Chapter 41

We enter a tunnel, its entrance hidden behind an empty barrel in the cellar, the exit popping us out along the rocky shoreline beyond the community’s gates. Following the waterfront, we come to the esplanade.

Gael leads us along the bustling streets, through the vibrant, colorful part of town, turning down side alleys that are increasingly quiet, until the lights appear dimmer, the buildings less towering. The deeper we delve, the rougher it becomes; the tighter the streets, the more solemn the atmosphere, and the more people’s stares have begun to stick to the ground rather than ahead of themselves. Men smoke pipes under the shade of weather-worn awnings, women scrub their washing in wooden barrels right in the middle of the street, and kids wear clothes patched up with all different shades of blue, their laughter not as free and wild as the kids’ who live closer to the ocean.

We pass into the shadow of the wall, so tall I have to crane my neck to see the massive turrets dotted along the top that always ignite an hour before the sun goes down and blaze through the night. The mighty barrier that protects the city against the nest of Irilak that apparently dwells in the surrounding jungle.

I jog to catch up with Gael, so busy looking around I’d fallen behind. “Where are we going?”

“You’ll see.” She tugs her hood further around her face. “Most people who live in the shadow of the wall are strapped for coin. It’s cramped and damp and riddled with mold, but it’s rich with secrets.”

A flutter hits my heart.

I like secrets.

I follow her around a sharp turn into a narrow alley. A web of strings crisscross overhead, laden with dripping clothes and bedsheets. I dodge the puddles, watching the fluttery train of Gael’s cloak grow more sodden by the second. “And how did you learn about these secrets?”

She pauses, stepping closer to dig through my knapsack, then pulling out the masks and handing one to me. “I used to sneak out at night and explore the city. It’s a different world when the sun’s down. More thrilling.”

I smile at the spike of rapture in her voice, feeling it infuse me with a bout of excitement that makes my heart race.

She sets her mask on her face—like coating the upper half in a lick of blue paint—and I follow suit. She leads me into a tighter alley that slopes into a shadowed staircase tunneled through the earth. “And then one night, just shy of my nineteenth birthday, I stumbled upon this place …”

She raps her knuckles on the worn, blue door at the bottom of the stairs: three rapid knocks, two slow, three rapid again.

I plant my hip against the wall and cross my arms. “You’re not going to murder me, are you?”

She leans back, inspecting her nails. “After seeing you almost decapitate your guard and considering you have a blade strapped to your right thigh, I don’t think I’ll risk it.”

Well then.

“Good eyes.”

She shrugs. “In this city, it pays to be observant. Literally.” She chuffs a humorless laugh. “I think it’s the only important thing Mother ever taught me. A lesson that’s saved my rebellious ass more than once. Parith can be merciless if you don’t know it well enough.”

“Actually, there’s something I’ve been meaning to ask, seeing how familiar you are with the city …”

She lifts a brow.

“You don’t know where I might find a woman named Madame Strings?”

She makes a face like she just smelled something sour. “I’ve seen her around. She creeps me out. What do you want from her?”

“I have questions. I heard she knows a lot of … things.”

“That’s true.” A small pause, then, “Is that why you wanted to go to the markets?”

I nod, and understanding dawns in her eyes.

“I’m sorry I can’t help …”

“Nothing to be sorry about,” I tell her, and the door creaks open, spitting out a stout man with sharp eyes and a fuzzy beard that smothers half his gruff face, the other half covered by a mask much the same as ours.

They give each other curt nods before Gael grabs my hand and leads me through the doorway. Down a tight spiral of stairs, we shoot out into a long, damp cave that seems to go on forever—lit by strings of small, circular lanterns hanging from the roof. A low throbbing pumps through the ground, like a heart sits beneath the bare soles of my feet, the beat growing deeper.

Deeper.

The walls become clothed in vines, and I run my fingers over their velvet branches, feel the same dramatic beat thumping through. The rich, salty tang of sweat knocks me in the back of the throat, accompanied by the sweet, floral nectar I recently grew far too familiar with.

The rich bouquet of wanton need.

My head spins, the smell so intoxicating, it alleviates the weight of my body. Makes my breath speed up and my nipples pinch painfully beneath their crushing bind.

“What is this place?” I ask close to Gael’s ear as we reach a curl in the cave, the stone softening with a coat of spongy moss my feet sink into.

She throws me a cunning smile over her shoulder. “A forest nymphlair.” We step up to a thick fall of vines that bar the way. “Clutch thy pearls, High Mistress …”

My heart rate accelerates as Gael pierces her hands between the natural curtain and cleaves an open path for us.

Sound explodes—the drumming thud hacking through me with such force I’m sure it rattles my bones.

I step forward, looking down from a mezzanine carved into the stone, out across a huge cavern strung with a web of lanterns that drape the space in a soft, golden glow.

