyn’s looting. Passing the vanity, I pause ... skin prickling.

Stomach twisting.

Slowly, very slowly, I look sideways into the mirror, stealing a peek at the lie. Studying the rope of flaxen hair hanging over my shoulder for even the slightest hint of an opaline hue.

Nothing.

The ruse is flawless; a thought that makes me feel sick to my stomach. I have no idea how it works, or what Rhordyn’s done to allow his filthy lie to prosper.

Ripping my gaze away, I stalk to the door and swing it open to see Cainon trussed up against the wall by a fiery faced Baze—the former hanging in a lazy lump with a mocking smile curling his lips.

Baze’s wooden dagger is poised at Cainon’s throat, and a loosened bead of blood is trickling down that golden skin.

I knife my overprotective escort in the back of the head with a glare. “Baze.”

“Orlaith.” The word is pushed through clenched teeth. “Apologies for the interruption. I know how much you dislike impromptu visitors in your personal space. I was just escorting Cainon back down the stairs.”

The Southern High Master plucks a piece of flint off Baze’s lapel, like being held at daggerpoint is an everyday occurrence. “Why don’t you let my promised decide if she’d like me in her personal space or not,” he says, patting Baze on the cheek like a condescending ass.

Baze bristles, pressing more weight into Cainon’s chest. “Want me to roll him down the stairs or toss him off the balcony?”

Sweet merciful—

He’s going to earn himself a duel. Or a beheading if he ever ends up in the South.

“Neither,” I bite out, hand sweeping in a wide arc, inviting Cain into my space.

Baze throws me an incredulous stare. “Are you kidding me?”

“Obviously not,” Cainon offers unhelpfully, leading Baze to hiss an inch from his face.

I nearly slam the door on them both.

Baze guts me with a glare, perhaps waiting for me to change my mind and scuttle back into my shell. But I’m not the same girl I was yesterday. In fact, I have no idea who I am anymore.

All I know is I’m pissed, confused, and I have several bones to pick. Unfortunately for Baze, he’s sitting almost at the top of that pile.

“Let him in.”

I hear Baze’s teeth grind, watch the vein in his temple pulse. He finally slides back a step, letting his dagger fall from the notch dug into the High Master’s throat.

Cainon swipes the nick and wipes the smear of blood on his pants. “I should have your head for that, boy.”

“Fucking try it,” Baze drones, reclining against the wall.

A low, predatory laugh rumbles deep in Cainon’s chest. “Careful what you wish for.”

I groan, turning my back on them and making for the window, dodging books and piles of clothing before climbing onto the sill. I look up in time to see the victorious smile fall right off Cainon’s face as he pauses on the threshold of my deluge of mess.

“You—ahh—redecorating?” he asks, foot suspended midair as if he’s trying to find somewhere to step.

Baze plants himself near the door, mapping Cainon’s back like he’s picturing all the gory ways he wants to hack him open. “Just terrible housekeeping skills. But I guess that’s your problem now, isn’t it?”

I’m going to murder him.

“You can leave,” Cainon states with a dismissive bat of his hand.

Baze lands his shoulder against the doorframe and cleans dirt from his nails with the pointy end of his dagger. “Not with a rake in her room, I won’t.”

The Southern High Master retrieves a bottle off the ground and pops the cork, sniffing the contents and screwing up his face. “You’re toeing a fragile line today, old friend.”

“Emphasis on the I don’t give a fuck.”

“Ba—”

“At least not until you need my help, right?” Cainon jabs.

I massage my temples, wondering if Kai has any air pockets in his loot-den so he can swim me down for a vacation. “Baze, just go. I’m a big girl, and I can look after myself.”

“With all due respect,” he replies, returning his attention back to his nails, “your actions of late contradict every word that just came out of your mouth. And while you still live under this roof, it’s my job to make sure you’re safe. If he stays, so do I.”

Cainon opens his mouth, but I cut him off with a glare that ... strangely seems to work. Eyebrow arched, he perches on the edge of my vanity and settles in for the show.

It grates me—having an almost stranger in my space—but I want to hear what he’s got to say. And as for Baze; I don’t want him to leave just yet.

We need to have words.

“I’m not asking you to abandon post, Baze. Just sink down a few steps and give me some privacy.”

He hisses despite my placating tone that betrays none of my bubbling desire to kick the crap out of him, then finally does what I asked, mumbling something about being overpaid and underappreciated as he disappears from sight.

Cainon’s features harden.

He stalks toward me, and I shiver from his razor-blade perusal. “You don’t look so well.”

“I’m fine,” I say, toying with the end of my braid.

“You’re lying to me.”

I absolutely am. And I probably shouldn’t start this relationship relying on my crutch of fibs, but here we are.

