Sleepless (Curse of the Blood Fox Trilogy, Book #1) (13 page)

“The pain is
gone?” he asked. He was sitting cross-legged, arms folded and expression placid
as a still lake. This picture was a far cry from the Traken I had seen seconds
from the ending of my dream, and I wondered what boiled under the surface.

“Was it your
greatest joy to see me like that?” I asked, and I could not hide the bitterness
in my voice. It was made that much worse by the knowledge that he would answer
“
Of course”
, while wearing one of those provoking grins.

He did not,
though. His hot eyes lingered on a point far away across the room.

“It did not
thrill me. Pain is beautiful on some, laughable on others... but you wear it
like a tortured soul.”

“You make me
sound pitiable,” I said, not sure if I liked this response any better. His eyes
warmed at me.

“You didn't
seem to be in pain when you woke up in Rusuro.”

“I die every
time,” I said, “but I've never felt that before.”

“Maybe the
moon is having an effect.” His tone was light and carefree, and my returning
glare was like shredded glass.

“Or, maybe it
was because
you
were there.” I nimbly moved into a crouch on the bed. “I
don't understand how you could get into my mind like that.”

“Don't worry,
kitten, I am still miserably bereft of those secluded thoughts of yours. The
energy source
Orpheo
is based in the dreamlands. I used a meditation
technique and slipped in through there.”

“But
Orpheo
is for thoughtcraft, and you are not a mind-mage,” I said, suspicious that he
would spring on me that he could, in fact, do that too. Even for a cross-blood,
such a thing could not actually be possible.

“I'm not, but
all magic-users can find the sources, whether or not they can access them. The
dreamlands exist in a plane outside our own, and
Orpheo
connects them,
and so we are all connected to it. I simply followed you to your dream to see
what you were seeing.”

“Why did you
decide you needed to do this?”

“Because I
was curious,” he said. My temper bubbled up beneath the surface.

“I should
stab you.”

“That's what
I was looking for, that fire-color in your eyes. Would you like me to say
sorry?” He was being playful, and yet had I really expected anything else?

“Even if you
said it, you wouldn’t mean it,” I said sourly.

“You aren't
wrong.” He laughed, a gentle cackle, and just like that my anger died away
again. I was too old to hold grudges against a creature whose nature it was to
trick and tease. He was what he was, and I would just have to remember not to
let my guard down around him. At least in this case the only permanent harm had
been my pride.

“I am
surprised at you,” I said, standing. My swords were arranged neatly on the ground
by the bed, along with my hat and bag. “Did you carry me all the way back to
the inn?”

“Absolutely,”
he said, following my lead and stretching his long limbs out. “You are quite
heavy.”

“I was never
meant to be carried. Maybe that will make you think twice about putting me to
sleep.” I shot him a look. “Which you will not do again.”

“It's
daylight outside,” Traken said, turning impishly from me towards the windows.
“Your dream did not seem that long. There must be a heavy distance between the
time out here and the time in there. As is common in dreams, I suppose.”

“I said you
won’t do it again, Traken.”

“I'm going to
sniff out some food,” he continued, and immediately his form warped into the
black dog. He wagged his tail at me, almost tauntingly, and then the edges went
blurry and he was gone.

“You ass,” I
told the empty air.

I would have
wandered off to find my own food, but I wasn't especially hungry. Something
about waking up practically paralyzed must have done it. Instead, I cleaned
myself in the attached bathing room, steering clear of the heavily scented
soaps near the tub; the flowery, spicy smells were strong enough to raise the
hairs on my arms. I was pretty amused by the indoor pump and the creaking of
the pipes in the walls, though, and almost wished Traken was there to share in
the curiosity.

When he still
hadn't returned by the time I was done, I determined that this meant I was free
to leave him behind. I braided my long hair tight, gathered my swords and made
sure everything was still safe in my pack, such as my book and things like the
spiced cheeses, apple bread and Wake-Me-Not roots I had picked up at the
festival. Then I swept open the large white door with an overzealous flourish.

That was,
unfortunately, as far as my grand exit got. As soon as the glossy hallway came
into view, I was greeted with the sight of a large display of flowers in a
basket that took up most of the doorway. They were mixes of different
springtime flora, all purples and whites and yellows, and the bright red basket,
if not the size, made the display deliriously eye-catching. I cleared my throat
and looked around. There was no one in sight down the long expanse of the
second-story hallway.

“Hello?” I
called anyway, sure someone must have dropped the basket there by accident.
Then I noticed a parchment sticking out of some of the vivid greenery. “Fox”
was carefully scrawled at the top of the page in neat script.

“Fox, huh?” I
didn't touch the basket, but fetched a dagger and carefully removed the letter
with the tip of it. I sniffed the paper as it hung from my knife, and took it
into my hands when I was sure it was safe.

It read:

Dear Fox,

I can't tell you how incomplete the rest of the shows felt
last night without you. I am not someone of strong emotion. My mother always
taught me to keep what I felt inside and show no fear. She also taught me that
when I was sure of something to go after it, and that is what I must do.

I have never felt anything like this before, and I cannot let
you leave without telling you. I cannot get you out of my mind, and though I do
not know if you feel the same, I beg to spend at least a little time together
before you leave. Surely your fickle friend can be persuaded?

Yours sincerely, Ro

I stared at
the letter, the image of his tattoo fresh in my mind again. Ro's strong
infatuation was another clear sign of a connection, but it also stirred
resentment in me. The Angelbood's advice was quickly becoming an elaborate web,
and the thought of some impish Fate plotting and pushing behind the scenes did
not sit well. I wanted a say in who I was supposed to put my faith in.

