Page 36 of Tempt

The legend spills across the pages, a declaration bleeding to the edge of the manuscript.

If a deity recovers their own heart, all that came before shall be rekindled.

All that came before…before he lost his heart…the time before that. It shall be rekindled.

What facet ofbefore? What shall be rekindled?

“His memory,” she whispers, her mouth going dry as a prairie.

If he succeeds, he’ll get his memory back. He shall relive all his blessings—and his torments. He will reconnect with every memory, every single one, and not just the happiness but the source of his nightmares.

The bleakness and hope of this promise scrambles like an egg in Wonder’s psyche. She didn’t uncover any of this by accident. And if so, Malice deserves to know. If he doesn’t remember who he is, he’ll want this opportunity.

But will the outcome strengthen or destroy him?

And what about her? By releasing her heart, will she gain something vital or lose something valuable?

10

She awakens with her cheek swimming in a puddle of drool. Her head lifts from the desk where her arms cross like a makeshift pillow. Dawn siphons through the windows, a gradient of hydrangea blue that bleeds with the interior’s rosemary tints from the star lanterns, while green granules akin to literary pixie dust swim through the aisles. The last thing she remembers is the legend leaching clarity from her eyes, straining and distorting her vision.

Here are the side effects of pulling an all-nighter: drool and soiled clothes that cling to her ribcage and hips. Wonder’s groggy and grimy, and she couldn’t be more pleased by this wave of nostalgia. She would willingly fall asleep amidst books any day.

An additional perk is that Malice is nowhere to be seen. She imagines if he’d been here, eager to berate her sleeping habits and scorn her appearance. He would gloat that he doesn’t need to stay up in order to conquer the Archives.

Bully for him. She’s more dedicated than that, which is why she’s found what she’s found.

After tidying up and placing the books where they belong, Wonder carts the anthology and the letter to her room. It’s time for rejuvenation. Upon her arrival from the mortal realm, she had outfitted the wardrobe closet; rifling through her options now, she dons a silk robe and then pads barefoot into the corridor.

Malice’s lair is deathly silent. He must be lurking in one of the wings.

She would bet her corsage that his door is locked. She confirms as much when testing the knob.

Descending the tower, Wonder steps from the building and into a courtyard, fashioned into a bathing area for residents. She sighs at the beautiful sight of a sunken pool built into the ground and shrouded in greenery, the branches of a willow draped around the rim to form a curtain.

The tresses of steam plaiting from the water is purely aesthetic, temperature being a moot subject. But the effect is pretty, especially beneath the firmament littered with morning constellations. The fragrance of elderflowers wafts through the air, and lotus buds float in the water.

Checking the perimeter, Wonder twists her locks into a messy bun, then hooks the robe over a bough. A breeze dances around her limbs. She wades deeply, the splashing sounds reinvigorating. Partially submerged and reclining against the ledge, she brackets her arms and tips her head back, her breasts dripping and puckering at the surface, her legs floating in front of her. Every dilemma and discovery vanishes from her mind as she drifts into therapeutic randomness.

She whispers to whichever dawn stars are listening. “Do constellations get sleepy? How intoxicated can you get off the scent of wildflowers? If a book contained an entire life, how many pages would it be?”

Eventually, she runs out of questions. Lotus flowers swim around her, tickling her knees and settling atop her feet. She rubs one of the blooms until a foaming cream seeps from the bud, then she lathers herself, bathing her skin with its generous essence.

A breeze thrusts itself into the alcove, and her skin pebbles from the onslaught.

Wonder whisks around while ducking. A thorough scan confirms there’s no one here, because everyone is in spiritual retreat, and she’s secluded in this giant structure, marooned with only one other soul. And if Malice were spying, she would know it, because he would let himself be known. He’d rather be a loud antagonist than a silent creeper.

The very thought of his eyes on her wet body produces a tiny bolt of desire. Unbidden and intrusive, it shoots through Wonder until she shakes off the disturbance.

No, he wouldn’t gawk. Rather, he would probably steal her robe and force her to traipse naked through the Archives.

She finishes washing, then rinses herself off and exits the pool. Her soles make flipper sounds against the rim’s tiles, sprinkling the plants with dew. Reaching toward the branch where she’d draped her robe, she feels nothing but air.

Wonder halts. A scream solidifies in her throat and cannons off her tongue. “Malice!”

Nude, she marches into the Archives, soaking the floors and carpets. The lanterns glaze Wonder in rosemary, turning her into a garden, emphasizing the rocks of her nipples and the sprigs of hair between her legs. If deities were modest, this graphic trip would be unforgivable. But since neither applies, it’s merely a gross annoyance.

That doesn’t dissuade Wonder from tearing a linen curtain off a window rod and wrapping it around herself. By the time, she reaches the dorm stairwell, she’s ready to maul him. Rounding the narrow corner kindled by morning starlight, she halts.

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