He puffs out a sigh and glances around the room, striding toward my painting station—the long wooden bench that curves around a third of my wall space. The windows above usually spill light across the table and potted seedlings lining the sill, but it hasn’t for days because the clouds refuse to shift.

He touches the cloth covering my half-finished piece from Whispers while assessing my collection of rocks, fingers skating over a mini rendition of reaching hands emerging from a lick of gray paint.

My heart pinches, and I look away.

The owner of those arms only lives in my nightmares.

“You paint these yourself?”

“I do.”

He plucks one off the table—the practice piece I did before painting Kai’s stone.

An island of jagged, crystal spires pinned to an otherwise empty ocean decorates the face. There are little birds in the sky and a cherry river flowing from the peak of a cone geyser in the center.

He nods, and I can see some sort of reverence in his eyes as he weighs the stone in one hand. “This one. I know of an island that looks just like this. A place I used to visit with my father ... before he passed.”

His words are heavy, creating a mournful tension that thickens the air and yanks at my heartstrings.

“I’m sorry for your loss, Cainon.”

“It was a long time ago.”

I nod, unraveling my braid to keep my hands busy. “Well ... you can have the rock if you like?”

I expect him to say no. It’s not customary for a female to gift her promised something in return for his cupla, but this seems fitting considering our ... odd circumstances.

“Are you sure?” he asks, cradling the thing like it’s prone to shatter.

“Of course.”

The strong column of his throat works, a smile teasing the corner of his lips as he pockets the piece and advances.

I glance out the window, finger-combing my hair until he’s standing right next to me. Taking the weight of my hair and splitting it off into three sections, he starts to weave a side braid with smooth, controlled motions.

My spine stiffens, heart lurching at the unfamiliar contact.

I watch Cainon’s hands work, a long minute passing before he finally speaks.

“I must return to the Bahari capital. I received an urgent sprite, and my boat will be leaving on the next tide.”

His tone is flat. Unyielding.

Something coils inside me, like a snake preparing to strike.

“And?”

“You will accompany me.”

It’s not a question.

Blood rushes from my face, and I swear my entire tower sways.

I’m not ready.

“N-now?” I stutter, heart hammering, mind scrambling.

What about Shay? And Kai? And who’s going to water my plants? I’m not sure I can trust anyone else to keep them alive.

I steal a glance at that piece of cloth Cainon was touching.

The lump it’s hiding ...

My wall in Whispers isn’t finished. I haven’t even ground down my commissary bluebells and made the damn paint because I’ve been too locked in my own head.

“Now, Orlaith.”

The eviction notice is dropped on my lap like a boulder.

I glance out the window, waiting for words to form on my tongue.

He grips my chin, using it as a handle to turn my head. “You wear my cupla. You’re my promised. I know you’ve been ... sheltered, but for you to continue living under another male’s roof would be uncouth. Especially when that roof belongs to another High Master.”

“I know all these things,” I mutter, glancing down at said cupla.

A shackle or a ticket to free me from a cage I never realized I was living in? I’m not sure. I don’t know anything anymore. It’s hard to tell truth from lie when you’ve spent the majority of your life living under a veil of skin that never belonged to you.

All I know is what I have in front of me. What I’ve always clung to. The thing that has always kept me on track ...

The circles I spin.

I have unfinished turns, and if I leave before they are complete, I’m convinced everything will unravel. That the world will be off-center.

“I can’t.”

He lifts a caramel brow, the line of his jaw hardening.

Hands stilling.

Something flashes in his eyes that makes me feel utterly defenseless.

“Not yet,” I quickly add, painting my lips with a smile. A mask atop a mask. “I have unfinished business I must finalize before I can leave. It’s important.”

To me.

He whips the hairband from my wrist and ties off the braid, then pushes back, stalking toward the western window that overlooks the bay. He plucks a dead leaf off one of my magnolia saplings and flicks it to the floor. “You’re wilting here, Orlaith. It’s obvious to an outsider looking in.”

I hear Baze clear his throat, and my cheeks burn.

I wonder how much of this conversation will be relayed to Rhordyn. If he’ll even care that someone else is taking such a keen interest in my well-being, or if he’ll be more concerned about the fact that he’s losing his blood bag.

Looking at my feet, I twiddle my thumbs ...

I am wilting, but only since I discovered Rhordyn has been lying to me all these years. Since he told me he only did so to maintain a pledge to a dying woman, and I realized I’m more than just a burden.

I’m a thorn in his side.

“So, you want more time?” Cainon asks, jarring me out of my reverie. He sounds open to compromise, and that’s not something I’m used to handling.

I lift my chin and attempt to fortify my spine. “Yes.”

