Day 17 of the War

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Ayla stayed in the Memory Room until night fell, and then she headed to the only place she could see herself going. Loran’s room. Her heart pounded as she slipped down the stairs of the northern quarter castle and toward the door that would lead her to the eastern quarter.

She walked with steady footsteps, magic padding the bottom to keep quiet as she crept into the long hallway. She found the stairs to their common room and climbed with caution, keeping her head up and anticipating the worst. Her unsteady breathing and the loud thumping of her heart echoed in the stairwell.

She made a quick choice presented with twelve staircases, choosing the third. As she bolted up the stairs, her blood surged in her ears like a waterfall. Ayla faced a semi-transparent ice door with hesitation. What if this wasn’t the right one?

It opened before she could turn back. A hand reached out and grabbed her wrist from the darkness and pulled her inside. She moved against Loran’s body as he closed the door behind her looking disheveled—his hair a messy mop of bed head, his shirt half tucked into his pants. He pressed her into the door, scowling at her.

“Were you sleeping?” she whispered.

“No,” he whispered back. “What are you doing here, Ayla? This is beyond dangerous. I can’t believe you’d do something this stupid! You promised me.” He paused, his scowl disappearing as he looked over her face. “What’s wrong?”

She swallowed. “I’m fine.”

His face melted in concern. His hand slid to the back of her neck as his head dropped to hers, his forehead resting against hers. “Why do you always say that when it’s obvious you’re lying?” he asked.

She closed her eyes, debated in her head. “I don’t know…” She shook her head as her heart jumped into her throat, his hair brushing across her skin like feathers. “Don’t want you to worry. I didn’t mean to break my promise, I just had to see you.”

“What would you have done if you’d gotten the wrong room?” he asked, voice tight. Deep lines etched onto his forehead, dark circles sat under his eyes, and shadows tugged at the corners of his mouth. Moonlight hit the planes of his high cheeks and the bump on his nose. The bump she’d given him. She remembered Loran telling Ashor about it at the Illutu meeting.

That was just three weeks ago.

Her eyes stung and threatened fresh tears. It’d been at that same meeting her uncle, Loran’s mom, and Ishkur had talked about the sacrifices Evraz and her dad had made. She hadn’t known that her father’s best friend had been Loran’s father. Why hadn’t Loran ever told her?

She grabbed his thick shirt and clenched it in her fists. “Your hair’s getting long,” she said. “Do you want me to cut it for you?”

He sighed, his breath tickling her face. He moved away from her to his desk chair and pulled it away. “Not with your scythe, right?” He took a seat, his eyes flashing in the moonlight.

She wondered if he could smell the blood of his father on the blade. “No, I don’t think so.” She set it by the door, ignoring the absent feeling on her palms, and she moved to Loran.

“There’s a knife in the top drawer. Might want to light a candle, too.” He glanced to her over his shoulder. “I don’t want a missing ear.”

She found the knife and lit a few candles, setting them beside Enki’s daggers on his desk. She ran the blade over his dark, tousled locks the same way she always did when she cut his hair.

“I’m sorry,” he said, catching a piece of his hair in his hands. “About your dad. About that kiss. About Ashor. About not visiting you… I’ve been terrible lately.”

She finished with everything but the front of his head. She slid in front of him and he opened his legs, allowing her to stand between them. He kept his eyes lowered as she measured out the length.

“You don’t need to apologize,” she said. “I’m…” She made a precise slice and then dropped her hands to her sides. She tightened her grip on the knife, squinting her eyes against her urge to cry again.

He lifted his head, waiting for her to continue.

“I’m sorry about your dad, Loran. Sorry for being so stupid…”

Sadness sat on the tightened muscles of his face. “How’d you find out…?” His hands lifted to her waist, holding her like a delicate child.

“You’ve got the same last name…” She felt her eyebrows wrinkle together and tighten without her control. “Did you keep it from me?”

“I didn’t want you to feel bad for me.” His hands slid to the small of her back and pulled her closer. “I don’t blame your dad. I didn’t want you to, either.” His touch was warm, soothing.

“I feel like a horrible friend,” she whispered, blinking back tears and moving her fingers into his hair again. Heat dove into her stomach, into her intestines, and down to her feet. “Just a few more pieces and you’ll be good.”

She tried not to let the feeling of his hands distract her as she measured out the length in front again and continued slicing through the dark locks. When she finished, she pulled away from him with reluctance and replaced the knife in the drawer.

