Midnight Soul (4 page)

“I walked into a room and cast a spell,” I
reminded him. “I hardly wielded swords, and it wasn’t even my
magic.”

“And saved lives doin’ that.
A lot
of
them.”

“You make me sound like a hero,” I
scoffed.

He edged slightly back, a cloud coming over
his expression.

“There is no such thing as a hero. Just a
person doing the right thing in more than the usual, extreme
circumstances.”

It was my turn to consider him curiously.

Once I’d taken long moments to do this, I
asked quietly, “Why do I think that declaration is
self-effacing?”

“I’d answer that, if I knew what the fuck
‘self-effacing’ meant.”

I felt my lips curl slightly up at the
edges.

“Modest,” I explained.

“It isn’t,” he stated. “It just is what it
is.”

As he would say,
bullshit
.

I did not share this sentiment.

I also did not share my immense gratitude at
the relief his words made me feel.

I simply continued to look into his
remarkable eyes.

“You’re good at it,” he said softly, tipping
his head my way. “That game you got goin’ on. Those walls you built
that you hide behind. The distance you keep with every look, every
word, every fuckin’ breath.” His gaze tipped down to the table then
back to me. “When you aren’t drinking whiskey, that is.”

“Noctorno—”

“No one calls me Noctorno,” he stated flatly
and leaned toward me again. “It’s Noc. Especially to friends, and
Franka, I help save a universe with a woman then down a coupla
bottles of wine and a whatever this is called…” he motioned with a
flick of his wrist to the nearly depleted whiskey, “of hooch.”

“A decanter,” I shared.

“Whatever,” he muttered then spoke up when he
spoke on. “You’re a friend. So call me Noc.”

I pressed my lips together.

He let that go and continued.

“So now I’m a friend. I’m also the man who
sees you for what you are, sugarlips. You don’t fool me. And those
other men,” his eyes flicked to the door briefly, his indication of
Frey, Lahn, the other Noctorno and Apollo, “if they didn’t have the
end of the world as they knew it breathing down their necks and
took the time to
see
, you wouldn’t fool them either.”

I drew in a breath, burying his words, words
I’d heard (of a sort) from another man, in fact, from the only
other person I’d come across in my years on this earth who’d
expended the energy to
see
.

However.

He’d called me
sugarlips
.

I felt my brows snap together and I couldn’t
control the sneer in my, “Sugarlips?”

It was then his gaze dropped to my mouth
before it came back to my eyes and he whispered, “Baby, you got the
prettiest mouth I’ve ever seen.”

This flirtation after that very evening he’d
succeeded in bedding a woman who had been repeatedly violated for
over two decades.

The gall.

“Cease flirting with me,” I clipped.

He blinked, again looking perplexed, before
he stated, “I’m not. I’m just sayin’ it like it is.”

I stared at him angrily.

And again saw no guile.

This was not a man who would flirt with a
woman who he knew had just lost the only man she’d ever loved in a
heinous, drawn-out way, the pain of which would never die.

Gods.

How mortifying.

“I…I, well…” By the gods, I was stammering!
“I apologize.” And apologizing! Gods, what had become of me? I
finished it quickly, “I mistook your words.”

“I like lookin’ at you, Franka, and you’re
cute when you stop tryin’ so hard to be a hard-ass bitch. But no
decent man would make a play on a woman in your situation.” He
grinned, “He succeeds in getting her shitfaced drunk or not.”

Shitfaced?

I did not ask.

“I am not drunk,” I lied haughtily on a toss
of my head.

“Bullshit.”

I narrowed my eyes at him declaring, “I
dislike this word.”

He continued to appear amused. “I get it you
think you can rule the world with a flash of those gorgeous blues,
a pout on that pretty mouth and a pissed-off look, baby, and there
are men who’d likely break their backs to cater to your every whim.
I’m just not one of those who falls for that shit.” He leaned in
mock-suggestively. “I do it the other way around, minus the pouting
and pissed off parts.”

I pressed his way. “You
do
flirt.”

He shrugged, clearly continuing to be
entertained—by
me
—and not hiding it.