His hands tighten on the windowsill, knuckles whitening, and for a moment I think he’s about to deny me. But with a long sigh, he spins, a silky smile hooking one corner of his mouth and exposing that cheek dimple I’m beginning to grow fond of.

He’s a very handsome man. Deeply masculine, stacked with smooth, confident sex appeal.

This forced pairing could be worse.

He grips the leash of my braid again. “Two days, Orlaith. No more.”

My heart plummets.

That barely qualifies as a compromise ...

“I’ll leave a ship and two personal guards to escort you to my territory when you’ve ...” he clears his throat and glances around, “finalized your affairs.”

I try to ignore Baze’s distant muttering.

“That’s”—ridiculous—”generous of you,” I say with a loose smile.

He pulls my braid until I’m leaning forward and his breath is hot on my ear. “Tug those roots out. Cut them off if you have to. This is not the right place for you.” He drops my hair and spins. “Two days. Or you can expect the escort of an entire fleet.”

My mouth pops open as he stalks through the door without a backward glance.

Why would he make such a ridiculous statement? Perhaps he’s trying to impress me with all his pretty boats. Either that or he thinks the threat will help me pry me from this tower.

All it really makes me want to do is punch him.

His footsteps fade and I finally relax, resting my cheek against the cool kiss of the window while I study the forest far below.

From up here, it looks like a blanket of moss; soft and inviting compared to the jagged edges of Castle Noir. Yet here I am, staring down on that forest as if it’s about to crack its maw and devour me.

“Come in,” I mutter, voice monotone.

Heavy footsteps advance, pausing not too far from me.

Letting my anger simmer until it’s a gusty firestorm, I peel my cheek from the glass, only to be scalded by Baze’s own cinder stare.

My head snaps back. “What?”

“You know what,” he spits, stance widening as if we have swords in our hands and he’s preparing to duel. “What about your training? What about your life and all the people who care about you?” His hands bunch at his sides, knuckles milky. “The ones who would rather die than see you revert back to that small, silent child who never knew how to smile?”

I glare at him for a long moment before shaking my head. “I don’t remember that.”

“Exactly.”

We may not be wielding weapons, but he lands that word like a strike to the back.

He takes a step forward, jerking his chin at my painting station. “Who do you think made your first paintbrush, Orlaith?”

My heart misses a beat, but I maintain my sealed lips and stoic shield, giving his omission something to bounce off.

He points out my western window, arm outstretched. “Who do you think planted that wisteria and sowed your love for growing things? Then watched you smile for the first fucking time when you planted your very first rosebush in the grounds downstairs? The one you grew from a seed? Who, Orlaith?”

Him ...

The backs of my eyes sting, but I refuse to blink. Refuse to let my tears spill. His words are flaming barbs tossed to maim, and the old me would be nursing her wounds ...

But she’s gone.

Right now, his fire has nothing to catch on, because I’m already ash.

I slide off the windowsill and raise my hands to the back of my neck, unclasping the necklace. It drops to the rug with a heavy thud, and that tightness peels off me inch by merciful inch, leaving raw skin that feels as if it’s just taken a life-saving breath.

Baze stumbles sideways, hand darting out to steady himself against the post of my bed, all the color draining from his face as his mouth opens and shuts.

He doesn’t speak. All he does is stare, and I can see bits of my brilliant reflection in his glazed eyes ...

I hate it.

I draw deep, then ask the question that sets a noose around the neck of our life-long companionship. “Did you know?”

“Orlaith—”

“Did. You. Know?”

His shoulders roll forward, and he releases a jagged sigh that fails to sever me from the blow brewing in his beseeching stare. “Yes ...”

It hits like a boot to the chest.

Harder.

It hits so hard I’m surprised I can still breathe.

Part of me wants to hack the wisteria right off the balcony and watch it fall to the ground, because that’s what he just did to us.

I nod. “You’re dismissed.”

His eyes widen and his foot pushes forward. “Laith—”

I reach behind my back, crack the drawer of my console, and tug out the talon dagger—the hilt branding my palm as I unsheathe the weapon and stake it in the air between us.

His next step falters. “Where the fuck did you get that?”

“Does it matter?”

This talon is so much more than a threat, something I know he registers by the way his eyes go flat and defeated. By the way he casts his gaze to the ceiling as if my forgiveness is etched up there on the stone.

It’s not.

I’d rather handle my worst nightmare than accept whatever placation he has to offer.

He’s lost me. Whatever I thought we had, it’s broken.

“No,” he says, swallowing. “I guess not.”

“I said leave.”

He offers a curt nod, then turns and walks from the room, head down, shoulders hunched. I wait until I can no longer hear his footfalls before I sheathe the weapon and toss it at the wall, then fall to the floor and shatter.