Daughter of No Worlds

There was a long silence. And then Max’s voice was more solemn, most hesitant, as he said, “You gave me that same feeling, Tisaanah.”
My breath stilled.

If you can do it, I can do it.
I choked out, “You can do it even if I can’t.”

Because I wanted him.
I wanted him in so many ways. As a friend, as a kindred soul, as a fierce teammate. As skin and lips and teeth. As a hitched breathless moan in the darkness or a lazy embrace in the sunrise. I wanted that. I wanted it all.

Either way, who knew how long it would be before we could be this way again? And maybe I needed sleep, but did I really need it any more than I needed her? Than I needed to spend every possible second inside of her, or touching her, or watching her, or listening to her? I wanted to memorize every sound she made, every expression, every freckle or mole, like I was a cartographer tattooing a map of her onto my soul. Still so many paths to chart

It begins with two souls who find themselves suddenly, utterly alone.

No. No sleep tonight, that was for sure.

He snorted. “As much as I love being a last resort, this is ridiculous.

“As much as I love being a last resort, this is ridiculous.

We’ll make sure. Apparently, there was a “we” now.

I had to admit, I was pleasantly surprised — if somewhat perplexed — by how quickly Max had gone from trying to drive me away to being so deeply invested in my success.

“If you can do it, I can do it.”

“Good luck.” A bitter smile twisted the edges of my mouth. “I do this so I don’t need luck.”

“If I become lost, I will never be found again.”

“Everyone knows everyone, mostly because everyone has either screwed or screwed over everyone else. Sometimes both. Occasionally even at the same time.”

“Oh, Max. She really has learned a lot from you, hasn’t she?”

“You do not have to.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I did not graduate from the Zeryth Adris school of shitty friendship.”

“But it was only at the end that I realized,” I said. “He loved me as a thing belonging of him. Not as a person.”

“And who the hell are we,” he finally said, voice low and thick, “to carry something so precious?”

I learned that one side of his smile always started first — the left side, a fraction of a second before the right — and that he loved ginger tea above all else and the list of things he wasn’t made for.

Max leaned over the table, making intense eye contact, lowering his voice in an imitation of Sammerin’s smooth, quiet drawl. “‘Oh, you’re a hatmaker? How fascinating. I knew from the moment I saw you that you had an artistic spirit.’” He shook his head. “It’s disgusting and, yet, riveting.”

“I’m not made for that.” He raised the glass to his lips, paused. “I’m referring to the social graces part.”
“But the part after — you are made for that?”

“I figured you should have something both beautiful and functional, like you.”

A dancing smile glinted in his eyes. “I think,” he said, “that you are breathtakingly functional.”

Honestly? I thought he was breathtakingly functional too. He was the most breathtakingly functional thing I had ever seen.

“A crazy person. Like, for instance, one that rolls around on the ground grinning to herself while covered in her own blood.” Loo-nuh-tic. I liked it.

What happened? Why didn’t you fly away?

“I do nothing because I already did everything and failed. And I couldn’t take it. Just couldn't do it anymore.”

I opened my eyes and looked into Max’s, cloudy and blue, a reflection of my own. “Because if I allow myself to be angry, I will never stop.”

I loved those little idiosyncrasies. I loved all of it.

“Ascended above,” Max groaned. “Don’t do it, Moth. Valtain girls are trouble.” I laughed. “Even me?”
“Especially you.”

“So maybe,” he whispered, “I could be made for this.” Maybe I could, too. Made, or unmade. In that moment, I didn’t care which.

“If tonight was a battle, Tisaanah, you conquered.”

“Perhaps next time, though, you could choose a more mundane paramour. Maybe a baker. Then we could just sit around eating pies instead of throwing our lives into such exciting disarray.”

What were you? Before? {I do not remember. Now I am only pieces of many things. Incomplete.} Its pain rang out in my chest, a mournful, empty cry. I am, too.

“Moth, breaker of flowers, spy glasses, pitchers, and hearts,” Max mused, shaking his head. “He is your apprentice after all, Sammerin.”

“Max. What are you doing?”
“Lamenting.”

“Inhuman,” he muttered. “Inhuman?” I shook my head. “Very human. The ugliest parts of humanity.”

“Magic was off limits but hidden blades are fair game. So little has changed, Nura.”

I was good at magic, good at fighting, good at gardening. But I was excellent at avoiding inconvenient truths.

There had been many, many times over the years when I very vividly imagined how good it would feel to rip out Zeryth’s throat, but this may have been the first time that I actively had to stop myself from doing it.

I wasn’t thinking properly.” It was so saccharine

“It’s easy to die for someone,” I said, “but it is so much more valuable to live. I do not give you permission to fail if I fail. Do you understand me?”

“This isn’t what I want.”

My last thought, as sleep took me, was that I wouldn't mind at all if I was tethered to his harbor forever.

Well, that was more effective than any bucket of cold water: Oh, yes, now I remember. Everything is terrible.

Sammerin just looked at me, that knowing look sparkling in his eye, and raised his eyebrows slightly. “Have fun?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Have fun?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“This is a tent. A shelter constructed of fabric. Fabric is a material not known for its sound dampening qualities.”

“At least if you die, you’ll die happy.”
“Fuck you.”
“I don’t need anyone’s leftovers.”

“We walk in together, and we walk out together.”