And if it did mean something more? If this was something beyond bodies doing what bodies did, what would that mean for him? For Neve?
In this moment, as Kayu backed up to that tiny cloister bed, all warmth and silk, and gulls cawed and waves crashed outside, Raffe found he didn’t much care.
She fell asleep after. They curled toward each other like the two halves of a circle, space between them, the only point of contact Raffe’s palm on the curve of her waist. Her hair feathered over her brow, caught in the current of her breath. He lifted his hand to push it away, and other than settling her head farther into her pillow, Kayu didn’t stir.
Raffe sat up, ran a hand over his face. He felt better—it really had been a while—and now his mind was coming back to him, the endless churn of worry he’d become. It’d been nice to set that aside for an hour. It’d been nice to set it aside with her.
But reprieves didn’t last long.
He was still for a moment, waiting for the guilt, waiting for Neve’s face to paint itself on the backs of his eyelids. It didn’t come. He felt warm and languid and, yes, still worried, but no part of him felt guilty.
It should’ve been a relief. An answer, finally, to the question of whether the love he and Neve had was something more than friendship. Instead, cruelly aware of the shape of the woman next to him, Raffe was afraid this realization would only make the whole situation even more complicated.
She’d said it didn’t have to mean anything. He wished it hadn’t.
Kayu shifted in her sleep, a slight smile curving her full lips. Kings, she was beautiful. Infuriating and meddling and too smart for her own good, but beautiful.
He stifled a groan in his palm.
A bag sat in the corner. Kayu’s. Lavishly embroidered fabric spilled from the top to trail across the stone. Raffe pushed up, meaning to stuff it back in the bag—the dress looked expensive, it would get ruined lying on this dust-covered floor. It didn’t seem as though the priestesses spent much time cleaning.
And he needed to get away from Kayu’s warmth before he reached for her again.
He pulled the dress the rest of the way out of the bag, intending to fold it up and put it back. But as he did, something fluttered to the ground. Frowning, he picked it up.
Papers. Bound together with twine. He could catch one line written across the top: For Her Holiness, the High Priestess.
His pulse ratcheted up in his ears.
Raffe didn’t waste time wondering about Kayu’s right to privacy. He broke the twine with his teeth, sitting naked on the floor to read over the notes.
Notes on everything. All signed by Sister Okada Kayu, novitiate of the Order of the Five Shadows.
It was like a bone setting, the awful way it all came together in his head, the ragged pain of things snapping into place. Kayu’s abrupt arrival in Valleyda right after the other priestesses left. Intercepting that letter from Kiri—except she hadn’t really intercepted it, had she? It’d probably been written for her in the first place, a convenient thing to get into his circle of trust. To get into his bed.
Kings. That stung.
“I’m not going to give it to her.”
The thin sheets puddled around Kayu’s waist. She’d sat up while he was reading, probably watched him do it. Even now, though, she didn’t look afraid. She knew he wouldn’t hurt her.
Kings-damn and all the shadows, he was a fool.
“I only came here to get away from my father.” The words came fast, now that she was finally giving a confession, as if they’d been waiting. “If I became a priestess, he couldn’t compel me to return home. I thought the Rylt was far enough away from the continent to avoid its politics, but when I arrived, the priestesses here had already swapped their loyalties to Kiri’s order, then Kiri arrived right after I did, and when she found out I was distantly in line for the Valleydan throne—”
“She sent you to spy on us.” Raffe stood slowly, the pages of notes clenched in his fist. “To report back on any progress we were making to find Neve.”
“I never sent any of them.” She shook her head, black hair feathering over still-bare shoulders. “Raffe, I never sent any of those notes. I stopped taking them the day I snuck into your bedchamber. I never wanted to do any of this. I’m on your side.”
“The only side you’re on is your own, Kayu. I’m not an idiot.”
“You don’t know him.” Near-panic in her voice, in the way she clutched the sheet to her chest. “You don’t know how awful he is, Raffe. I wouldn’t have lived out the year. I had to do something.”
“Well, you certainly did.” Raffe threw the papers to the ground, grabbing his discarded clothes and pulling them on without checking to make sure they weren’t inside out. If he stayed here, if he listened, he might forgive her. And he’d done enough foolish things for one day.
“I want to help you, Raffe. I…” She trailed off, head dipping lower to obscure her face farther behind all that black hair. When she spoke, it was a whisper. “I have no love for the Kings. I want them dead. I want to help Neve however I can, and I want her to come back. Because you want her back, and you deserve to be happy.”
She could’ve reached in his chest and pulled out his heart, beating and vital, and wrung it out in her hands. It would hurt less.
“I can’t…” He didn’t know how to finish the sentence. Not when she sat there, naked and gilded in the light of the sun setting in the window, golden skin covered in a white sheet and hair like a black river.
So he didn’t finish. Raffe opened the door and strode aimlessly out into the hallway, wanting to be anywhere other than with the traitor he might’ve been falling for.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Neve
Foolish little queen.
She was only vaguely aware of her body as a physical thing, but still she flinched, trying to get away from this voice that battered her from every direction at once. The same voice she’d heard in the Serpent’s cairn, warning her of Solmir’s deceit, warning her of everything that was to come.
She hadn’t listened then. And though she’d made every decision that led her here—though she’d known, when she didn’t let Red lead her out of the Heart Tree, that the path might lead her here—Neve still wanted to curl up in a fetal ball, to hide away from Valchior’s voice and everything it meant.
Too late for that, Neverah. A chuckle snaked through her skull, friendly and warm and all the more chilling for it. You’re truly in it now.
She flinched.
Take heart, Shadow Queen. She hated how sincere he sounded. The game draws to a close, one way or another.