Asunder

25 SNOWFALL

AS I LEFT his room, I wanted him to stop me. I wanted it so badly I could almost hear the perfect words he’d say to convince me to stay, but when I breathed, those words were lost. They’d never existed. I braced myself on the nearest shelf as my vision tunneled and faded, and up and down became the same direction. Another step. If I could just make it to my bedroomArms wrapped around me and my knees buckled. “No.” Sam’s cheek grazed mine, fresh-shaved stubble. “Don’t go. I need you.”

I jerked out of his arms. “You asked if I wanted to move out. You can’t take back a question like that.

Words don’t just go away.”

His voice came from behind me, soft and stricken. “I didn’t say you had to go.” But his tone sounded like he was figuring it out, how there had been no right answer to his question. Did I want to leave? Live somewhere else?

No, I wanted to be here. I wanted him, the music. “I don’t want you to worry about what’s appropriate or not, or feel like you need to make those decisions without me.” The words barely fit in my mouth. “I know I must seem very young to you, and why would anyone trust me to make choices about anything important? But I’ve been deciding things on my own my whole life, because no one else ever cared enough to help. Not until you.”

Behind me, there was only silence.

How could my heart hurt this much? It shouldn’t be possible that it ached more than my sylph-burned hands. “I don’t feel young,” I whispered, “and I don’t feel like anything we had was inappropriate. I still don’t care what others think. I still don’t think it’s inappropriate for us to touch or kiss. Maybe strange, but strange and inappropriate are different things.”

And maybe I was talking to empty air. Should I turn around?

“I am an idiot.” He said it like tumbling, like if he didn’t get it out quickly enough, we’d both fall apart. But weren’t we doing that already? “I asked if you wanted to leave because I wanted you to know you could. I don’t want you to feel trapped here.”

I stared at my socked feet and focused on breathing, suddenly aware of the entire house around us.

Rooms filled with books and instruments, bedrooms with personal things, the parlor that used to be a haven, and the white shell around everything. Snow and wind beating on that shell.

He held his hand near mine, not touching. “I hate what people say about you. Everyone knows we live together, and everyone knows how I feel.” His words rustled hair across the back of my neck, making me shiver. “The assumptions about us aren’t kind.”

I knew.

“I don’t need that kind of protection, Sam. I’ve lived with gossip my entire life. I can deal with what other people think or assume. Whatever is appropriate for them— they made those rules for them. Not for me.

“While I am”—I snorted—“lucky to have the benefit of everyone’s experience and wisdom, the truth is it’s been so long since any of you were truly my age that you can’t fathom what it’s like. Even if you do remember, the world is different now. You’ve made the world different. That leaves me with the responsibility of deciding what is or isn’t appropriate. If they want, other newsouls might be able to use my experience to decide when they’re ready, but who knows how the world will have changed by then?”

According to Meuric, nothing would matter after Soul Night, anyway.

“So does that mean you’re staying with me?”

“Is that what you want?” Hope blossomed in my heart, but what happened the next time someone suggested a five-thousand-year-old teenager and a real teenager shouldn’t be together?

“More than anything, I want you.”

What happened the next time he saw Stef?

But he’d followed me out here to apologize. He’d danced with me at the masquerade, maybe even attended because of me. He’d been ready to go into the temple so I wouldn’t have to be alone.

I slid my heel back and let my weight follow until I pressed against his chest. His arms closed around me. Warmth filled me everywhere he touched.

“Ana,” he whispered. “I only wanted to do right by you, but I should have talked to you about it, too.

Better than I did the other morning.”

“You and your stupid sense of honor.” My words held no bite. I was too drained, and he’d already apologized. Asking him to do it again would diminish the words.

“I agree.” He kissed the tip of my ear, sending prickles of heat all down my right side. His arms stayed around me, and when I tilted my head and he kissed my neck, it was as though we’d never left the masquerade. Only the music of our heartbeats and wind outside, surrounded only by silk and wood and cool air.

“Try not to be so dumb again.” I faced him, took his hand, and tried not to think about what I was admitting. “I’m not that strong, Sam. I can’t forget the past as easily as you. For me, it’s all right here, smushed together. Not stretched over thousands of years.”

He cupped my cheek and nodded, his jaw clenched tight.

“I’ve never been able to trust anyone before.” And the things I didn’t say out loud, but hoped he understood: please don’t hurt me again; be the person I need you to be; show me what it means to be in love so I can decide whether that’s what I feel.

