Burn Bright (16 page)

Ripers carried her through more tunnels, so many different ones that she lost sense of time and direction. She'd become separated from her surroundings by a mind-mist, but a vague, innate sense told her that they climbed upwards.

When they stopped, she was dimly aware that the Ripers' shoulders heaved with effort. They collected themselves for several moments before they entered yet another cave, this one kept private by a door.

Incense had played along the rocky passages but now it choked Retra like thick smoke. A Riper coughed with it.

‘Lay her on the bed and wait outside.'

She knew his voice and immediately she felt better.

When his hand touched her, she forgot Ixion, forgot … everything.

‘You don't have much time – you are bleeding to death slowly. The cut that Brand inflicted upon you will not heal because you cannot sleep. There is only one way your body can recover. I will help you increase the endorphin levels in your body.'

If she could have, she would have asked what that meant. But she had no way to make her tongue work.

When he kissed her, it took time for the pressure to register on her lips. Even then the sensation was dull and without thrill.

‘Come back to me, little bat,' he whispered.

She wanted to, but his face drifted above her, neither solid nor real. Dimly, she felt the bed move, lifting her body higher in a gentle, floating movement. Not a normal bed but a cloud, she thought.

His tongue found her face, and with delicate strokes he licked her skin like a catling cleaning its hairless baby. His tongue was warm and rough and the trail of wetness tingled and bought her senses to life again. He blew gently down and her skin pimpled with the cool stickiness.

She felt his hand at her thigh, sliding up across the silk. She heard him groan. Disappointment? Revulsion? Or something else? What did the deep sounds in his throat mean?

Retra didn't know.

She knew only that he licked her wrist now, moving upward to her shoulder, each trail returning sensation to her numb skin, bringing warmth and tingling promise. His hair spilled over her in a shining spread.

Then suddenly his face was up near hers and their breaths mingled.

‘You must know what I do for you and understand that afterwards you will be mine.'

His eyes were neither warm nor loving. But there was something in them. Purpose, she felt … and possession. His hands swept the pillows around her into a pile, forcing her shoulders higher than her hips.

‘Watch!'

Retra watched.

He lowered his body until his face was level with her thigh. With a quick movement he lifted her skirt and peeled away the white cloth that covered her wound. Fresh blood spurted and with another quick movement he fixed his mouth to it.

Retra cried in pain and disgust. Her mind rejected his action and yet, as his lips pressed against the wound and his tongue probed its depth, the pain lessened and a soothing sensation spread through her body.

As he worked, not taking from her, but pressuring with his tongue and mouth, life returned, energy pouring inward. Soon enough, her thoughts became clearer. She writhed, trying to slide away from him, but he levered his body over hers and trapped her with his weight.

The pain she had lived with for so long now diminished to a faint throb and she became light with its absence.

In its place, other feelings began to grow. A strange pressure in her abdomen that made her want to shift again but in a different way. She reached for Lenoir's hair and grasped a handful, tugging it without concern for him, her breaths quick. The pressure inside her turned to a sensation she had never felt before, never thought could exist. It propelled and exposed her, and she rocked and shivered against him.

The sensation peaked, forcing her body into a high arch.

Her mind unfastened. Her body sparkled.

Then it was over and she collapsed.

As the intensity waned and his hair had slipped from her grasp, Lenoir raised his head, the evidence of her wound emblazoned on his lips.

‘You are now mine.' He raised his body until their faces were level again. ‘So tell me, baby bat … what is your name?'

She thought about it for a while. There had been another name, but she no longer belonged to it.

‘Naif,' she said, finally.

Lenoir had her taken to a room close to his own. Naif learned that from overheard whispers between Ripers who watched outside her door, and from Graselle, who came to tend her.

‘He's put you near him,' Graselle muttered, as she sponged Naif down. ‘I'm not sure why, but it's different. He wants something from you and he'll get it. Which means you'll have power.'

Even though she was recovering, Naif felt reluctant to talk. Her mind still struggled to absorb what had happened.

Instead she examined the whitewashed room. It appeared, like the other caves, to be carved from the rock of Ixion. The walls were impregnated with crosses and statues like the Grotto and the heavy wood and iron bed she lay upon was made up with white linen sheets.

Graselle emptied the basin of washing water into a bucket and pulled the clean sheet up past her waist.

Naif closed her eyes. She didn't wish to think of her body at all, or Lenoir, but Graselle's words had fashioned a filigree of hope around her sickened heart.
Power.

‘Look at me,' demanded Graselle.

Naif's eyes flicked open. Graselle was so close that she could smell her perfumed skin and see the moth-shaped flecks of black in her tawny eyes.

‘You know what Enlightenment means now?'

Naif glanced away but Graselle would not have it. She seized Naif's chin with strong fingers and forced her to look back at her. ‘Tell me what it is.'

‘It's … I think … it's …
pleasure
,' Naif gasped.

‘Pleasure. That's right. And that's what you came here for. To Ixion.'

‘No – I … I …' But Naif could not say the rest. She'd lost the trace of her purpose.

‘Everyone comes here for pleasure. Even if they think they don't. Embracing it is harder for some and they go
mad before they truly accept it. Most of the places they come from are founded on guilt and rules. The Ripers want us to break away from that – some wish to tear it from us while others are more subtle.'

Guilt and rules
. Grave was like that. But it seemed so far away now. So distant. Grave belonged to Retra, the person she was – not Naif.

Graselle went on. ‘Lenoir fights his own battles. There's plenty here among the Guardians that would be him. He has to show Brand that he's still the one with the power. Perhaps by turning one like you – a Seal – to pleasure, gets him more kudos … or per'aps …'

‘Wha-at?' croaked Naif.

‘Per'aps he just fancies you.'