“Thank you, Ayla,” he said.

“You’re welcome.” She leaned against the desk, watching his profile in the candlelight. “You don’t need to feel bad about my dad.” She swallowed and stared into the shadows of the vaulted ceiling. “Or the kiss. Ashor’s death wasn’t your fault. And it’s dangerous for you to visit me, too. I don’t want you to get hurt…”

He remained motionless.

“Loran.” Her voice shook. “I don’t want to fight you. I don’t want you to do what your dad did. Promise me you won’t.”

His back tightened. “I can’t promise you that.” He hunched over and raked both of his hands through his hair.

Her heart fell like a tree hit by lightning. “What?” she asked, breathless. “Don’t tell me tha—”

“—I love you,” he said, voice ragged. “I’d die for you. This War has been hell.” He stood and started to pace half the length of his round room, digging his fingers into his hips. “I miss talking to you every day. I miss spending time with you. I miss you so much I feel it in my blood, in my muscles, in my bones.”

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Her lungs and her heart stopped working. Her magic escaped her as he moved to her, wrapping his fingers around her hands as she stared at him. His blue eyes dulled, his magic seeping into her as if she was floating down a calm river.

“You wanted to know why I kissed you,” he said, his warm body leaning into her. “It’s because I wanted to feel your lips in case I never had another chance. I don’t regret it. I should’ve asked first.” He moved a hand from hers and cupped her face. “Can I kiss you now?”

“Yes.” She tipped her head back and welcomed his lips and the feeling of her heart consuming her entire body as it rushed heat beneath her skin.

His hand moved into her hair, his fingertips massaging her scalp. His other hand snaked around her waist. She held him close as his tongue slid over hers. She could hear her heart surging in her ears and she could feel his against her chest.

It felt right. His lips were perfect. She remembered all the times she daydreamed about this moment when she was younger. She remembered fearing he would never like her back because he was five years older than she was and abandoning her crush. She remembered how hard it was trying to act normal around him, like a friend or a little sister until it was just a natural act.

That’s all it had ever been—a glorified act.

She’d just fallen deeper in love with him until her heart was irretrievable. She’d ignored it and battled against her feelings this whole time. Ayla couldn’t be happier than being in his arms with their lips locked.

He pulled away and hugged her closer, pulling her head into his shoulder. “I made the stupidest deal with Ereshkigal. I hope you can forgive me.” He swallowed and dropped his head next to hers. “You heard us. Did you hear everything?”

“No,” she said, gripping the back of his shirt. “What was it?”

“If I win the war, she’ll make it so mageians will have the same amount of magic as therians.” He groaned and she felt it vibrate against her body. “I didn’t know what I was agreeing to. If I win, she’s going to take away every mageian’s magic. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

Ayla stiffened, but forced herself to accept that he’d made the deal. What happened had happened—they couldn’t change either of their deals now. “We just have to tie,” she said. “Maybe a tie will negate our win.”

“Do you think she’ll let that happen?”

“I don’t know.”

She swallowed and rested her head against his neck. She felt his pulse against her cheek and felt content with the dull rhythm. She closed her eyes before she could feel her eyes water, but felt the tears slide between her eyelids.

“All we can do is try,” he said. “And if that doesn’t work—”

“No.” Her voice wavered. “If you die, I want to die. I’m not letting your dad sacrifice himself for nothing… Or Ashor.” She swallowed. “Or you.”

He lifted her chin with his hand. “If you die, I’m dying with you.”

She bit her bottom lip and he kissed her again, his lips lingering on hers and his breath warming her lips. Her hands fell to his sides, gripping his shirt as his tongue ran along the roof of her mouth.

“We should strategize,” he said, his lips moving against hers. “We have two mageians and three therians to take out before we can tie, and we can’t let ourselves be obvious.”

She liked the idea of spending more time with him. “Yes. That’s a good idea. As long as we can hold out until the Illutu make a move.”

He nodded. “We have all week. Why don’t you get some sleep?”

She sucked in a breath. Sleep? Now?

“Yes, Ayla.” He chuckled. “You will have to sleep.”

“What about you?”

“Not a priority.”

Ayla reached behind herself and pinched the flames with her fingers, icy magic on her skin. She moved away from him and grabbed his hand, yanking him toward the bed. She stepped down onto it and took a seat, pulling him with her. He sat with a thump next to her.

“I can’t sleep with you like we used to,” he said, standing up again.