“It’s just me.”

There was a time when I’d wish he would. When
I would play with Noctorno Hawthorne in ways we’d both like.

Those times were dead for me.

Forever.

I wrapped my fingers around my mostly-drunk
glass of whiskey on the table, turned to face the fire, sat back
and emptied its contents down my throat.

“Hey,” he called.

I allowed only my eyes to slide his way.

“Just messin’ with you, sweetheart,” he
explained.

I looked back to the fire and decided, with
all that I’d already given him, there was no reason to stop doing
it.

With this man, one of only two I’d ever met,
it would cause no harm.

Therefore, I shared, “I miss him.”

“Bet you do,” he said gently.

“Their deaths were too quick,” I declared,
speaking of Minerva, Edith, Helda, the witches who had all
deservedly perished that day.

The witches who had taken my Antoine from me
and then treated him to a slow, agonizing death.

“Mm-hmm,” he murmured soothingly.

“But it’s over,” I concluded.

“That’s the rub, am I right?”

I turned my head to give my attention to
Noctorno. “The rub?”

“Without vengeance to concentrate on…”

I understood him even if he left it at that,
and I shifted my gaze back to the fire.

“Got all night, Franka,” he told me. “Goin’
to Apollo and Maddie’s wedding in a few days, hangin’ here, taking
some time to be in a place not a lot of people from my world could
hit for a vacation. So if you want me to pull the cord and get us
more whiskey, just say the word.”

He
was
kind.

Too
kind.

“I wish for the bread and lovely cheese I
consumed earlier to remain in my stomach, not be expressed onto the
carpet,” I told him.

“Think that’s a good plan,” he muttered.

I set my glass on the table and pushed out of
my seat, looking down at him.

“I should find my bed and allow you to find
yours.”

He stood too, putting him nearly toe to toe
with me.

I was a tall woman, unusually tall for this
world, and I found myself wondering if it was the same in his.

But he towered over me.

Suddenly, and in a strange way I found oddly
enjoyable, I felt delicate.

Vulnerable.

He was closer than he’d been to Circe in the
doorway to her bedchamber.

Thus he could easily lift his hand and sweep
his thumb along my jaw.

“You gonna sleep?” he asked quietly, and I
tore thoughts of his thumb on my jaw out of my mind, now feeling no
joy but deep guilt for a disloyal thought so soon after I’d lost
Antoine.

“Since I haven’t done that well since he was
taken, I doubt tonight will be any different, regardless of the
whiskey,” I answered.

“They got things you can take here, you know,
that help you with that?” he asked.

“Are you referring to sleeping draughts?” I
inquired.

“Probably,” he answered.

“Yes,” I said on a succinct nod. “However, I
avoid them. There are those who use them who become dependent on
them. I don’t wish to hazard that.”

“Good call, Franka. But one night? A couple?”
He leaned infinitesimally closer. “I can see it in your eyes, babe,
the shadows under them. I can see exactly how much you haven’t been
sleeping. Pull the cord, sweetheart. Get someone to bring you some.
Get some good sleep. Yeah?”

Why he ended his statement with a “Yeah?”
(another form of “yes” from his world) as if he was asking for my
agreement when he’d uttered a command right before that (I gentle
one, but one nonetheless), I had no idea.

What I did know was that my head was swimming
from the drink, lack of sleep, the activities of the day, and
regardless that I knew I wouldn’t sleep, I was exhausted and had
been exhausted, down to my bones, for months.

Further, I’d spent far too long in his
intoxicating company already.

So I agreed by lying, “I’ll pull the cord,
Noctorno.”

“Noc, babe,” he corrected.

“Of course,” I murmured.

“You want, I’m around, you’re still around
the next couple of days, I’ll teach you Tetris,” he offered.

I wanted to learn Tetris even though I had no
idea what it was. I wanted him to show me everything his gadget
could do.

I wanted to be in his soothing company where
no games were played.

Where it was just him and me.

“I’ll be leaving imminently.”

He studied my face, sobered and nodded.

