tonight. She was trying to make things right, he knew that. Felt it deep in his soul, but sometimes the past was too thick with pain, to full of hurt to simply let it go.
“You look beautiful tonight, Siria,” he whispered, because it was the truth and just for tonight he wanted a truce, a ceasefire to their constant sparring.
Her blond hair was plaited in a thick braid that hung over her shoulder, the very tip of it dangling by her knee. A tiara of gold and jewels so red they rivaled the beauty of a blood rose, winked in the starlight. The gown she wore left very little to the imagination. It was so sheer in places it gave the illusion of nudity, only well placed diamonds covered the parts of her only her man got to see.
Flushing prettily, her smile was wide and without guile. And for just a second Jericho remembered the woman she’d once been, the one he’d fallen in love with.
“Come to my bed, Jericho,” she stepped forward, hands outstretched, eyes soft and tender.
But it could never be.
His smile was sad. “Once, I would have been tempted by that offer. I do not wish to fight with you, Siria. But I must go.”
Shaking her head, she took another tentative step in his direction. “Jericho, you cannot leave me.”
The woman was Aphrodite personified, such beauty should inspire sonnets or song. But it left him empty.
Hanging his head, he shook it. “I’m sorry, Siria. I truly am. I hope someday that we could be friends again, but that is all we could ever be.”
A prickling warmth suffused him, and he didn’t need to turn to know that the veil of night was now his. Clenching his jaw, he turned to look at the colors swirling into a familiar pattern.
But something warned him to keep his true intentions private, at least from Siria’s prying eyes.
“Go home,” he said it softly but firmly.
“Jericho?” His name trembled on her tongue, but nothing else came after it.
He heard the questions in that one word, but he had nothing else to offer, so he said nothing.
After three long agonizing minutes, he knew she’d gone and he breathed a heavy sigh of relief.
In a land where magic was the currency of all, he knew he walked a very fine line. Just as he could not spy on what Siria did during the day, she too could not spy on what he did during the night, but should he give her any cause to be suspicious there were plenty of spies loyal to her within Kingdom who could, and would.
Much as he wanted to go to Calanthe now, he forced himself to think of anything but her. The sky before him that usually only showed him images, had now turned into a spiraling funnel of blue light.
Once a month, between the ephemeral period of waxing and waning the curse of isolation lifted and he could travel the realms. The only way to safely go to Calanthe so as not to raise any suspicion was to first visit each realm and spend a little time there, so that his appearance in the glen would seem more random than planned.
Jumping off the banister, he slid through the funnel, forcing his thoughts to focus on anything but the glen, his first stop was Wonderland.
He wandered about for an hour, walking around and around in circles, nibbling on chocolate vines growing off the chocolate tree, exchanged a few words with the Cheshire, before eventually moving on to upper Kingdom where the cloud people roamed, then to Dwarf Mountain. Which wasn’t nearly as pleasant as he’d thought it might be.
The moment he’d landed on their rocky soil scouts had tried to toss a net over him, chanting that food had been found. He’d not stuck around long enough to decide whether they were inviting him in for a feast, or whether he was the feast.
His last stop had been to Seren, the maids laughed and danced in the waters before him, urging him to take off his clothes and come join them for a small dip. And he might have taken them up on that offer, had he not wished to see Calanthe with the desperation of a man starving.
It was sheer
Learning to Kill: Stories