Page 43 of Song of the Dawn
An army of statues covered the floor, some carved out of wood. Others looked like silver, gold, marble, granite. They were a combination of people, creatures, wild and varied. A woman stepped out of a tree. A man held a pipe to his lips, but horns grew out of his head. Instead of feet, he had hooves. A child held up an apple, but her hair was like snakes, writhing around the crown of her head.
Others were more horrifying, a hunched beast with fangs and drool coming out of its mouth. A shrouded shadow, faceless, holding a hand out as if reaching for the soul. A dog with three heads, each one more terrifying than the other. Row after row of creatures were frozen there, and the detail with which they were carved was both admirable and frightening. Realistic, as if they were creatures who’d lived and breathed once but now they were soulless statues.
Suddenly, the carving I’d seen in his office and the ones in Namen’s shop made sense. The features were blank, while the instrument was detailed.
I sat heavily on the last stair, staring in mute disbelief. But it was all possible. It was all in front of me. Ezra was oddly still and quiet beside me. Shy, considering what he displayed. He’d been right to hide his gift away for so long, but why?
“This,” I spoke at last, my voice a thin thread of awe. “This is your gift?”
“This is my gift.”
“Ezra, this…this is the most remarkable thing I’ve ever seen. They’re so lifelike, so real…how?”
I tilted my head up at him, expecting to see his face pink from my praise. Instead, his shoulders were hunched and his face drawn into a sadness I did not understand.
“It comes to me,” he said slowly, carefully. “The ideas creep up on me, begging to be reborn. They serve as reminders of what I’ve seen, where I’ve been, what I’ve done. This is the only level of creation I’m allowed to have. No more.”
The way he whispered the words was haunting, as if he’d done something once and this was an apology. Again, I wondered at his history, at the vague story of darkness he’d told me. What had he done that was so wrong it had required banishment?
Turning my attention back to the statues, I stared at them, one by one. The detailed ones were like the creatures I’d seen last night in a drunken blur…creatures he’d told me were real. And a dawning awareness came over me. Slowly. Like the setting sun in the evening, the moments so sure and steady one almost never notices until it’s completely dark. All this time, had Ezra been trying to tell me who he was? He was one of them. Not from here. From another world. Gifted. Magnificent. Strong. My sun god. What had he done?
“How long have you been able to carve like this?” I asked. It was a lifetime of work, and I couldn’t even imagine how long it had taken him to shape and form each creature.
I recalled one of my conversations with Dusty and Giselle. Ezra had found them on his quest for wood, for this, his creations.
He sat beside me, his shoulder brushing mine. “I started when I was young, to pass the time, not that there was much time. In a miserable life, where I controlled nothing the one skill I had was the ability to mold something beautiful out of clay and, as my skill grew, wood. I worked with my hands but hid my gift from my parents, not that they cared. Once, I put a carved hummingbird in my mother’s window, thinking it would make her smile. But she was too far gone by then. Nothing lit up her spirit. By the time I became a knight, it was already an innate skill, a way to ease the passing of time when traveling. I made nothing as complex as these until I gained my own tower.”
He trailed off, and though I waited, he did not speak again. I stared at the child with the waving hair. Snakes. A shudder went down my spine. “What do they mean to you?”
Running his fingers through his hair, he sighed. “They are reminders of who I once was and who I want to be now. Redemption is possible, and if I stay on the right path, I will attain forgiveness.”
I took his hand in mine, lacing our fingers together and holding tight. “Ezra, you speak of such darkness, of sorrow, and of a past you are unwilling to share about aside from vague hints. But all I’ve seen of you is goodness. You are kind, generous, considerate. All those things can’t be an act, because I’ve seen you daily, working to ensure the happiness of others. You serve without apology, and I can’t help but believe whatever held you, whatever darkness that had a grip on you, is gone. You have changed, and it’s your goodness that intrigues me, that makes me start to fall in love with you.”
Eyes wide, he faced me, his voice low. “You aren’t frightened, are you?”
“It is surprising, but I realize you’ve seen much more than I have, wild creatures and varied lands, and I’m willing to trust you.”
His eyes brightened, and he leaned closer, pressing a hand against his heart. “Do you know what your words do to me? I thought I was beyond having anything worth living for here on this side of the barrier, beyond the scope of what I’ve known, but you, you’re always surprising me. I don’t deserve you or your love, but I know that’s not how love works.”
“No,” I agreed. “Love is a choice.”
“You are wiser than your years,” he breathed, studying my face. “It is a choice, and I choose you.”
I kissed him first, tasting the fire in his words. Even though the creatures surrounding us had lifeless stares, I sensed we were not alone.
Mila
The inn was quiet after the harvest festival, and the next evening, I slipped outside to walk to Ezra’s tower. Craning my head back to eye the carriage house, I spied Rachelle and Rabon outside of it, laughing. They’d probably go on a moonlit ride, and I wondered who would be later to bed, myself or Rachelle?
Nerves fluttered in my belly like the wings of butterflies as I hastened up the path to the tower. Blooming flowers lined the walkway, their white faces upturned to the light. Tiny yellow bees hummed, darting in and out of the delicate petals. Daylight hovered on small stones that poked up from the grass. At first, I thought they were boulders, markers of some sort, until I saw the writing on them.
Squatting, I studied one, brushing away the grass to give myself a better view. A series of lines was carved into the stone, runes, and they glowed faintly, just a hint of gold in the sunlight. Brow furrowed, I stood upright and continued to the tower. Why would someone put runes on stones, and what did they mean?
Ezra waited for me, leaning against the doorframe, hands in his pockets. The sunrays caught him just right, and I let out a breath, staring unabashedly. He was breathtakingly handsome. The angles of his face and body, perfect in every way. As I neared, my skin flushed at the reminder of what he’d done to me only the day before. What would he do to me tonight?
“Searching for wild strawberries in the grass?” he called.
“What? Oh.” I laughed. He must have seen me inspecting the runes. “No, there are drawings on the rocks, and I was curious about them.”
