"I won't."
Beatrice was rendered speechless. She never heard such disrespect for the gods before. What did he think of her then? Someone who was meant to be their vessel. If he knew they spoke to her what would he say? Would he scorn her, as she had been her entire life? Would he even believe her?
She tangled her fingers into her hair. It was like he was practically damning her entire existence.
The mark on her face burned. The gods in her head screamed, demanding for punishment.
She covered her ears. Often Beatrice wished her gods were an outside noise that she could block out. But covering her ears only made them scream louder. She swore colorfully. Warm hands brushed her cheek, making her flinch.
"Beatrice… Are you afraid of your gods?"
She blinked up at him in surprise. She had never been asked something like that before. The wheels in her mind spun, searching for a way to describe all that her gods were to her.
"No. I love them."
Ilya's face darkened. "You can love something and fear it at the same time."
"That's not love."
Ilya shrugged in response.
Beatrice continued, "If you don't feel secure, it's not real love. And my love for my gods is real. And my gods love me in return."
Beatrice said that as if she was trying to convince herself.
"Love is so straightforward in your eyes."
Beatrice frowned. She couldn't fathom a kind of love where she feared the other person. What kind of life would that be like?
She felt her pulse leap in her throat. Ilya had said that he was hers. He all but said he loved her. Was he afraid of her? Is that why he said he could love something and fear it.
It was a question she didn't want to know the answer to. She had become accustomed to people being afraid of her. Though she was praised for being the vessel of the gods, people often feared what they didn't understand. And she was no exception. She could see how mothers gripped their children a little tighter when she passed. How people's eyes never left the floor when she was in a room. And if they saw the mark of a blood traitor on her face, they would only fear her more.
She pressed her palm to her cheek, chewing on her lips. Karin had always told her that fear was the best motivator a person could have, but she disagreed.
She had lived her entire life in fear. Fear was revolting. She didn't want a love with fear.
"Have you been in love before?"
Ilya's eyes went soft. A gentle smile played at his lips. "Yes."
"And have you had your heart broken?"
"Yes."
Beatrice watched him carefully. Everything about this man was odd. She wanted to know more about him, but at the same time she was scared to. She knew there was some horrible secret within him. And she wasn't sure if she wanted to uncover it.
"Do you still love your first love?"
Ilya's eyes went to the floor. He bit his lower lip until it turned white. "Yes."
Beatrice tapped her finger against her lip. "Do you love me?"
Ilya smiled. "You know I do."
"But how? You hardly know me."
"I know more than you think."
"What do you know about me?"
Ilya smiled wickedly. "What do you want to know?"
Beatrice frowned, once again hit with the unfairness of the situation. He sat there across from her, confident in his intimate knowledge of her, when she hardly knew a thing about him. How did he come to know her so well?
She leaned back in her seat, ignoring the stinging pain in her back when the fabric pressed against the open skin.
"Do you know what I think?"
Ilya's eyes flashed. He leaned towards her. "I always want to know what you think."
"I think you don't love me."
The relaxed smile fell from Ilya's face. He opened his mouth, but before he could speak, Beatrice continued.
"I think you're in love with the idea of me. I think you're in love with the person that you think you know in your head, but haven't properly looked at the person in front of you."
Ilya's mouth snapped shut. He was quiet for a while, tapping the table between them pensively. Beatrice couldn't tell what he was thinking. His face gave nothing away.
"You're right," he finally said. Beatrice couldn't hide the surprise from her face.
Even though she was the one who said it, she still felt a small prick in her chest when he agreed.
"So let me learn about the girl in front of me," he said gently. "Let me fall in love with the real you."
Beatrice bit her lip. "How do you know you'll love me?"
"Because we're soulmates."
Soulmates. It was a word Beatrice had never heard before.
She recalled an old poem about the creation of man. That the gods would split a soul into two so that no human could ever have the same power as them.
Was that what he meant? That they shared the same soul?
That was impossible. Beatrice had been born with her soul completely intact. It was the only way she could be the vessel of the gods.
"I don't share my soul with anyone."
"It's not necessarily sharing one soul. It's souls that fit together."
"Soulmates," Beatrice rolled the word around her mouth. "How did you ever think of a word like that?"
Ilya flushed. "I didn't. An old friend did."
"Your first love?"
Ilya didn't respond. Suddenly the air felt very heavy. Beatrice was filled with an ugly feeling. She didn't want to be called something he had called himself with some other person. She gnawed on her lips until she tasted blood.
It wasn't fair of her to get this jealous when she was the one that was married. Yet she couldn't help the ugliness that bloomed within her.
'Don't let him consume you,' a god whispered in her head.
She didn't ask them what they meant.