A small waterfall at the far side pours into a pool, then streams through the center of the space. Trees heavy with clusters of bold red fruit twist up from the mossy ground; a strange sight in an underground cavern. A statuesque trio of red-haired drummers draped in loose clothing sit on stools atop a large, flat stone that sets them higher than the gyrating crowd.

There must be over two hundred men and women—heavy lidded, most sparsely dressed, others wearing nothing but masks and the erotic confidence of their utter bareness as they move to the beat like a throbbing heart. The raw smell of sex is heavy in the air, making my skin tingle with a disarming warmth.

I swallow thickly, taking in the scene with damning intrigue.

“During their heat, women drink tonics that keep them barren,” Gael yells over the pounding racket, unclipping the clasp of her cloak. “Then, they come here and fuck whoever—whatever—they want until the blaze dims.”

My eyes widen. “Whatever?”

“I took a nymph once,” she says dreamily. “They’re very elusive, and often appear the same as everyone else, but I assure you, they’re not.”

My cheeks heat, her implication striking a rebellious ember low in my belly. Or perhaps that’s just the beat. The smells. The masks. The moss beneath my feet.

She shrugs off her cloak, revealing a strappy garment made from golden material that sculpts the curves of her body like strokes of paint, and I envy her for the ability to strip down and bare herself so beautifully.

Confidently.

“Some people come here to feel the beat and let loose and just enjoy themselves … and then there’s those who simply want to screw,” she purrs with a wink, ripping one of the plump, red fruits from the net of vines woven across the wall that seem to sprout from the stone, the colorful bangles caught around her wrist tinkling against each other.

“What sort of fruit is that?”

“Not the sort for you.” Her tone is less playful now. “The forest nymphs grow these. They heat your blood and drug you with reckless desire.”

The words thud through me like blazing arrows.

“The last thing you need right now. Women have been labeled witches and burned at the stake for breaking their seals in the lead up to their coupling ceremonies.”

“What?”

A nod. “Less so recently, but …” she shrugs, waving at my bag, “For some, the moment you accept a cupla, your body no longer belongs to you.”

Heart in my throat, I stare at her, chewing her words from all angles.

She takes a deep bite of the fleshy fruit, red juice dribbling down her chin while Cainon’s words ring loud in my ears …

So, if I took you right here, right now, you’d bleed for me?

They made my blood crackle then.

They make it sizzle now.

Gael moves toward the stairs carved into the wall. “You coming?”

I draw a deep breath that does nothing to shift this suffocating lump that’s sitting on my chest. “I’ll be down soon.”

She frowns. “I haven’t scared you, have I? We can go if you’d like.”

I shake my head. “It’s fine. I want to stay. I just—I need a moment.”

“Okay.” She smiles, her eyes starting to twinkle over with a lusty haze as she takes another deep bite and speaks through her mouthful. “I’ll be near the waterfall. There’s usually a few familiar masked faces there I enjoy the company of,” she says with a wink. “Just make your way down when you’re ready. No pressure.”

I watch her descend the stairs from the quiet mezzanine. Watch her embrace a masked woman baring a short pixie cut. They share a deep, tender kiss before Gael weaves their hands together and leads the woman into the charged beat, disappearing from my line of sight.

I step back and lower to the floor, spine planted against the vine-smothered wall.

The moment you accept a cupla, your body no longer belongs to you.

I gouge my fingers through the fluffy moss and into the cool soil beneath, pretending they’re roots of a tree digging into the calming earth. But it barely takes the edge off this claustrophobic pressure I’m being crushed beneath by the echo of Gael’s words.

I shouldn’t be here.

If I got caught in a place like this by the wrong person, the consequences would be catastrophic. That much is clear. A thought that shouldn’t spike my blood with a bolt of thrill that electrifies me from the inside out.

Women have been labeled witches and burned at the stake for breaking their seals in the lead up to their coupling ceremonies.

I scoff, shaking my head, wondering how many of those women felt the same as me—like they’d sold their body, not their soul; like the white sheets they slept in felt like a cage they were doomed to wither between.

Promising yourself to another shouldn’t mean you loseyourself in the process.

The cavern’s vibrations thump through me as I feed the rich, botanical smells into my lungs, feeling my body erupt with thick, pulsing life.

A ball of laughter bursts up my throat.

I didn’t leave my Safety Line to be forced into another box. To be owned by a man who doesn’t even know me.

I told Cainon I’d be his perfect High Mistress, and I will. But I’m not his yet.

I’m still mine.

And right now … I want to dance.

I shove up, looking down upon the dimly lit crowd lost in their own erotic splendor, their features half hidden by their masks. All I can see is a wash of bare, thudding movement and tangled limbs. I run my fingers along the edge of the soft material melding to my features.

Nobody’s going to recognize me.

Another giddy surge strikes, and I whip off my cap, unpin my hair, and let it fall, heavy and free. I stuff the pin and cap in my bag, then tuck it behind a dense patch of vines before descending the stairs, bare feet padding across the mossy ground as I inject myself into the throng, heading in the direction of the waterfall.

