Chapter Ten

To Esmae's surprise, the next day they didn't discuss what had transpired in bed. The witch woke more relaxed and sated than she'd felt in ages. Silas led her to a bathing pool and left her there to gather her thoughts. She used the time to chat with Dirt and see if he had any other insights. It had taken some coaxing, since the mole complained she now smelled like the "scary predator" but eventually she won over her disapproving companion. Dirt didn't have any helpful insights, but he did make her feel less alone. She was hard-pressed for friends at the best of times, and the curse had left her feeling even lonelier. It was her burden to solve, by herself. She hadn't even been able to tell her father, because what could he do ?

She didn't tell Dirt either, but still, his reassuring chirps were better than nothing. What was she to do? The only way out of her curse was to kill the vampire, which meant finding his fated mate. She should be focused on her mission, yet the more she thought about it, the more wrong it seemed. Killing the beast that haunted the Condemned Cliffs, who killed any trespassers indiscriminately, had been an easy decision. Killing the vampire, the natural enemy of witches, who held her captive and violently sucked her blood wasn't far off. Killing the male who had shown her more pleasure and consideration in a day than she'd experienced in a lifetime with her peers was more difficult.

Fine. She'd keep her ears open, but maybe she'd hold off on her plans for now.

No sooner did she settle on the decision than she collapsed to the floor, her heart pausing as the ice around it grew. Esmae shivered as she stood, her shaky breaths coming out with frost. Dirt came to the edge of the pool, concerned, but she waved him away.

When she dressed, the mole disappeared back into the network of caves, and she put on the clothing Silas had left her. The fabrics were far finer than anything she'd worn before, yet the colors suited her tastes perfectly. She rejoined the vampire who, in her absence, prepared a startling spread for breakfast. He looked good, much better than the pallor that had colored him yesterday. From drinking her blood?

The memory of where he'd drunk from had her flushing.

"This is more than I grew yesterday." Piles of fruit and vegetables lined the table, not just raw, but cooked with spices. A stack of fresh loaves of bread towered at the center, the yeasty smell tantalizing. "This is enough food for an army!"

Silas gave a nonchalant shrug. "I won't see you go hungry."

"Where did you even get all of this?"

He smiled, flashing his fangs. "I have my ways."

She frowned. "No doubt you enthralled a number of vendors and demanded your due."

"That's certainly a way I could do it," Silas agreed. "But gold coins work just as well. "

Now the reason for her flush was completely different. "Oh. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have assumed."

Silas shrugged. "Why wouldn't you? I haven't hesitated to use my thrall on you."

Well. That was also a fair point. She debated arguing once more about how it galled her, but that would get them nowhere. He'd thralled her to keep her there and stop her from trying to stab him, which, as demonstrated by his superior senses and strength, were doubtless things he could've ensured with brute force. For once, she couldn't really muster enough anger. Likely a lingering tenderness from last night, which she was working very hard not to think about lest the vampire decide she needed a repeat right here on the table.

She reached for the freshly seared sprouts and tore a chunk from a loaf. Silas watched her with utter fascination.

"What now?" she asked after taking a few bites.

"What now, indeed."

Breakfast turned into an afternoon focused on the maps. With his encouragement, she took over the desk, laying a fresh piece of parchment out in front of her. The quill she used had the finest tip she'd seen, the ink neither too runny nor too thick. She gave some experimental strokes while Silas settled on the chaise across the cavern, as if to give her the space he intuitively knew she needed with a sketchbook of his own.

Hours whipped by as she attempted to recreate one of the smaller maps of Eurobis. Mapmaking was both a science and an art. A map had to be precise and accurate in order to be of any use, but maps weren't stagnant tomes. They told a story, characterized a world with every chosen mark. As she sketched the high walls of the capital, Ulryne, she imagined what it would be like to visit. Was the city at the heart of the kingdom a welcoming one, embracing every witch as one of its own? Or was it, as the walls implied, a cold and defensive place where everyone was on guard?

She'd never know.

"This looks excellent."

Her quill had stopped, and she'd been lost in her thoughts for long enough that Silas had come to sneak up beside her and see her progress. The back of her neck grew hot as he scrutinized the drawing.

"It's not as good as yours," she said quickly.

His gaze was riveted to the map, as piercing as when he looked at her. As if the drawing was part of her. She'd have felt less exposed if he'd been looking at her stark naked.

"I've had centuries to practice and hone my craft. It would be unfair to expect yourself to be on that level when starting out. Yet your sense of proportion is good," he praised. "In a matter of years, you could master this skill."

I don't have years. Still, the praise squeezed her heart, making it hard to string words together. She tried to see the map through Silas's eyes. It wasn't terrible, maybe. If she had more time, she could do a better job on the cliffs and rivers…

"Do you want to be a cartographer?" Silas asked.

Why lie? "I wanted to be an adventurer."

Silas said nothing, but the silence was expectant, so I continued. "As a child, I used to imagine all the marvels of Eurobis and how incredible it would be to see them. To walk the halls of the Great Library, or explore the bazaar at Ulryne. More than that, to go to uncharted places, the marshes, the mountains. To sail down the river into the ocean." She dropped her gaze to the map, following the half-drawn winding paths. "There's so many things I'll never see, creatures I've only seen in storybooks. I could never understand how the others were so… so content. Happy to wed and have children and spend their days repeating the same tasks over and over. The thousands of hours I spent weaving only left me infuriated that I had to spend my time on that instead of exploring the forest so we could eat. Which is ungrateful of me. How everyone else in the village is happy with their lives so neatly charted out and I am not, I've never understood. I suppose I was just made wrong."

"There's not a chance of that."

Her eyes stung. "But it's true. If I was different, I would never have left…" The village. Jared. Never have been cursed and forced to kill the vampire who had, against all odds, been kind to her in his own way that was truer than anything she'd ever known.

"If you remained in the village, we would never have met. I cannot think of a fate more wrong than that."

But they had met. And now she would kill him or let the curse kill her.

And she couldn't even explain to Silas why her presence wasn't the gift he thought it was.

"I… I'd like to be alone for a little."

"As you wish." He withdrew immediately, a chill replacing the space he'd once filled.

She didn't really want to be alone. Not with her days so numbered. But at the same time, Esmae couldn't bear the guilt she felt around him. She returned to the map, trying to get lost in the possibilities as she had been before, but where she'd once felt hope in the sprawl of the paper, now she just saw all the things she'd never get to do.

Hours passed. The vampire didn't return.

Unable to stare at the inked lines any longer, she pushed out of the desk and wandered over to the settee where Silas had been. Her fingers brushed the edges of the cushion as if she could feel him there. Of course, it was foolish. He was gone .

His sketchbook was still there, however, discarded and forgotten. Perhaps it was presumptuous, but curiosity got to her. Had he been sketching maps of his own, perhaps of the caves?

But when she pushed back the cover and looked at the most recent page, it wasn't any landscape or chart. No, he'd drawn a figure with dark wisps of hair that held highlights shown in lighter brushes of charcoal, a soft profile of carefully shaded skin with a focused expression.

He had drawn her .