Inebriated or not, my mask was back in place,
and Noctorno didn’t miss it.

“I’ll bid you goodnight,” I said crisply,
stepping back, dipping my chin into my neck and buckling my knees
in a slight curtsy.

A slight curtsy.

To a commoner.

What was becoming of me?

“’Night, Franka.”

I should thank him for the evening. Thank him
for the words he said. Thank him for spending time with me when he
could be with others that were better company.

I didn’t do that.

I rose to my full height, gave myself the
gift of one last look in his eyes, turned and swept from the
room.

* * * * *

Once in the bed in said room I tossed.

And I turned.

Leaving my trusted lady’s maid to her own
slumber, I eventually got up and pulled the cord.

A servant brought me a sleeping draught.

It took some time to work.

But once I fell asleep, I slept for twelve
hours.

There Are No Such Things as Heroes

Franka

The next afternoon, following one of the
royal guards, I strode sedately down the halls toward the queen’s
study.

I’d been summoned.

I’d had my bath, my hair arranged, my
personal lady’s maid, Josette, working miracles (as she normally
did) doing the work of three maids quietly with no complaint and
great talent.

I had never told her this, of course. Though
I did pay her wages and they were more than others in her position,
so I suspected she knew.

If I saw him again, I would also not tell
Noctorno that I took his advice about the sleeping draught and now
felt more refreshed than I had in months.

Further, I would not tell him that our
conversation of the evening before had been most helpful.

It had not alleviated the pain or the guilt.
However, it offered me ways to cope with, at least, the latter.

I had no idea why the queen was summoning me,
but I hoped whatever it was didn’t take too long. I’d had no food
since my bread and cheese (and wine and whiskey) of the night
before, and for the first time since Antoine was taken, I was
famished.

I also needed quiet and concentration to plan
my next steps, those being the ones I took after I visited Kristian
to make certain he was healthy and well.

I followed the guard down the hallway
thinking all of this as well as the fact I wished to be away from
the Winter Palace as soon as I could.

I thought this because I simply wished to be
away as soon as I could. It was never safe for me in Lunwyn. Every
visit there was a risk.

But also, with the windows being boarded, no
natural light could come in, and it made the Winter Palace, a
normally beautiful dwelling, eerie in a way I did not like.

The guard stopped at the closed door to the
queen’s study, rapped on it sharply with his knuckles, waited for
the command of, “Come,” and I felt my lips curl with suppressed
delight.

No queen had ever ruled Lunwyn.

Nor Hawkvale.

Nor Fleuridia or the city-state of Bellebryn.
And certainly not any of the savage nations of the
Southlands—Korwahk, Keenhak and Maroo.

Women did not rule.

And yet, when Aurora’s Atticus, Lunwyn’s
king, had been murdered during hostilities some time past, the most
powerful man in our country, (that man, incidentally, was my
cousin, Frey), installed his mother-in-law on the throne.

He did not do this as an act of nepotism.

He did this because Atticus was the king he
was (a good one) mostly (to my way of thinking) due to the woman at
his side.

Queen Aurora was savvy, watchful, deliberate
and guarded as well as outwardly attractive and stately of
demeanor.

All excellent qualities in a ruler.

It was not a surprise since her coronation
that much news had come to me. News that shared she was excelling
in her new role.

Our first queen.

Long may she reign.

Of course I thought this, but would never say
it out loud.

No, when I followed the guard through the
door, my smile died, and with ease born of decades of practice in
order to face whatever was next, as I always did, I slipped one of
my many masks into place.

This one: Loyal Subject.

As the guard stepped out of the way, in front
of me I saw Queen Aurora’s large desk. She sat behind it. Sitting
atop and situated at the outer edge of the desk, closest to me, I
distractedly noted that there were three chests, one rather small,
one somewhat sizeable, one in between.

But this did not take but scant
attention.

As ever, I needed to identify the players and
act accordingly.

Therefore I saw surrounding Aurora on both
sides were my cousin, Frey, and his wife, Princess Sjofn, or as
Frey and all who knew her (that she felt affection for) called her,
Finnie.