Fingertips traced lines over my cheek, down my jaw. “I’ll do my best to deserve your trust.”

I lifted my face and kissed him, tasting the salt of my own tears, inhaling the scent of his soap.

He lifted me off the floor, held me tight against him. My skin slipped against my sweater until my toes touched hardwood and air touched my bare spine. He gave a breathy, nervous laugh as he hitched me up again and this time supported me with a hand on the back of my thigh. “Is this okay?” he whispered.

I had lost all power to breathe, but managed to hook my legs around his waist. It was strange, like we were too close and not close enough. His hips moved when he walked, and he kept one hand on my back, and one under my leg so I wouldn’t fall.

He placed me at the foot of his bed, and I recaptured my breath as he knelt before me. “You are beautiful.” His hands rested on my knees. “And wiser than anyone has given you credit for. The world does need you, Ana. You challenge us, make people think and open their eyes to the truths that we’ve been ignoring for too long. Sometimes I’m so aware of how close the world came to not having you at all, and it terrifies me. Our immortality is not without a price.”

“Neither is my life. There was Ciana, and other darksouls.”

He shook his head, black hair falling across his eyebrows. “I’m sorry that I disappoint you sometimes, Ana. I know I’m not perfect. No one is.”

I tried not to think about how many times I would inevitably disappoint him. I’d want his forgiveness when I did. I could forgive him now.

“There is something I am good at.” He ducked his head as though to hide a blush, and his hands on my legs forced my insides into taut coils of yearning. “At least I hope. I imagine you would tell me if I’ve been doing it wrong this whole time.”

“Music?” I bit my lip. I’d never heard him so much as play an out-of-tune note.

He raised himself, leaned so close his words touched my mouth. “Kissing you.”

I couldn’t move. “Prove it.”

His sly smile flashed as he tilted his head and tipped his chin toward mine. Our lips brushed, but instead of kissing me, he rested his teeth against my skin and gave a gentle squeeze. His voice was so low it rumbled in my stomach, too. “I just wanted to find out if it tasted as good as I imagined.”

“And?” He hadn’t hurt me, but I could still feel the slight pressure where his teeth had been.

Maybe he’d do it again.

He leaned close and whispered by my ear. “Better.”

Wind and snow pattered on the shuttered window while we kissed. He touched my face, throat, collarbone, making me feel like a piano must under strong, skilled fingers. But his movements dragged, and even the cadence of his breath sounded off, as though he was trying not to yawn.

“When was the last time you slept?” I cupped my hand over his cheek, feeling the way his jaw moved when he answered.

“I don’t remember.”

Not since we’d found the parlor, I was certain. Even before that had merely been a couple of hours in the early morning. He must be exhausted.

“Lie down. I’ll turn off the light.”

He kissed me again, as if to prove he wasn’t that tired, and then stretched across the bed. “Stay with me,” he said, as I made the room fall into twilight.

I paused, wanting him to mean it.

“Please,” he whispered.

“Okay.” I emptied my pockets and laid my belongings on his nightstand. Then I crawled into the bed, facing him. Everything was so dark, I could barely see the shape of his body, and for a moment, my frantic heartbeat seemed the loudest thing.

“Blanket?” He reached around behind him to find the end.

“I am cold,” I whispered. And if he heard the shaking in my voice, maybe he’d think it was from chill.

He swept the sheet and down-filled comforter over us. “Closer?”

Yes. Definitely. I reached for him, relieved to find him reaching for me, too. His hands found my waist and pulled me tight against him. “Sam, I don’t know—” His tone sounded like a half smile. “It’s okay. We’ll figure it out another time. I just want to hold you right now.”

That was good. I wanted— something. But I didn’t want to do it wrong and embarrass myself. I probably would, anyway, if we ever got that far. But for now, I turned over—awkward in my day clothes —and pressed my back to his chest. Our legs intertwined, and I knotted my hands with his at my chest.

I slept.

And later woke to perfect snow silence outside, no wind or rattle of trees or clucking of chickens.

Light seeped in around the shutters. I found which legs were mine and reclaimed them, then turned in Sam’s grasp. His hands were slack and heavy with the carelessness of sleep.

He rolled onto his back as I finished turning, and blankets pulled away. The susurrus of silk and our breathing were the only sounds.

