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When the fire roared to life and the candles had been lit, golden light filled the front room. There was pawing at the door, and I let Peek inside. Mybraydusslinked into the room slowly, shaking the snow off his fur. His head turned to regard Lorik carefully. Then he huffed out a sharp breath through his nostrils, ignored Lorik completely—at least that was what he wanted Lorik to believe—and went to eat when I filled his bowl with raw meat.
“He still hates me, I see,” Lorik commented.
“Peek doesn’t like anyone.”
“He’s protective of you,” he replied. “That’s all that matters. You couldn’t have a better companion. I feel better knowing that.”
I regarded Lorik across the room. If I’d thought he’d filled my cottage before, he made it seem ten times smaller now.
Ice was melting off my shawl, and I unwrapped it, hanging it by the door. Unbuttoning my thick overcoat next—one that needed a few holes to be patched. I was a little embarrassed by the state of my clothes, especially next to Lorik. And with theextra money coming in from my shifts at the guild hall, repairing the majority of my wardrobe and investing in new winter clothes was my first priority.
“Let me get the kettle on the fire,” he said, and behind me, I heard him prepping it. My heart was racing. It was tense and a little awkward, like we both didn’t know what to do with ourselves, where to place our bodies in the room…
And yet I didn’t regret asking him inside. Having him here was like a nice memory. And a part of me wanted to forget it all—forget the way he’d hurt me—and just move forward.
When Lorik set the kettle over the fire, I turned. Steam was rising off him as he lingered by the flames, and it took me a moment to realize he was using magic to dry his clothes. When they were, he pushed up his sleeves and then settled down into his usual place at the table.
“What’s it like in the Below?” I asked quietly. Lorik looked at me sharply, blinking once. “Unless you’re not allowed to tell me.”
His jaw tightened. “No more secrets, Marion. I’ll tell you whatever you wish to know.”
“Then tell me what it’s like—where you live.”
“Allavari think the Below is a hellscape of demons and fire and dark magic and twisted souls,” Lorik said, quirking his lips up in a dry smile. “It couldn’t be more opposite. The Below is more beautiful than anything you’ve ever seen.”
My brow furrowed.
“I live in a place called Aeysara. The Below King’s bright city. I was born there, raised there. And like the Above world, there are countless villages spread across our land, ranging from small strongholds to sprawling towns that stretch for miles and miles. We truly do not know the boundaries of the Below. Over centuries, we’ve had scouts try to find the edges of our world, but we’ve never found them. The truth is that we call it theBelow and this place the Above…but sometimes I wonder if it’s the opposite. The Below isn’t actuallybelow. And the Above isn’t actually above us. They are just two different realms of Allavar, bound by the portal in the Black Veil. But in the Below…the magic there is powerful. It’s steeped in it.”
I took all this in with rapt fascination.
“And when you come up to the Above world,” I began, “do you feel the lack of magic here?”
“Yes,” he said quietly. “I feel depleted here if I stay too long.”
I pressed my lips together, thinking as much.
“But it’s a small price to pay,” he added.
I sucked in a breath as I looked at him. What was he saying?
Lorik leaned forward, his forearms sliding across the flat surface of my wood table. Gingerly, I took a seat across from him, ignoring my icy feet in my winter boots or the wet marks I’d tracked along my stone floor, which would dry as the cottage heated.
“Is it winter there now?” I asked. “In Aeysara?”
“No,” he said. “Our seasons do not change. The first time I saw snow, felt it…it was shocking. The cold, the rain, the heat during the warm season—we don’t feel that in the Below. We have ancient spells in place to keep our lands temperate, fueled partly by the Below King’s magic.”
“That must be nice,” I said quietly.
“Sometimes,” he said. “But I’ve grown quite fond of rain and storms and never quite knowing what the day will bring. There is an excitement and unpredictability in it. I have this fantasy…”
I held my breath as I waited for him to speak.
“Of us,” he murmured, catching my eyes, “in another life. Where we wake to a storm, and we have so much to get done that day. Wood to be chopped, provisions to buy from the village, the garden needing tending, and your potions to brew. And thestorm comes, and we just decide to forget all of it. To stay warm in bed and listen to the rain on the roof.”
My chest gave a sharp pang as longing went through me. Another life, he’d said. Was something like that still possible in this one? When he’d said himself that his magic slowly depleted every time he came to the Above?
“That’s what you dream about?” I whispered.
