Page 40 of The Mask Falling

“It’s fine. I should try to get used to it again.”

With aclick, the room turned black. My throat pulled tight. “What are you reading?” I asked, to distract myself.

“Poetry.” Arcturus turned a page. “Do you like to read, Paige?”

“I’ve flicked through my share of penny dreadfuls, and my grandparents both used to tell me stories,” I said, “but I’ve never had the patience to sit and read for hours. I’d like to.”

“I am of the considered opinion that for every person, there exists a book that will sing to them. I trust that you will find yours.”

I smiled. “I’ll keep an eye out.”

In the past, I had found him unnerving in the dark. Seeing him now did give me a chill, but not an unpleasant one.

For a while, the only sound was turning pages. It reminded me that I was no longer alone. Just as I was on the cusp of sleep, Arcturus said, “In the colony, I told you that the golden cord may have formed because we had saved each other’s lives several times.”

“I remember.” His words took a while to take root in my sleep-thickened thoughts. “You weren’t sure, though.”

“No. It was simply all I knew of the cord. An obscure myth of a bond between two spirits, forged by mutual loyalty. I have never found another Rephaite who confessed to having one.”

“Mm. It’s strange,” I murmured into the pillow. “Just us.”

“Yes.” A long stillness. “Paige, there is something I have concealed from you.”

My eyes fluttered open again. “Okay.” When he was silent, I said, “I’m listening.”

“Forgive me. I took an oath of silence.”

“Arcturus, as your friend, I think it’s my duty to inform you that you’re not a twelfth-century monk.”

“It is not only monks who honor such oaths.”

“If you say so.” I was so deeply burrowed into the duvet in that I had to squirm a bit to face him. My blood ran like honey. “If you can’t tell me the secret, why tell me it exists?”

“You will work it out yourself. You are perceptive, and you have all the pieces. Sooner or later, you will fit them together,” Arcturus said. “When you do, I want you to know that I did not wish to keep it. That it is the last truth I will hide from you.”

At length, I said, “All right.”

There was nothing else to be done. Still, it was rare for him to be in a confessional mood. I folded the pillow in half and returned my head to it, so I was propped up a little. Sleep could wait.

“You didn’t trust me with your secrets in the colony for a long time,” I said. “When did that change?”

“The night you saw Nashira strike me in the tower. Later, you followed me to the chapel. It showed that you cared for me in some measure. If you cared, you could not mean to betray me.”

He had been forced to greet her on his knees. It had taken me too long to see that he was also her prisoner.

“Did she often hurt you?” I asked softly.

“When she judged me in need of instruction.” He was impassive. “Our betrothal was a private war. Nashira believed that, sooner or later, she would cleanse me of my traitorous ideals. That I would come to see what her loyalists saw, and desire her. For two centuries, she sought to break my resolve. Perhaps it is the nature of a binder to believe all spirits can be claimed.”

Likely. Jaxon certainly thought he could own anyone, living or dead.

Had I been more awake, I might not have asked what I did next. Drowsiness had softened my inhibitions.

“Terebell used to be your mate,” I said. “She isn’t now.” The cord tensed. “Sorry. I’m prying.”

“I sifted through your memories more than once. You have a right to ask for mine.”

I sat up a little more. My body gathered the black threads of sleep, like a bird collecting pieces for its nest, but I wanted to hear this.

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