Pale light shone around him, making highlights and deep shadows around the ridges of his face and neck, down his torso and arms. Hesitating—what if he woke up?—I combed dark strands of hair off his face, then traced the lines of his cheekbones and smile.

He didn’t react; he must have been exhausted.

Brave when he wasn’t watching, I pushed onto my elbow to get a better angle, then kissed the same path my fingers had taken. He smelled like laundered sheets and hints of sweat.

My fingers had wandered down his chest while I wasn’t paying attention. Through the thin shirt, I explored hills and valleys of muscle, relaxed while he slept. I discovered the plains of his stomach and lifted his shirt to the bottom of his ribs, finding smooth skin, warm with sleep. He moaned.

I froze. “Are you awake?” Barely worthy of being called a whisper.

Muscles tensed beneath my questing fingers. “I am now.”

My face might have been on fire as I withdrew, but it was dim enough—I hoped—that he couldn’t tell.

“Sorry.”

He dragged in a shuddering breath and gazed at me for a long moment. “I wasn’t expecting that kind of wake-up.”

“You didn’t think I’d still be here?” I could have gone back to my room, but he’d been so warm and“No, I’m glad you were here.” He pushed himself up, covers swishing around his legs. His shirt slipped back down, settling askew on his shoulders, and his smile was warm and shy. Boyish. “I like seeing you first thing.”

“Oh, good.” I doubted it was possible for my face to burn any hotter.

“Just the way you—” He dragged his fingertips from my shoulder to my wrist, making me shiver. “I didn’t realize we were doing that now.”

What? Touching? We touched all the time. Or maybe I’d ventured into one of those places I didn’t know about, just wanted to. Well, this time had been different: he’d been sleeping, which might have been a little creepy of me, but I doubted that was it. My hands on his stomach, though…

My own stomach muscles tightened when I remembered the way he’d caressed me during the masquerade. Tickling. Tingling. Deeper. “Oh.” The word came as a breath. “I think we should. Be doing that now, I mean.” Maybe right now.

His smile grew slowly, as if he knew my thoughts. I sort of hoped he did. “Did you sleep well?” he asked instead.

“Yes.” I scooted to the edge and let my legs dangle off. My toes brushed the floor as I gazed around at the bookshelves and old instruments crowding his bedroom. As long as I kept my back to the exterior wall, it was a safe room, all dimness and comforting things. Music. Sam. “Your bed is softer than mine.”

Sam chuckled and sat beside me. “They’re exactly the same.”

“They are not. Yours is better.” I didn’t really want to argue, but little bickering neither of us would take seriously—I knew how to deal with that. It was easier than asking him to show me what else we were doing now. I could barely think those words, let alone say them.

“Very well. It is better.” His mouth grazed my cheek. “When you’re with me.”

Eventually, my skin would stain red. Permanently. “Do you think it’s still snowing?”

“Sounds like it. Can’t you hear?”

I held still, listening as hard as my ears could manage. “It sounds like settling. Breaths drifting and sighing. The quiet groan of trees and roofs as they bear more weight.”

“Yes.” Covers hissed as he scooted closer and wrapped his arm around my waist. “I love that you hear it, too. That it sounds the same to both of us.”

I did, too. “I want to learn everything, Sam. All about music, every instrument. I want to compose things I hear in my head at night—things that aren’t yours or anyone else’s—and I want to find a way to mimic the sound of snowfall.”

His fingers twisted in my sweater, drawing my gaze to meet his wide, dark eyes.

“Maybe you want to do it alone,” I whispered, “and I understand if you do. But if you’ll accept, I want to help you rebuild everything that was in the parlor.”

He kissed me, warm and hard enough to make me dizzy, but his arm around my waist stayed; he didn’t let me spin away. “I love you.” It was his voice, but his lips rested against mine so my mouth made the shape of the words.

“I wish I could tell you that, too.” My heart thudded too quickly. “Whenever you say it, I feel so good and happy. But guilty for keeping the goodness to myself.”

“That’s not how it works.” He kissed me again, as if the act would force me to accept his way of thinking. “Besides, I can wait.”

Another benefit of being ancient: immeasurable patience.

My feelings were deep and overwhelming and confusing, but at the same time the emotion filled me with a sense of belonging. This boy. This soul. We were tied together with something stronger than anything physical. With him, I was not a soul asunder.