She caught his wrist and he didn’t resist. “Why not?” she asked.

“I don’t trust myself with you anymore.”

“I trust you.” She tugged on his wrist and he groaned before sitting next to her again.

“I can never say no to you,” he mumbled, reaching over and starting to slip her shoes off. “Your dad would probably kill me if he knew I was sleeping in the same bed as you.” He set her shoes on the floor by the bed and then pulled the covers back for her.

“He doesn’t need to know.” She slipped under and held out her arm for him.

He sighed and climbed under the covers with her. She moved an arm around his waist and moved into his body, enjoying the warmth of his skin through her clothes. His arm wrapped around her, pulling her close. She smiled to herself.

“What’s your dad like?” Loran asked after a few moments of silence. “I knew him when I was little,” he explained. “He was like a second dad to me.”

Her stomach churned. “He hasn’t changed much,” she said into his chest. “Kind of like a kid. Carefree. Protective. Loving…”

“Just like I remember.” He chuckled. “My dad was a bit strict when I was younger. Your dad always took me out on adventures because my dad could never say no to him. Just like I can’t say no to you.” He gave her a squeeze. “Did he want to keep it a secret…that he was alive?”

She nodded. “I wanted to tell you. I didn’t understand why he told me I couldn’t, but after awhile I felt bad that I still had my dad around and you didn’t.”

He moved his hands to her head and started unweaving her curls from the bun Isla had made for her in the morning. She liked the feeling of his fingers in her hair.

“I can understand,” he said. “You had to keep that a secret from everyone, didn’t you?”

“Yes…” She closed her eyes as he finished taking her hair down and started combing through it with careful strokes. “He had to hide when we were in Esagila. I felt bad for him. It can’t be fun… hiding in the place you grew up.”

“No,” he agreed, “but I bet he didn’t mind if it was for you. Did he warn you that he might have to leave?”

“He didn’t… My maids were preparing me for the introduction and he came in. He told us how he met my mom. He couldn’t see me off, but he promised to be in the front row. I never could find him.”

He hugged her closer. “Sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“But it can’t feel good to lose your father twice, Ayla,” he said. “I knew my father had stepped into your dad’s scythe. I knew he had meant to die and…” He released a shaky breath. “I accepted it. Your father was stolen from you. It’s different.”

Her eyelids felt heavy. She couldn’t find the words to disagree with him. “What was it like in Eabzu?”

He grunted. “Horrible. Beautiful place, though. It’s on a lake with mountains to the east. You would’ve liked it.” He continued moving his fingers through her hair. “My mom kept me separated from the other competitors, but Hekar found it useful to make me train against them.”

“Your trainer?” she asked.

He nodded. “They found it pretty obvious I must’ve been living in Ekarkara if I wasn’t in Eabzu—had never been in Eabzu my whole life. I spent most of my time training or fighting for my life. Hekar stopped them before they ever could get close enough to killing me. He wants to use me as a way to climb up the social ladder.”

“It’s like that in Esagila, too,” she said. “Ashor told me something like that had almost happened to him, too.”

“He didn’t tell me that,” he said, his voice tight in the darkness.

“Zalyn saved him, I guess.”

“Your training partner…” His removed his hand from her hair moved it to her back, pressing her closer. “Has he… done anything with you?”

Her heart picked up speed and she knew he could feel it. “No, not really.”

“Do you like him?” he asked.

“I like you.” She looked at him, tried to decipher his perfect face in the darkness. “So I’d think not.”

“It’s possible to like two people.”

“Well, not for me,” she said. She ignored the hammering of her heart against her ribcage. “There’s just you.”

He let out a ragged breath. “You shouldn’t say those things to me…” He found her lips again and molded them together.

She melted in his embrace, cherishing his soft lips. He tasted like drops of rain falling from the first leaf buds in spring. It was like he had to make up for missed time. She didn’t care why—she liked how he smelled, how he tasted, how it felt. Her heart buzzed and her magic rolled around her like a heavy fog.

She could kiss him forever.

He pulled away with a laugh. “What am I going to do all week?” he asked himself. “I hate this stupid War. I hate it so fucking much.” He moved under the sheets until his head rested against her collarbone.

“That’s why we’re going to make sure there’s never another one again.” She rested her cheek on the top of his head and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. “Let’s get some sleep. I need to be able to leave before your servants get here…”

“Sleep well, Ayla.”

She smiled, wondering how it could ever be possible to sleep any other way in his arms.