Filed to story: When the Moon Hatched Book
His hand slams against the wall so hard the sconce flame flutters, and my feet still. “I insist,” he grinds out, eyes hardening to dark flints that make something inside me pause.
Listen.
I weigh the value of locking that door. Risky, yes. But to be fair, I wore the veil for this very reason—on the off chance
I’d be forced to escape through a back window with a severed appendage in my pocket. So nobody would pull me aside at a later date after passing me on a stairway, recognizing my face, pinning me as the prime suspect for stashing Tarik Relaken—handless and pulseless—into a privy booth.
Screw it.
My attention homes, body poised. The tips of my fingers tingle with anticipation as I reach for the dagger within the hidden compartment tailored into my bodice—
The door behind Tarik swings open, and I curse beneath my breath. We both look over his shoulder at the large, cloaked male who watched me sing all slumber from the back of the room while exuding the stoicism of a stone statue.
The hall suddenly feels like a vein swelling with too much hot, pumping blood. Like an incinerating storm just crammed between the close-pressed walls and sponged all the oxygen, leaving little for me to breathe.
Frustration and anger buck and battle inside me. My hand falls from my bodice, tucking into the gathers of my skirt where I can white-knuckle the fabric without it being obvious.
What an unfortunate time to decide he needs to take a piss, though less unfortunate for him. Had he been a few moments later, he would’ve walked in on something he certainly wouldn’t have walked away from.
Clearing his throat, Tarik lifts his very lucky hand from the wall and shifts sideways, giving me space to ease past. Honestly, he should use it to shake this male’s hand because he absolutely just saved his life.
For now.
“Milady,” Tarik bites out, forging a gaudy smile. “Have a Creators-
blessed slumber.”
I battle the urge to let my eyebrows bump all the way into my hairline. Seems I’m not the only one who can sense the combustive energy rolling off this mysterious male.
Wish he’d take that energy elsewhere.
“Thanks,” I mutter, my stabby hand twitching as I move past Tarik and make for the exit, cutting a glance at the hooded male holding the door wide. But his attention isn’t on me.
It’s firmly on Tarik.
Odd.
Sighing, I weave through the thinning crowd, passing folk fucking in darkened corners or stretched across tabletops. Others lumped in low seaters, comatose with drinks still tucked in their loosening hands. Some are still with it enough to see me walk by. To chant for me to sing.
Sing.
Sing.
Little do they know, that’s exactly what I intend to do.
With a chest full of barely restrained violence flexing for release, I make a straight shot for the exit, certain Tarik will be snapping at my heels with unquenched desires of his own. I’ve probably only got a few moments to spare while the hooded male relieves himself in the lavatory. Only a few moments to get Tarik out of here without the time-consuming tagalong I didn’t account for.
My already tight schedule is suffocating.
“Kemori, wait!”
It takes me two steps to register that it’s my name being called.
Shit.
I pause, stemming a below-breath curse before I cut a glance over my shoulder.
Levvi’s packing her instrument in the case she’s flopped open across our stools, hair tucked behind her ear as she looks at me, the black smudges beneath her eyes a testament to just how long we sat and performed without breaks or refreshments.
“Here.” She waves a small pouch through the air. “Our commission.”
Ah.
She steps down off the dais and closes the distance between us. “I think the resident Runi docked some,” she says with a roll of her eyes, extending the pouch toward me. “But there should be enough for a few hearty meals.”
Gaze bouncing between her clipped ear, the blossoming round of her belly, and what’s left of the dwindling crowd, I reach forward, wrapping my hand around hers, forcing her grip to tighten on the pouch. “Keep it. And thank you for playing with me. It was a treasure.”
A line forms between her brows.
I spin, three steps closer to the stairway when her voice chases me. “Let me walk you home!”
My heart plops into my belly.
“My bound will be waiting out front to escort me,” she continues. “He’s a kind, hardworking male who’s never hurt a soul. He can escort you, too.”
I glance over my shoulder, noting the deep-rooted concern in her pretty green eyes. “Thank you, but I’m fine. My home is so close I’ll be sleeping by the time you finish clamping the buckles shut on your case.”
Lie.
My home is all the way down the other end of the Ditch. At this rate, I’ll be lucky to reach it by aurora rise, since I don’t intend to walk in that direction once I finally make it outside.
I’m two steps closer to the exit before her hand wraps around my arm, snagging me despite my fractious nerves galloping ahead at full speed.
Levvi shoves before me.
Face blanched, she peeks around our dim surroundings, leaning close. “I saw the way Tarik was watching you, Kemori. I fear for your safety. This time of slumber isn’t kind to the likes of us.
Please, let us walk you home
…
“
The determined edge to her voice dilutes my thickening frustration.
She’s growing on me.
I hate when folk grow on me.
Scanning our surroundings, I reach into the left pocket of my gown, shred the safety-seam with my fingernail, then dig into the hidden compartment, pulling out a small glass orb—transparent but for the incarnated depiction of a mythical Elding Bird hatching from a bulb of flame caught in the orb’s depths.
“You don’t need to worry about me,” I whisper, taking her hand in mine.
Frowning, she drops her gaze, and I loosen my hold just enough for her to glimpse the treasure pressed between our palms, her eyes widening as realization seems to dawn.
“O-oh,” she says, the word a shaken thing, falling out in crumbled bits. Like something inside her just fell apart. “T-Tarik?”
I nod, pocketing the orb I’d hate for her to get caught with.
She fills her lungs but fails to forge the breath into words, releasing a shuddered exhale, stare caught on her hands now clasping the swell of her belly. A vision that does something strange to my heart. Makes me feel like it’s going to burst—and not in a nice way.
I need to get out of here.
“Take care,” I whisper, about to spin again when she grabs my arm. Eyes glazed with unshed emotion, she offers me a fold of parchment.
“What’s that?”
“My … ah, my details. In case you want to perform together again,” she whisper-rasps, working her lips into a smile that looks more sad than happy. Like perhaps she knows I won’t contact her.
That we’ll never see each other again.
I take it anyway, dipping my head in thanks, seeing Tarik emerge from the lavatory and catch my eye.
Got you.