Forbidden (9 page)

“Stay close.”

He opened the door, stepped out with Avra, and hurried to a side door, which he opened.

A voice near the altar: “Rom?”

They both turned. A priest stood on the dais, censers dangling from each hand. “Rom? There was someone here just a few minutes ago looking for you. I think he might still be here, I’ll see if—”

Rom grabbed Avra’s hand and bolted into the daylight. The door fell shut with a heavy bang.

“Run!” Avra cried, pulling her hand free.

“This way!” He veered toward the entrance to the underground, a block away.

A truck sped by on the street. On the walk, foot traffic was noticeably heavier than yesterday.

Rom glanced over his shoulder. “Walk, walk!” he breathed. “We don’t want to attract attention. Pull your hood up.”

Together they joined the human stream flowing into the underground station.

A new banner had gone up over the entrance in the last day, bearing the image of Feyn Cerelia and the date of her inauguration, just four days away now. Rom felt her eyes follow them into the subterranean space.

He had to wonder if they would live to see the event at all.

I
s she
in there? Do you see her?” Avra whispered.

Rom leaned out from the wall just far enough to look through the window. “Not yet.”

They were wedged against the wall between the front door and a small window on the private landing of Neah’s second-story apartment. The stair that led to Neah’s entrance had been built in the narrow gap between two buildings. From here they could loiter without attracting notice.

A long time ago, the window must have overlooked the greenery of a backyard. At least, that’s how Rom imagined it. Now, however, it looked out only on the cracked concrete of the stair and the stone of the neighboring building. Its sheer curtain had been drawn aside to let in whatever eastern light it could.

In the distance, basilica bells sounded the hour: eight o’clock. Across Byzantium, assemblies began and would continue throughout the day. It was rest day, set aside for the purpose of rejuvenation and assembly at the workweek’s end. How different those bells sounded today, ominous and more lyrical at once.

Rom sank back against the wall and glanced up at the churning sky. For the first time in his life, the mere sight of it sparked wonder in his heart. Even the bells struck their own chord of awe and hollow longing.

Everything was different.

As the last of the bells subsided, voices sounded from within the apartment—a man’s and a woman’s. Rom glanced at Avra.

She whispered, “She’s not alone?”

Rom peered through the window again, his mouth in a tight line. “I guess not.”

“Who would be here at this hour?”

He could see into the corner of Neah’s well-appointed living room, her cream-colored chair and reading lamp. He had to lean out farther to see into the main part of the space but didn’t want to risk staring straight in, not until they knew who was with her.

The voices rose again in such apparent discord that Rom began to worry less about being noticed. He leaned in a little more.

“What do you see?”

“A man, sitting in one of the living room chairs.”

“A man? Since when does Neah have a man—any man—around? She didn’t get married, did she?”

“Not that I know of. I didn’t even think she was promised.”

Inside, Neah paced through her living room. A man seated in one of the overstuffed chairs stood up into Rom’s line of sight.

Was that—?

He felt a chuckle rise up from his chest and worked to stifle the sound and the odd levity that had caused it. He hadn’t known that emotion was associated with laughter, a social nicety. But the humor he felt was far more than a polite response. It was fueled by a hilarity that made him question again if he might be mad. Hadn’t his mother just died? Hadn’t his life as he knew it just ceased, possibly forever? And yet—

“You’ll never guess who’s in there.”

Avra stared blankly at him.

“Triphon!”

She blinked. “Triphon?”

“Triphon.”

It wasn’t merriment that flooded her face, but fear. “He’s with the guard! We have to go.” She pushed away from the wall, but Rom caught her by the wrist.

“Wait. He’s only in training. He isn’t part of the guard yet officially.”

“What’s the difference?” she hissed.

Rom leaned toward the window. Triphon’s shirt strained across the broad width of his muscled shoulders as he sat forward in the chair and picked up a distinctive-looking paper from the low coffee table in front of him.

Rom felt his pulse spike. “Hades.”

Avra’s eyebrows shot up. She pushed around him and looked through the window. “What—oh. Maker.”

“I think…” He glanced at her. “Are those papers…?” But they had to be. He had seen the same lettering on his own betrothal, several years prior.

Triphon was proposing a marriage contract.

Neah’s muffled voice rose inside.

Avra shrank back. “We should go.”

“Go where? We don’t have anywhere else.”

“Training or not, Triphon’s with the Citadel Guard. It’s bad enough that Neah will turn us in the minute we tell her, but Triphon might kill us!”