Naif forced more words out, something to distract from the notion of Lenoir finding her attractive. ‘He says … I owe him … my life.'

Graselle collected her washers and the bucket and went to the door. ‘And you do. But the “owing” works both ways. He'll have got what he needed from you. But there's a bond between you and Lenoir now and others will know it. Watch yourself.'

‘How do you know all this?'

A sheen of moisture glazed Graselle's eyes. ‘He has bonded before.'

‘To you?'

‘You don't speak of your bonding to anyone. See,' Graselle hissed.

After Graselle left Naif lay, thinking, feeling. Something had changed inside her since Lenoir had healed her. Her body was no longer shadowed by pain. But more than that, her mind felt so light and free that it might fly away.

‘Naif?' Lenoir was standing at the door, watching her. The intensity of his gaze thrilled her. She had expected to be repulsed by him, but strangely she felt only fascination and gratitude.

‘Yes?'

‘In the Circle chamber you said you saw danger for the boy, Markes.'

Naif slid her feet to the floor and sat up on the edge of the bed, feeling only a little dizzy. ‘It was … nothing,' she said. ‘You spoke of sending him out to attract Ruzalia. I was frightened, that's all.'

‘Why do you care what happened to him?'

His question confused her. ‘What do you mean? Why does anyone care for … anything? I-I like him, I suppose, and I w-wouldn't want him to be hurt.' It was the truth. Markes had protected her from Ruzalia, and been kind to her when Cal had been so cold.

‘Ixion is a place for hedonism. Selfishness. Yet you've risked dire consequences to help others. What makes you do that, I wonder?'

Naif tightened her arms around herself in defence. ‘I am no different than anyone else.'

He thought about what she said. ‘Perhaps not. But Enlightenment has saved your life and freed you from your moral restraints. You will feel different. What I am curious about is whether the selfless part of you died with its release. Is it the rules and restrictions in your life that have made you self-sacrificing? Is guilt the foundation of kindness?'

He came over to the bed and sat down, placing his hand gently on her injured thigh in an intimate gesture. ‘I will watch and see. You are well enough to move around Ixion as before. There is only one difference. We are bonded and you will come to me when I require it.'

‘Why would you?' Naif asked.

Lenoir's smile was enigmatic. ‘That I could not predict but I may need you at some time. Now tell me, little Naif, what do you know of Dark Eve and Clash?'

Naif's heart thumped at the sound of her brother's chosen title. Did Lenoir know her secret? Was he probing her honesty with their bond? ‘I will not spy for you,' she said quickly.

Lenoir's expression became curious. ‘It is merely a question.'

She strived to keep her face composed. It seemed harder now that she was no longer that other person – the Seal, Retra. ‘I saw them outside that club where the boy was taken by the Night Creatures. They're passionate in their beliefs,' she said.

He surprised her then by sighing. ‘They are misled – as passion most often is. Beware it, baby bat. Beware the foolishness of passion.'

‘The League believes that those of us who are too old to remain here are taken away by you and …'

‘And what, Naif?'

She spoke quietly to soften the accusation. ‘They believe you kill us.'

Lenoir curled his lip in deprecation. ‘If that is the case, and we are such villains, why would I have saved you? What is your life worth if we are murderers?'

‘I am wondering about that, Lenoir,' whispered Naif, addressing him directly for the first time. She had a sudden urge to keep him talking so that she could learn more about Ixion. ‘Was it to prove yourself in some way to the other Guardians? A show of your strength against Brand?'

‘There is that,' he admitted freely, without annoyance. ‘But not that alone. Can you guess the other reason?'

She shook her head, not sure that even her newly freed self was ready to hear his reason. ‘You said at the meeting that Charlonge was to be withdrawn soon.'

‘It is true, her time is close. Does that concern you?'

‘She has helped me, as she has helped so many others. And she'll be frightened.'

Lenoir did not reply.

‘Why do you need to keep mystery around it?
Have you thought to explain what
does
happen to the Peaks? It's the unknown – the uncertainty – that scares people. Understanding might help matters with the League as well.'

‘So wise and yet so naive, little bat. Doesn't uncertainty also create … excitement?' His voice stroked her, like gentle fingers on sensitive skin. ‘Don't you burn brightly because of it?'

Naif knew he skirted the topic, distracting her. ‘But keeping secrets has a cost.'

‘I would put your mind at rest and say that Peaks transcend to the next phase,' said Lenoir.

‘The next phase?'

‘Of pleasure. Ixion exists as an antidote to the rules and conventions of other places. We believe that indulging in pleasure will make better people. Self-denial and discipline and virtue are all myths invented to control you.'

Naif considered the idea. It was true, her Seal training had been a shackle, but it had also been a comfort. She was unsure, still, about the new person inside her. Would she like who she now was? She shrugged. ‘I guess so.'

‘You must trust me that aging and withdrawal will bring you to something better.'

‘Then you should tell this to the League.'

‘Not all the younglings are as easy to convince or as rational as you, little Naif. Your lack of ego makes you receptive. Some thrive on combat, or the promise of it.
Some on notions of heroism. Others prefer not to know anything at all. Not everyone seeks the truth.'

Was Joel like that, Naif wondered? Did he thrive on combat? She'd never thought him as a natural agitator and yet …

‘I seek only to protect them but the League bring trouble on themselves by assisting Ruzalia. The pirate is a hazard to our lifestyle, our system.'

‘P-protect them? From who?'

‘Brand is not as tolerant as I am.'

‘Is that why Brand attacked Krista-belle? To provoke you?'

His eyes narrowed, and Naif saw his mood change. He got up and walked to the door. ‘
I
am the dominant Guardian.'

‘But surely Brand challenges you with her actions.'

‘Yes. But she will be disappointed.'