A quiet rumble came from the front of the house, drawing me to my feet. “What’s that?” I grabbed my things from the nightstand and wandered into the hall, to a front-facing window.

“A plow.” Sam followed. “It’s like the drones we saw on the way back to Heart. There it is.” He held a curtain aside, revealing a vehicle with a large scoop on the front. It heaved up to the steps—shoving a pile of snow to block the door—and turned to clear the other half of the walkway.

“Okay, so it works here, but what about people like Cris who have about three places you’re allowed to step?”

“The price of filling your walkway is the plows don’t clear it for you. And they’re not very good about the doors. It’s going to be tough to escape. I might need your help.”

Because I was so strong. Right. But I caught the way he tried to stop his smile, and I rolled my eyes.

“I’m worried about him and Stef.” I could see slivers of her house from this window. Or maybe that was just more snow.

Sam released the curtain and leaned on the wall, something I still couldn’t make myself do. “Me too.”

I checked my SED, but she hadn’t replied to my messages. I sent another, and one to Cris, asking again if they were okay. I hated that neither were home during a storm. “Where could they be?”

“Wish I knew.” The thinking line deepened between his eyes. “After the explosions and what happened downstairs, their absence is especially worrisome.”

“I think it was Deborl. Merton. Their other friends.”

Sam frowned. “He’s a Councilor.”

“So was Meuric, and he tried to lock me in the temple. He got Li and Merton to attack us after the masquerade. Being a Councilor didn’t stop him, and it wouldn’t stop Deborl.”

Sam gazed at nothing down the hallway. “You think he’d set explosives to kill people who might be pregnant with newsouls? Or break into our house and destroy”—his voice hitched—“my instruments?”

“I have no doubt.”

Sam reached for my hand, squeezed my fingers. “All right, so what do we do? If he’s attacking newsouls, we need proof.”

“Sine is having someone watch them.”

Sam nodded. “That’s a start. Who knows? Maybe he’ll get himself caught.”

I rather doubted that, but since I’d definitely get caught and thrown in prison—or worse—if I tried to sneak into Deborl’s house and see if he had my things, Sine’s people would have to do. “You know what still bothers me?”

“I can’t even count that high.”

I stood on my toes and messed up his hair, then started down the hall. Just being close to the exterior wall made me squirmy. “If the explosions were coincidence—not a response to the meeting—all right.

But how did they know about the books and Menehem’s research?”

Sam shook his head. “Did you talk to anyone else about it?”

“No.” I leaned on the balcony rail. “Well, Cris told me he had some ideas about my symbols, but no one else was with us. Sarit, Lidea, and Wend had just walked away.”

“Cris wouldn’t have done any of these things.”

No, he wouldn’t have. “So now they have the key, the books, and the research. They have everything and we don’t have anything.” I slouched, despair building inside me. How could I protect newsouls if I couldn’t even protect a few inanimate objects?

Sam put his arm around my shoulders. “They don’t have everything.”

I shivered deeper into his embrace. I wanted to say something nice to him, anything to let him know how much I appreciated him and how glad I was we weren’t fighting anymore. But I didn’t want to sound stupid. There was one way to show him.

I pressed my palms on the balcony railing, overlooking the ruined parlor. “I’m ready to share something with you.”

He waited.

I refused to hesitate. “My notebook isn’t a diary.” I pulled it out and flipped it open to the first page to reveal hand-drawn bars of music, scribbled words in the margins, and doodles everywhere. “Maybe it sort of is, I guess. Just not like the ones everyone else keeps.” I gave Sam the notebook. “I don’t think I’m very good at being like everyone else.”

“I wouldn’t want you to be.” He sat on the top stair and turned pages, reading the words and music; they were both his language.

I sat next to him, elbows braced on my knees while I fidgeted and felt naked. Paper fluttered as he turned another page, and another. When he hummed a couple of measures, I cringed, but he kept reading without comment. Then he closed the notebook.

“It’s not finished,” he said, giving it back.

“Not yet.” Maybe not ever, but I hadn’t been writing it to finish something. I’d been writing emotions, because I didn’t always have words for what I wanted. But there was always music, and sometimes it seemed like the most powerful thing in the world.

“Have you played any of it?”

I held the notebook to my chest, pressing the music against my heart so hard it might leave permanent impressions. “I’ve been too afraid of what it might actually sound like outside my head.”

Sam stood and offered his hand. “It may be time to find out.”

Maybe he was right.