“Do you really think a trainee has any idea about missions having to do with old vials of blood, and chasing and killing ancient keepers of secrets?”

She paused.

“Come on.”

“We’re just going to interrupt them?”

“Why not? Neah will reject him. This is the business of parents. I don’t know what he’s thinking.”

Not that rejection would mean anything to the dauntless Triphon. If Rom knew little of fear, Triphon knew even less.

It took Rom a belated moment to realize that the voices inside had gone silent. He and Avra glanced at each other just as Neah’s front door flew open.

Triphon stepped out on the threshold, all six-foot-six of him—seven, counting the stiff inch of his athletic haircut—filling the doorway. “Who’s there?”

“Triphon,” Rom said, nodding.

“Hey, Rom.”

Neah stepped up behind Triphon and crossed her arms. Her blond hair was pulled back in its characteristic braid. Her beige sweater and pants looked more ready for the office—or assembly—than a day at home.

“Well, if it isn’t Rom. And Avra. I hardly recognize you, it’s been so long. And don’t you look a fright. What are you doing here? Spying on us? Tell me you didn’t just attend assembly looking that disheveled.”

“Good to see you, Neah,” Rom said. “Can we come in?”

Triphon stepped aside.

Rom registered Triphon’s nod as he stepped past, more conscious than ever of the fact that he was four inches shorter than Triphon.

Inside, he turned back to see Avra step inside and face the full brunt of Neah’s stare.

She turned from Avra to Rom. “So? What are you doing here?”

“Saving you from Triphon’s proposal,” Rom said.

Triphon closed the door. “Neah was about to accept.”

“No, I wasn’t!”

“You both look terrible,” Triphon said. “Are you ill?”

Rom was suddenly unsure what to say.

“We’re in trouble.”

“Trouble?”

He began to wonder if Avra was right, and coming here was a bad idea.

“We poisoned ourselves,” Avra blurted. “By accident.”

“What?” Neah paled. “What do you mean, poisoned yourself
by accident
?”

“We didn’t poison ourselves,” Rom quickly corrected. He glanced at Avra. “We have this vial that was passed to me. This vial of ancient blood. It apparently has some kind of effect.”

“Like a drug?”

“Maybe. Yes. Kind of like that.”

“Yes,” Avra said.

“Idiots,” Neah said.

Rom looked from Triphon to Neah. “We need help.”

Neah said, “Let me get this clear: You found some old blood. You took it. It poisoned or drugged you. And you come here, to my apartment? What kind of friends are you?”

“We can’t go home,” Rom said.

“What do you mean, you
can’t go home
?”

Rom weighed how much to say. “There are some people after this blood. Because of its properties, I think. It isn’t safe for us to go home.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Neah said. “You should have gone to compliance immediately.”

“We can’t,” Avra said.

“What do you mean, you
can’t
?”

Triphon followed the verbal volley, one eyebrow cocked.

Neah stared at her. “What aren’t you telling us?”

“Listen,” Avra said, stepping between them to take Neah by the arm. “The point is, we came across something that we’re not sure what to do with, and we’re not sure what it’s done to us. But we think it’s something bad, that it might be poison—”

“It’s
not
poison.” Rom shot Avra a look, stepping up. “If it were poison, we’d be dead, instead of going through this…these feelings. And I wouldn’t feel the way I do about…people…with this…attraction.”

That stalled them all. Or Triphon, at least.

“Make sense!” Neah said.

“If these feelings are any indication, then it could very well be poison,” Avra said, speaking directly to Rom. Why was she countermanding him?

“Attraction?” Triphon said, glancing between them. “What do you mean?”

“Well, it’s this…You know.” Rom looked at this bull of a man who had circumvented custom to present a contract for marriage directly to Neah. Why? It wasn’t out of desire, because as far as Rom knew no one on earth felt true desire for another human being.

No one but he and Avra now.

Rom searched for a way to sound compelling. He took a step toward the taller man. Triphon was more likely than Neah to be an advocate. “Attraction. Desire. Yearning, wanting to be with someone not out of fear of loss but for the fulfillment of something more. It’s a magical thing, and now Avra and I have it.”

Triphon frowned. “Is that so?”

“The things you’re talking about don’t exist,” Neah said. “Not anymore. Avra’s right, you’re both ill. You should go to a wellness center.” Neah turned to Triphon. “You should escort them there on your way home.”

“We can’t,” Rom said, taking a breath. “We’ve gone against Order.”

“What do you mean, you’ve
gone against Order
? Then you need to report yourselves!”

Avra gave him a pointed look as though to say,
See? I told you!

