Page 77 of What Blooms from Death

“So what is it about us—together—that makes this realm and its beings come back to life?”

Come back to life.

The words struck me as impossible, even as I closed my eyes and pictured—with perfect clarity—all theimpossiblethings we’d done together. My balance teetered. I gripped the armrest I sat on so tightly I was likely leaving permanent indentions in its worn upholstery.

This was not why I had come to the Underworld.

I was here because I wanted to return my mother and my kingdom to life—not revive whatever ghosts decided to follow me around down here. I didn’t have time to solve the mystery of this city and its flames, either, or the mystery of the man standing before me.

And yet, what we’d done…it all felt too incredible, too consequential, to ignore.

Someone coughed in the distance, snapping our attention toward the sound. Several long shadows shifted over the floor, stretching out from one of the doors on the opposite side of the room.

No one ever stepped over the threshold, but it was several minutes before we heard footsteps moving away from us—as if they’d lingered by the door, hoping to overhear our conversation.

“…Let’s see if we can find somewhere more private,” Aleksander suggested, stepping toward me as I rose from the chair.

Pressing a hand to the small of my back, he guided me toward a staircase in the corner of the room. We climbed the spiraling, creaking stairs into a small, lofted area hidden from the space below by banners hanging from the ceiling.

A grime-covered skylight stretched across the middle of the sloped ceiling, offering a glimpse of the tumultuous, hellfire skyand casting the space in a warm, ambient glow. Our footsteps stirred up dust that shimmered like flecks of gold, lending a magical sort of feel to the otherwise dark and eerie space. Most of the beams of light were concentrated toward a raised platform in the loft’s center, where an ornate bench with clawed feet and gold-embroidered cushions stood.

It all reminded me of a fancy viewing box in the theatre my mother and I used to attend in Luscerna—and I was again struck with the thought that it was a strange thing to exist in a city of the dead; who was meant to sit in this place?

And what sort of show might they watch whenever the banners across the ceiling parted?

Aleksander didn’t take his hand away from my back even as we stepped deeper into the loft, well out of sight of anyone below. I didn’t try to move away from him; I was too intrigued by the way I could feel warm magic pulsing through his fingertips. It seemed less wild and intimidating, confined within this more intimate space and fixed to a single point against me.

He finally drew his hand away, drifting back toward the stairs and peering over the curved railing, making certain we weren’t being followed.

“There are eavesdroppers everywhere in this manor, including ones I’m sure we can’t see,” he muttered, casting his gaze about the loft, as though expecting more potential offenders to be hiding even among the dust and cobwebs. “Be careful of what you say.”

I nodded.

I didn’t feel the need tospeakjust then, anyway; all of my questions had quieted, lost in the curious pulse of his magic. I could still feel it against my skin in spite of the space he’d put between us.

He stepped closer again, as though drawn back by that same pulsing—as if he had left a piece of himself in me and he couldn’t stop himself from returning to claim it.

My breath hitched at the thought.

His head tilted curiously in response to the sound. The movement brought half of his face into the light, painting it in rich strokes of red that made his golden eyes seem to burn from within. He didn’t speak. He merely reached an arm around my waist, dragging his fingers across my back, letting them linger on the spot where his magic was starting to leave what felt like a permanent mark.

“It isn’t just me, is it?” My voice was so low that he had to lean closer to hear me, which only made my words come out softer as I said, “You feel what your touch does…” I lifted a hand and pressed it against his chest, watching the shadows moving around my wrist, noticing the way they darkened as soon as my fingers met his body. “…And you see what our closeness seems to trigger, don’t you?”

He looked reluctant to admit it, but he eventually nodded. “I keep expecting the reaction to ease.”

I swallowed hard, trying to manage rational thoughts and explanations despite the disorienting flush spreading over my skin. “Seven years’ worth of magic has been building up in your body, released only during your occasional, erratic wakings,” I pointed out. “A lot of pent-up energy needs to be unleashed before it can have any chance to truly settle, maybe.”

He nodded, though his eyes stayed distant and troubled, unsatisfied with the explanation.

I wasn’t entirely satisfied with it, either. Because it felt deeper—like more than a mere itch that needed scratching, or a dam needing a routine release.

“At least it seems to be agoodthing when we combine, for whatever reason,” I said.

“The question is, can that combined power be controlled in some way?” he asked. “Summoned at will?” His fingers tapped thoughtfully against my back. Each tap sent another vibration of warm power skating along my spine, and soon, I was losing the battle to keep my thoughts steady and rational. Every breath I took sent his warmth deeper, flooding all the way to the tips of my toes, curling them inside my boots.

I lifted my eyes away from the hand I had against his chest. He watched me closely, staring with the same quietly confident gaze he’d fixed on me at the edge of Lake Nyras, as he said, “And would the craving subside if we indulged it, I wonder?”

Craving.

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