And yet a
conundrum had fixed itself on the situation. The knowledge that I did not want
to accept Ro just because we were being pushed together was balanced by the
nagging suspicion that I would not feel the same way if I had not been told
anything by the Angelblood at all. Had I heard nothing, kept my mouth shut and
come unwillingly with Traken (under the assumption he could catch me), would I
still feel as dissuaded, or would I be using Ro's attention as a way to escape
the sorcerer?

The
complexities of parallel possibilities confounded me. I did not see how
Angelbloods could deal with it on a constant basis.

Suddenly
there was a small click from down the hall, and I looked up. Peeking around the
corner was the young woman I had helped on the stairs the night before, the one
called Catherina. She still had on her long white gown, perhaps a little
worse-for-wear after the festive night, but her sharp face was just as
compelling. Those golden eyes prompted me to lower the brim of my hat, though
it was ridiculous since she had already seen my face.

“Would you
like some flowers?” I asked across the expanse. She shook her head wordlessly,
leaving me disappointed; my book had said that offering gifts went over well
with people. I supposed she just wasn't that kind of “people”.

“There are
men looking for you,” she said. Her voice was small, struggling to make its way
down the hall to me, but I did not fool myself with the idea that she was
timid.

“Well, one
man anyway,” I said, indicating the flowers again. She shook her head, delicate
waves of hair bouncing against her shoulders.

“There was a
group here earlier than that, asking around. They wanted to know if a person
named Fox was staying here. They wore long robes and had unpleasant faces.”

“Oh,” I said,
going tense. A group after my bounty, perhaps? I should have known that
Traken's ridiculous nickname would attract attention, and I supposed all the
nobles in the lobby must have overheard Traken tell the man at the desk our
names, which meant it was already likely that I was being watched.

“That is all
I wanted to say,” Catherina said with a resolute nod, and turned.

“Thank you,”
I called quickly, though she had already disappeared around the corner. There
was no response. 

Hiding the
parchment note in my pack, I closed the door carefully and made my way down the
stairs with eyes much more paranoid than they would have been. The lobby was
silent, and the man behind the counter wasn't even there. It had to be late
morning, if it was still morning at all, but it seemed most of the rich and
privileged were still recovering from their night of merriment. There was no
finding anyone here, suspicious or otherwise, so I made my way to the front
entrance and opened the door to the searing heat of noon.  

Outside,
amidst the slow bustle of foggy-headed townsfolk, the one I found waiting for
me was Ro. He was leaning against one of the pillars of the Marlduk Inn, a
likeness to how Traken had waited for me before, heavy eyes cast down at his
feet. In the daylight he seemed so much larger. His skin was the color of
brass, accentuating the dark lines and crazed yellow eyes of the tribal beast
on his chest. He was still in the costume of the night before; in fact, his
dazed and heavy-lidded gaze told me he had yet to sleep. His whole face lit,
though, when he looked up and saw me.

“Excuse me,
Fox! Fox,” he called, and moved to take my hand and shake it. A drowsy but
pleased smile bedazzled me.

“Hello,” I
said, stealing my hand back casually. “Good to see you made it through your
shows intact.”

“Yes, I....”
The large man, so calm and infallible on the outside, seemed flustered. He
tucked his thumbs into the waistband of his pants. “Well. Now you're here and I
don't know what to say. Did you get my flowers?”

“Yes, I did.”
I realized I wasn't actually carrying them, and attempted a smile. “They aren't
something a traveler like myself can bring along, but they looked nice.”

He nodded,
and rubbed his head sheepishly. “Yes, I hadn't thought of that. I... I don't
mean to seem overbearing, doing all this, but I was afraid I would miss you. I
know your time is precious, but could you spare a little of it?”

An anxious
feeling stirred in my chest, but I knew that the only right way to do this was
let the moment carry out. I nodded, and Ro motioned me over to a shadier spot
of wall along the Marlduk's opal-white exterior.

We both eased
our backs against it, falling down into crouches side by side, and stared out
at the slow-moving passerby and the golden dirt and dust that swirled up from
the street. Now that we weren't looking directly at each other, Ro seemed to
relax.

“I am sorry
for my strange behavior,” he said, holding his hands in front of him with
closed fists. “As I said in my letter, I don't often do this sort of thing.
Just, last night... I felt something there, something stronger than what I have
felt in other people.” He glanced over at me, and his eyebrows went up. “You
are looking at me like I am a fool.”

“Not at all,”
I said with a laugh, hoping I hadn't been. I was having a difficult time
deciding on how to respond. It was still too soon to tell whether I should be
completely forthright or not. “As it is, though, I do not attach myself to
things easily. I recognize the connection you speak of and I like what little I
know of you, Ro, but you need to know that I cannot return any stronger
affections.”

“I
understand,” he said simply, a slight smile melting the hardness of his face.
“I realized when I was up on stage with you that you weren't anything that
could be kept. Strangely, that doesn't bother me. It isn't possessiveness I
feel, but a compulsion to know more. Is that okay?”  

I nodded.
“What would you like to know?”

“Who are
you?” he asked. My lips twitched.

“Isn't that
just the question? There is no answering it. What could you tell me if I asked
you the same?”

“Not much
more than the obvious,” he admitted. “Perhaps that wasn't the right thing to
ask, but the words were closest to what I wanted. You are so young, a woman
just into her adult years it seems, and yet there is a stillness about you
where others would have restless energy.” He tilted his head to meet my gaze
under the brim of my hat, and I shied away. “You are like stone brought to
life, everything trapped inside, yet when you were on stage with those swords I
saw stone turn to liquid fire. It is what I have always sought in my own
training, the merging of the opposites: tranquility and vitality. How do you
accomplish it?”