“About this attraction,” Triphon said. “You mean like a sexual urge?”

Rom paused. Sex was an acknowledged and common urge, like the urge to eat or drink. But now as he thought about it, with Avra standing nearby, the very notion of sex seemed vastly different to him. No longer a mere need to procreate or to find release, it seemed like something far deeper.

“Yes,” he said, drawing a slow breath. “Like hunger or thirst. But for the companionship of another, not simply to satisfy the body.”

“Maybe Neah should try some,” Triphon said.

Rom continued before she could object. “But it’s more than that. I’m telling you, we’ve stumbled onto something that has awakened our fundamental emotions.” He glanced at Avra, who was watching him intently. “Wonder, beauty, love.”

“Impossible,” Neah said.

Rom ignored her, eyes still on Avra. “There’s anxiety and worry, but we already had the better part of that in fear. If I’m right, we’re something
more
than we were before.”

“That’s absurd,” Neah said. “You’re talking about something archaic. As far behind us as living in caves.”

“No. It’s alive. In us.”

“That’s sacrilege.”

He could feel his heart accelerate. “If this new blood rushing through my veins is sacrilege, then something is wrong with our understanding of that word!”

“You’re against the Order!” Neah cried, stabbing her finger at Rom. “You need to turn yourselves in. And if you don’t, then Triphon and I will!”

Despite the steeliness of Neah’s gray gaze, Rom knew her sharpness came from fear. She held a good job in the Citadel arranging itineraries for the royals. She had much to lose in not upholding the Honor Code.

“About this magic potion,” Triphon said. “Let’s see it.”

Rom glanced at Avra’s coat. Triphon followed his gaze.

Avra looked between them both, cornered.

Rom nodded.

“I’m not going to take part in this,” Neah said. “I won’t be implicated by your actions!”

“Then don’t look,” Triphon said.

Avra handed the box to Rom, who took it to the table and set it down. He opened the clasp and removed the vellum-wrapped vial. Triphon pressed close behind, so that Rom could practically feel the bulk of him peering over his shoulder.

Neah edged closer to Avra, at his side. Now all four of them looked down at this bundle that had cost the old man and both Rom’s parents their lives.

The memories mushroomed in his head, and with it a bubbling sorrow that filled Rom’s chest. He lowered the vial, unable to hold back the sob that erupted from his throat. But he managed to swallow the second before raw emotion overtook him.

“What’s this?” Triphon asked. “You’re weeping?”

“He’s overcome with fear,” Neah said. “He knows this is wrong. Look at him. He’s lost his mind.”

“Leave him alone,” Avra snapped, tears in her eyes. “He’s just lost his mother to this thing. He’s feeling sorrow, and if you weren’t asleep yourselves you’d cry, too!”

“Lost his mother?” Neah said. “She’s thrown you out?”

“Sorrow,” Triphon said, as though it were a foreign word.

“No, she was killed,” Avra said.

The words hung between them.

“That’s impossible. Who would do such a thing?”

“The Citadel Guard,” Rom said. Now they had condemned themselves for sure.

“That can’t be right,” Triphon said.

Neah looked ill. “Whatever that is, get it out of my house.”

“Listen to me,” Rom snapped, turning on both of them. “Ask yourselves why the Citadel Guard would kill an old man and my mother for a single vial of old blood.”

Triphon blinked. “Old man?”

Rom held up a hand, keeping the wrapped vial close to his chest. He stepped away from them. “Listen, I’ll tell you everything from the beginning. But you have to promise to listen until I’m finished. Hear me out.”

New emotions reverberated in his voice. The love of his mother, of Avra, of his lost father, the beauty of life. He told them everything, beginning with the old man in the alley, ending with Avra’s drinking of the blood in the storeroom of the basilica. Neah’s jaw grew more fixed by the moment, but Triphon’s eyes drifted again and again to the wrapped bundle in Rom’s hand.

“I’ve never felt so…alive,” he said, summing it up the best that he could.

“Let’s see it,” Triphon said.

Rom walked back to the table, unwrapped the vial, and set it down. He spread the vellum and pointed out the verse at the top. It was the only intelligible writing on a landscape of seemingly random characters. But Triphon’s attention was on the vial. He plucked it from the table, held it up, and squinted at it. “You drank this?”

Rom nodded.

“You, too?” Triphon said to Avra.

“Yes, me, too.”

“It was the stupidest thing either of you have ever done,” Neah said. She stormed to the table and snatched up the vellum. “This clearly belongs to the Citadel. I’ll return it myself if I have to.”