The Sweetest Dark - By Shana Abe Page 0,49

dreams are made on,” he said softly to the water. “Both infinite and finite, human and not. I’m of comet and clay and the sparks of sun across the ocean waves.” He sighed. “I know what it’s like to doubt yourself, to comprehend that you’re so unique you’re forced to wonder about … everything. But, yes, I called you to Iverson.”

It made dreadful sense. It actually made far more sense than anything anyone had told me so far. More sense than the notion that an orphan girl, a girl so mentally damaged she’d been institutionalized, would somehow find herself accepted into the finest finishing school in the kingdom just because there’d been an opening.…

I understood then that from the moment I’d heard Director Forrester first utter the words, I’d been invisibly balanced along a razor’s edge, waiting for everyone else around me to snap to and realize what I did: The entire situation was preposterous.

“You did this?” I moved to Jesse’s side, gazing down at the crown of his head. “All this, me and the school, and the bombs—”

“I only called you. The universe arranged the rest.”

“And the war,” I continued, abruptly queasy, “my God, the war. Are you saying that you and I are the reason for that?”

“I’m saying that the true nature of our world is for matters to arrange themselves along the simplest of paths. The war happened, and you came here because of it. Through it. We all slide along our destinies, Lora, and the war is how you came to slide to me.” He stood and flicked the water from his hand. “I’ve been calling you since the day you were born. Every day. Every night. If I dared to praise any single consequence of this tear between nations, it would be that it brought you to me.”

I was surprised to discover myself suddenly sitting on the stone floor, my tailbone aching. Luminous water sloshed before me, up and down and up, and I had to look away.

Then Jesse was there, his face close to mine.

“You don’t eat enough,” he said, frowning.

I covered my eyes with one hand and let out a laugh; I couldn’t help it. “I agree.”

“Your metabolism isn’t ordinary, especially now. You burn energy at a much higher rate than regular people. You need to consume more.”

“Perhaps you’d care to inform Mrs. Westcliffe,” I suggested, still hiding my eyes. “If I attempt anything beyond two paper-thin slices of cake at tea, she looks as if she’s planning to throttle me in my sleep.”

“No,” he said, decisive. “I’ll do better than that. Hang on.”

I drew up my knees and rested my head on my crossed arms, listening to the sounds of Jesse and the sea, both of them moving in small, mysterious ways beyond the red of my lids. When he returned, he was carrying manna in a woven reed basket: a round loaf of flour-dusted bread, a block of orange cheese, and a bottle of liquid, corked and greenish-dark.

He settled beside me and broke open the bread, handing me a chunk.

“Have you had wine before?”

“No,” I said. “Maybe. I don’t know.”

“Try some now. Just a sip. You’ll feel better.”

He uncorked the bottle and handed it over. I smelled cherries and sugar and something like chocolate. Mindful of what had happened with the whiskey, I tipped the bottle to my lips and touched only the tip of my tongue to the liquid.

“Sorry there’s no water. Next time I’ll bring some.”

“This is nice,” I said. I took another swallow. It was red wine, not green. It tasted like nothing I’d ever had before.

“I thought you’d be hungry. I packed this last night, so the bread might be stale.”

“No, it’s delicious.”

And it was. All of it. The cheese, as well, every last tangy speck. I ate like I was famished, like I hadn’t put away a heap of kippers and bacon a few hours before.

I held out the last hunk of bread to Jesse. He refused it with a smile, so I ate that, too.

I suppose that would have sealed the deal, were he Fay. I’d eaten his food and drunk his wine, and if he offered I’d gladly have taken more.

Fay or fateful stars, same difference. I looked at him and thought, Now I’m surely yours.

But I didn’t say it aloud.

“I thought this would be a good place,” Jesse said. He had drawn up his knees and wrapped his arms loose around them, like I had, gazing out peacefully at the water. I could

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