Page 88 of The Shadow Bride

“You already opened it, Michal.”

“Consider this me closing it again.”

“Consider this me wedging my foot in the door. The only thing you’ve revealed about your rather extensive past is that your father was a cleric and remarried Odessa and Dimitri’s aunt after your mother passed away. Why won’t you tell me more about yourself?”

“Because the past is irrelevant, pet. We cannot live there anymore.”

I study him, worrying a sprig of what smells like wild rosemary, but cannot bring myself to further argue the point. Not right now. Because Michal is right—Iamexhausted, my limbs and eyelids heavy, and never before have I missed the oblivion of sleep as I do in this moment.

“Lou mentioned you took a sleeping draught in Cesarine,” Michal says quietly. “Why?”

I scoff and toss the rosemary away, rubbing its astringent oil between my fingers. “I thought we weren’t allowed to ask questions.”

“If memory serves, you owe me several.”

“You and your wretchedgames—”

“Not this time.” He nudges my arm with his knee, coaxing me to look at him. And because it is Michal, I cannot resist the opportunity to do just that. I glance up at him over my shoulder, taking in his torn shirt, his rolled sleeves, the remnants of crimson on his striking face. He used the scrap of my sleeve to clean the blood as best he could, but—like my gown—the hideous truth of our encounter with the revenant cannot be so easily washed away. “Are you having trouble sleeping, Célie?” he asks.

Perhaps I am too tired for dishonesty, or perhaps I just want to keep telling the truth. To keep tellinghimthe truth. “I haven’t slept since All Hallows’ Eve.”

He stares at me like I’ve just spoken in tongues, his eyes widening slightly. “What?”

“I haven’t slept,” I repeat, heedless of his reaction. “It cannot be too unusual—vampires don’t seem to need sleep, do they? I’m still alive, after all”—I grimace at the turn of phrase—“or rather, my body seems to be fine without it.”

“Seems to be fine without it?” Incredulous now, he pushes from the tree, his hands sliding from his pockets as the full weight of his stare lands upon me. “Célie... are you telling me you haven’t slept in over a week?”

I rise to my feet too, unsure what else to do. “It isn’t like I haven’ttried. It’s just—when I close my eyes, my body refuses to—I don’t know—relax. Before I took Lou’s draught, I could never settle enough to sink into sleep, but even with it, the sleep felt more like paralysis than true rest.”

“Fuck.” Shaking his head, Michal drags a hand down his faceand asks, “Why didn’t you tell Odessa?”

“Like I said, I didn’t think it mattered.”

“It matters,” he says fervently, dropping his hand. “Vampires might not need sleep in the same way humans do, but we still need it—if not for our bodies, then for our minds. We consume vast quantities of sensory information persecond, Célie, and you’ve maintained consciousness forhundredsof hours. Of course you’re feeling on edge.” With a sound of disgust, he turns away in an effort to collect himself, every line of his body hard and unyielding. Cursing again, he says, “This is my fault. I should’ve been the one teaching you these things, not Odessa. I should’ve—I should’vebeenthere—”

“Then why weren’t you?”

It’s perhaps the most frequent question I asked myself during those long and disturbing hours in Lou’s guest bedroom—why?Whydid Michal turn me after telling me he never would? Why did he let me go to Cesarine after asking me to stay?

As is often the case, the answer he gives is not the answer I imagined.

“I didn’t think you wanted it,” he says simply.

The words are too raw, however, and much too close to the truth to hide what he really means:I didn’t think you wantedme.Instantly, I open my mouth to refute such a brutal claim, or perhaps to not, or perhaps to change the subject altogether, but he speaks again before I can decide. “No time like the present to correct my mistakes. Sit down, Célie. Please.”

Still not looking at me, he jerks his head toward the roots and the rosemary. “Let me teach you how to turn off your senses.”

Turn off your senses.The prospect sounds dangerous in a placelike Requiem, but I return to the soft patch of earth regardless, trusting him, curling my arms around my knees. Michal crouches next to me again. Always crouching. Always tense. To see him sitting, lounging, sprawling like he did on the bank of the stream with me, seems as surreal and out of reach as sleep itself. “Lie back,” he instructs, “and close your eyes.”

I swallow hard. “I don’t... necessarilywantto close my eyes.”

He levels me with a shrewd look. “Why not?”

“Are you really going to make me say it after what just happened?” When he nods, resolute, I grimace. “You know, Michal, you can be a real reprobate sometimes.”

“Andyouknow you aren’t really afraid of the dark.”

“Excuse me?” I blink at him, insulted and also terrified at his discernment. “You confirmed it yourself at L’ange de la Mort while I was still human—nyctophobia, you called it. You heard my pulse spike, saw my pupils dilate—”

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