Page 65 of Envious Of Fire
Kaleb chomps down on the tender piece of meat, its juices running down his chin, savory and cooked to perfection. Then he helps himself to a bite of the most exquisitely seasoned melt-in-your-mouth vegetables he’s ever tasted. Even the water has a crispness to it he cannot describe. Then another bite of tender, juicy meat that falls apart over his gnashing teeth.
This is how his meals have been for the past two days.
“Good evening,” said the man in a fancy suit just last night, whose only purpose in existing seems to be presenting food to Kaleb with overabundant grandeur. “Enjoy our buttered lobster served with our house-made linguine and garlic ciabatta bread.”
“Would you like to browse our choices of wine?” asked the man later on. “Anything you wish.”
“I can fetch you dessert of your choosing,” he also said, his head bowed to Kaleb. “Chocolate, perhaps? Vanilla custard? A fruit dish? Fresh cake? Or perhaps asavorydessert, such as—”
Kaleb slept each night on a full stomach, resting upon what he is sure is the most comfortable mattress that’s ever existed, a perfect balance of firmness to support his back and softness to ease his body. By the second night, he even slept with his door open, feeling the opened door had somehow become a symbol of his new life. And during the daytime, he would spend hours at one of the chairs in the hallway or near one of the large bay windows reading a book about the rise and fall of the Roman Empire. Many would pass by in the hallway, chatting, laughing,or entirely stoic and business-faced—perhaps other associates or employees of the House. Kaleb didn’t know any of them, but he looked up each time one passed and made sure to smile and nod respectfully. He didn’t mind that neither his smile nor nod was ever returned. He felt lucky to be here, begrudging nothing to no one.
Tonight is no exception, as he carries his glass of wine back to his room, sets it on a side table, then picks up his violin and decides to practice. As promised, someone had come to replace the stiff violin with his old used one from the cells. The familiar strings are so much easier on his fingers, and he feels one with the instrument as he teases an improvised tune out of its supple body, the strings seeming to sing with so little effort.
He hasn’t dreamed about the fire in days, nor the face of the angel who saved him from it.
Kaleb relishes in the warm water of the shower as he bathes and lathers soap over his body. He smiles into the mirror as he dries off, hugs the soft towel, rubs his hair, inspects his face. He sits on the end of his bed wearing just underwear—the cleanest and softest underwear imaginable—and reads the next chapter in a book he plucked off the shelf. It is a story, serendipitously, about an angel come down from the heavens to live among the mortals, but finds himself conflicted when he falls in love with a troubled woman he can’t seem to help. Each time he tries, her life becomes worse. Kaleb can’t help but picture his own angel in the role of this character—a man with short blond hair, tangled and artfully messy, with hazy blue eyes that seem just as caring and magical as they do mysterious. Even during the darker parts of the story, Kaleb finds himself riveted, excited to see how the angel will strive to do what he feels is right no matter the consequence, striving to save the woman from her disasters, to bring good.
He wishes he could meet his own angel again.
After setting the book aside, eyes too tired to read another chapter, he is reminded of a note left on his nightstand. With a smile, he takes it and skims over the words. It’s Raya, explaining she will be gone on an errand with Tristan tonight—“another insufferable one, to be precise”—and hopes to visit Kaleb when she returns, hopefully before the sun has risen. She can’t wait to hear his music, as it is the only thing lately that brings her joy.
Kaleb can’t wait, either.
Deciding to stay up late tonight for her, he gets dressed in a nice shirt and comfortable pants, then takes his wineglass and lets himself out of the room. The hallways are quiet at this hour with few passersby, so it is alone that he goes for a stroll. He hasn’t explored too much beyond the sitting and dining areas outside his room, afraid to get lost. This place is reprehensibly big, and after the difficult time he had with Nico and the others attempting to navigate its lower halls, Kaleb has no desire to become lost in its maze again. As he comforts himself with an occasional sip of wine, he strolls down the uninhabited halls, past the large main bay window, past the sitting area with tiny tables and cushy armchairs, and stops at the banister next to a set of stairs that curve down to a lower level. His curiosity gets the best of him, or perhaps the wine gives him courage, so he decides to take the stairs down.
The base of the stairs opens to a large banquet hall, tables dressed in red tablecloths completed with tall floral centerpieces, spread out in all directions. He walks along the perimeter of the room, curious, passing under sconces of golden light along the walls. In the center of the room is a large circular stage, empty, but ready for some grand guest. He smiles at it, lifts his glass as if in a cheer, giggles, then continues through the room.
An archway to the side leads him into a narrow hall, warmer in hue, with several doors lining both sides. He takes anothersip, feeling as light as a feather, as he turns another corner.
Suddenly the hall opens to an enormous forest. Kaleb comes to a stop, nearly spilling his wine, startled by the abrupt change in atmosphere. He peers over his shoulder to check that the hallway still exists behind him. It does. Ahead, he sees lush, beautiful trees ten times his size, forming a canopy over the path, which changes smoothly somehow from carpet to colorful cobblestone. Kaleb lets out a small laugh of disbelief, amazed as he proceeds into the vibrant forest. He notices with a start that high above him, the ceiling is a glass dome. Overhead, translucent butterflies in every color imaginable flutter among the trees, bathed in light. What light? Is it moonlight, sunlight, or some kind of magical light sent by the gods? He laughs again, then draws silent, grin still spilling over his face as he lets his eyes drink in the wonders all around.
The forest seems to go on in all directions, too. The pathway splits so many times, it isn’t long before Kaleb becomes turned around with no idea how to get back to his room. Somehow, he experiences none of the panic he did in the lower levels when he became lost with his friends. He wishes they could all be with him right now. They would finally understand, just by virtue of the breathtaking sights he’s witnessing now, how incredibly wonderful these gods and goddesses are.
That’s when he spots a clearing at a large intersection of the cobblestone paths, which fork out in a dozen directions. He stands right in the middle and stares up where there are no trees. There is a full moon shining through the glass ceiling like a spotlight. He can’t close his mouth, awed by the beautiful scene.
“It is a lovely view, is it not?”
Startled by the voice, the wineglass slips from Kaleb’s hand, crashes onto the cobblestone by his feet. He gasps. “Oh, no.”
“It is fine.”
Kaleb turns. For a second, he doesn’t even see her.
Until she moves, and the green of her dress separates from the green of the forest. It’s Ashara. Her heels softly click upon the path. She stops some distance from him, peers upward. “I regret to say it is not an actual view of the moon. Like so many parts of this house, it is illusion, a mere imitation of the night sky.”
Kaleb wonders if she was joking earlier when asking about the lovely view. “It is still lovely, ma’am,” he decides to answer. “Any view is worth enjoying. I … I haven’t enjoyed any sort of view … in years.”
Ashara appears moved by that. “Perhaps I should speak to my brother. The humans who live in the lower floors, they deserve to have windows to enjoy, too, yes?”
Kaleb wonders what they would see through such a window. He always got the sense that the lower floors were underground.
“They would be illusionary,” Ashara adds, as if in answer to the question on Kaleb’s face. “Just as this glass over our heads is.”
He gazes back up at the domed sky. “It looks so … real.”
Ashara seems to find that funny. “I am sure you have heard many things about us. I trust enough in you to admit that yes, even our kind have certain vulnerabilities. The most obvious of which, of course, is sunlight.” When Kaleb looks at her again, he finds her giving him the fond gaze of a mother. “You should come to this spot during the daylight hours, sweet Kaleb. The illusion is quite impressive.”
“I will,” he agrees, nervously returning her smile.