Sweat-slicked bodies push and slide against me, glassy-eyed people feeding each other those plump, red fruits while they grope and grind and sway.

I’m nobody—nothing. Just a body in a swarm of carnal movement that has no rhyme or reason.

My steps begin to slow, and I stop pushing forward, charmed by the drum’s rousing beat. Surrounded by the gorging pulse, my body sways, fueled by wild, reckless abandon that lightens my limbs and heats my blood.

My head tips back, hips and shoulders loosening, pelvis swaying, my hair a messy tangle as I shift like tiding water. But the band around my chest is too tight. Pinching me and constricting my arms. Controlling my breaths.

I’m sick of control.

I weave my hand beneath my shirt and rip at the tail end of the wrap flattening my curves, unraveling myself with fierce, frustrated fingers, breathing an intoxicating sigh of relief when the fabric falls at my feet. Hands threading through my loose hair, my heavy breasts bounce with the rhythmic pulse of my motions, throat aching as emotion wells up—and I let go.

For the first time in my life, I truly let go.

Free.

I lose all sense of time and self. There is only the beat. The moss cushioned between my toes. The rich smells heaping into my parched lungs.

When a hand slides around my front and makes my skin prickle, body lining up with my back, my movements come to a crashing halt.

“You’re magnificent,” an unfamiliar voice whispers against my ear—deep and rusty.

I look over my shoulder into pale blue eyes that hold a lusty glint. See short, golden hair and a young, handsome half-face, his dimpled smile beguiling, accentuated by a scar that curves from the corner of his mouth and up beneath his mask.

“Thank you …”

My heartbeat and the drums gallop along in synchrony …

Boom.

Patter-patter.

Boom.

Patter-patter.

Boom.

“I didn’t frighten you, did I?”

I lift my chin. “No, this is actually perfect.”

I don’t step away from him when he times his movements to match mine. When his strong arms weave around my front. Instead, I let myself enjoy the closeness of having a body surge to my beat for a change, with not a thought in my head but the next roll of my hips.

When his lips brush the side of my neck, I tip my head and give him better access, letting him lave at me like it means something.

Like we mean something.

I turn, take in his tall, broad physique, his face flushed with a roguish grin and eyes stained with cosmic lust.

A bloom of something beautifully selfish sparks low in my belly—an ember throbbing to life. And I don’t want it to dim. I don’t want to douse it in thoughts of what’s right and wrong and what’s expected of me.I don’t want to think about what I’ve promised. Who I owe myself to.

I certainly don’t want to think about the hideous consequences of this rebellious thought I’m suddenly transfixed with.

My heart smashes a brand-new rhythm when I realize I want this. To take back the power I’ve lost over my body simply because two powerful men can’t play nicely with each other.

For once in my life—for this tiny, selfish moment—I want to bleed for myself.

His eyes widen in shock as I grab his hand and pull him through the crowd, leading him past fruit-laden trees and mossy boulders, across the gurgling stream and into a shadowed nose of the cave, its low ceiling riddled with glowing stalactites.

Turning, I fist his shirt and pull him forward, taking his mouth in a desperate kiss that first makes him pause before his deep moan pours into me.

I rip at his shirt buttons, slide my hands beneath the fabric, palms skating over lean muscles as I shove the shirt off his shoulders.

“Slow down,” he mumbles against my mouth.

I undo my own buttons with the same frantic veracity. “I don’t want slow,” I bite out, ripping it away, my bare skin licked by swirling humidity.

I just want to be free.

His hands cup my naked breasts. “Fucking hell.”

I eat up his words with a kiss that swallows his resonating moan, taking him by the wrist and threading his hand down the flat of my stomach.

“My Gods,” he grates, flicking the buttons on my waistband.

Weaving beneath my panties, his fingers delve through me, coaxing that delicious throb as I grind against him, forcing them deeper.

Deeper …

“I need more,” I murmur, hands slamming back to tangle with the vines cushioning the walls. He pulls my pants and underwear down my legs. Pauses when his fingers brush over my blade.

“What’s th—”

“Leave it,” I gasp, and he plants a kiss against my leg, murmuring something about being full of surprises as my pants are tossed aside—more kisses peppered up the inside of my widening thighs.

I grip his hair and yank his head back seconds before his mouth can make contact with that part of me, because that feels too intimate.

Too personal.

I don’t want him to taste me. I want him to break me.

He straightens, and our mouths collide again, his hands spearing down between us as he rips at his pants, his movements becoming frantic when he releases himself, his solid length pressed against my belly.

Fuck.

My heart gallops as he grabs my leg, takes its weight, and widens me—parts me—the blunt head of his manhood nudging at my tight, uncharted entrance.

Every muscle in my body locks, lungs seizing.

I look up, focus on the glowing stalactites littered across the ceiling, and remind myself to breathe.

Grabbing his ass, I urge him on … then stifle a scream when he punches his hips forward and splits me open.