Page 41 of The Mask Falling

“I have taken several mates,” Arcturus said, “but I had no great desire for a long-term companion until I met Terebell.”

I had glimpsed his memory of their first meeting. Terebell, dressed in sleek garments, dark hair pouring down her back.

“We were still together when the Waning of the Veils began,” he continued. The civil war. “Throughout the chaos, Terebell was always at my side. We fought hard for the Mothallath. When they were defeated, Nashira chose me as blood-consort.”

“Did you know Nashira before that?”

“Yes. Her opinions were very different from mine, but I respected her for expressing them.” His voice darkened. “Sundering a Rephaite from their mate would have been unthinkable under the Mothallath. Nashira made it clear she had no interest in old customs.”

“But why you?”

“She knew the public surrender of the Mesarthim, who had been most faithful to the Mothallath, would cement her new position. So she took their leader as her war trophy,” he said. “She promised to eradicate my family, as she had the Mothallath, if I refused. When she sent me the head of one of my cousins, I knew what I would have to do.”

“But Terebell is nothing if not proud. When Nashira summoned me to plight my troth to her in public, Terebell challenged her to single combat.” A brief silence. “Nashira had honed formidable skills during the war. She came very close to destroying Terebell.”

Terebell carried herself as if she expected a fight. Her body was a battle cry.

“I stepped in. I swore to Nashira that I would bind myself to her without question or contest, that I would be her servant in all things, and that I would pledge the Mesarthim to her cause in perpetuity, if she spared Terebell,” Arcturus said. “She agreed to these terms.”

As he spoke, his attention drifted to his hands. When I searched his face, he gave me a small nod, granting permission.

It was hard to see by the light of his eyes alone, but I could feel. Carefully, I turned his hand over, brushing my thumb across the heart line of his palm, his broad knuckles. The scars coursed just below them and snaked round to the undersides of his fingers.

“How did you get these?” I asked.

“I stopped her blade. Our weapons are made of a Netherworld element named opaline. It is the only substance that can hew through Rephaite bone.”

Her sword had almost severed his fingers. I wondered if it was the same one she had used to behead Alsafi.

“Terebell has never forgiven me,” Arcturus said. “She believed we should both have given our lives in defiance.”

I realized I was still holding his hand and let go. He gave me an indecipherable look before he clasped them on his chest again.

“You told me once that the flame never goes out,” I said.

“Even the strongest flame can be starved. I will always care for Terebell, and she for me. She has my affection and my allegiance,” he said. “But I will never again be her mate.”

A feeling thickened in my stomach. Not jealousy, but a touch of yearning—for the intimacy they shared, or had once shared. Terebell must know everything there was to know about him.

“I’m sorry,” I said.

“Hm.”

There was a hush between us. I had no idea how to comfort a Rephaite, or if he even wanted it.

“I want you to train me again,” I said. “In possession. I’ll need practice if I’m to possess Frère.”

“Of course.” He turned onto his side, so we faced each other. “Goodnight, Paige.”

“Night.”

I settled into the pillow. At first I was too aware of each tiny movement, worried I might disturb him if I fidgeted too much. Before long, exhaustion towed me down.

Sleep closed me in a tighter vise than it had in a long time. When I stirred in the night, roused by a dog barking in the street, I found that I had moved close enough for my hair to brush his elbow. The glow of a streetlamp had stolen into the room, revealing him to me.

The night we met, I had thought he was the most beautiful and terrible thing I had ever laid eyes on. There was nothing terrible before me now. Sleep had stripped him of his Rephaite armor. He was in the same position, features soft and unburdened, one hand on the sheets between us.

In silence, I turned my hand so it lay palm up, and the shadows of my fingers fell across his knuckles. Then I drifted back to sleep.

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