Chapter 22
22
All eyes swivel to Erik, who, for his part, does not look startled. Instead, something gloating comes over his expression. Like he’s pleased to watch Val—Fred—falter.
Of course he is , I remember. He considers Fred his competition . It was cute when Erik wanted my reassurance of his leading-man viability, exciting when he confessed his ambitions for the Elytheum TV series.
Now…I don’t much like the look on my roommate’s face.
Fred, fortunately, recovers nimbly. He clears his throat and glances at Kethryn, his fae-lord demeanor restored. “Apologies, I thought I knew this man from a war long ago,” he demurs. “I was mistaken.”
With agile professionalism, Kethryn doesn’t react, only guides them easily into the scripted scene they’ve come here to play out. “Well, if he’s any acquaintance of yours, he certainly is going to need dance lessons,” she replies.
All traces of Fred have vanished. Val steps backward, jokingly affronted. “I’d say I learned fast.” His voice is low. It’s hard to find any critique of his performance—except for the careful way he avoids looking at Erik. When Val’s eyes sweep the room, they skip seamlessly over the six-two man leaning on our doorframe with his arms crossed.
Kethryn pretends to consider, her eyes sparkling. “One can always improve,” she says teasingly.
Val laughs, then holds his arm out to her. “You heard my queen. I will be in attendance with whomever comes to take lessons. I hope to see you all there.” He ushers them both toward the stairwell with a tad more eagerness than fits his character. Only when they’ve descended the first steps does he turn just enough to dart one final questioning look at Erik.
The rest of our hall-mates retreat to their rooms, leaving the rest of us to round on Erik.
Suddenly, I don’t feel so bad about withholding information from my former alliance member. It’s pretty clear Erik has his own secrets.
In fact, for the first time since I met him, Erik looks like he doesn’t want to be the center of attention. He’s shoved his hands in his pockets and stood up from the doorway, hunching his shoulders.
“Well, I need to shower. Goodnight, everyone,” he says stiffly before entering our suite.
On the one hand, thank god he’s going to shower. On the other…
I hold the door open after him. “No way. You can’t just pretend that didn’t happen.”
Brit and Laurel follow me in. With unexpected decisiveness, Scott—I guess curious and cautious of his new ally—joins them, walking unimpeded into Erik and my common room. So much for Erik’s oath!
I would insist Erik uphold it except I don’t want to give him any opportunities to change the subject. I’m stuck with Scott now. What else is new?
“How do you know Fred?” I demand when we’re all assembled in the common room.
Scott whirls to face me. “How do you know Val’s real name?”
Regrets flash in front of my eyes—letting Scott into my room, not leaving the moment I saw him at the Experience, trying to be his friend, et cetera. “It may shock you to know, Daniels,” I reply archly, “but some people actually like talking to me. I am likeable.”
Scott snorts, then drops down onto our couch. He crosses his ankle over his knee, getting far too comfortable. The posture is startlingly familiar to me, a flashback to the occasions I would find him working on the couch in the Parthenon lounge when I went to use the Keurig. Wanting to clear his head or change his perspective, I guess. I would skitter out with my refilled coffee, feeling like I’d seen something I wasn’t supposed to—Scott, ordinary and unguarded.
I pull my eyes from him, focusing on the more pressing matter in this common room. Folding my arms, I level Erik with a questioning stare.
He lets out his breath in defeat.
“Fred is my brother,” he admits morosely.
Brit and Laurel gasp. I’m stunned speechless. Of course objectively Erik and Fred resemble each other. They’re both perfect walking Lord Valances. I just wrote off the similarity as nothing more than names on the same casting call sheet. To know Erik wants to take this part from his own brother! I mean, it really is drama befitting an epic fantasy novel.
“Did your brother not know you were coming?” Brit asks innocently.
“Oh, are you surprising him?” Laurel follows up. Neither of them knows Erik’s rivalry with Fred. I was more focused on relaying what happened with Scott than getting into Erik’s backstory. Honestly, I didn’t think it would be relevant or interesting. I should have known backstory should never be ignored.
Erik winces. “Sort of.”
I glance to Scott, who’s been surprisingly silent in this reveal. He’s watching Erik, his expression thoughtful. I wonder what pieces he’s slotting into place. Does he want to break up his alliance now that he knows Erik has an ulterior motive here? But then, so does Scott. Maybe this will just bring them closer together.
I’m so screwed.
“He got the part over you. You both auditioned,” I say to Erik. There’s an implicit accusation to my observation, but I’d rather Erik voice it than me.
Erik collapses on the couch beside Scott, crossing his arms like a petulant child. “We have the same agent,” he explains, his words coming quicker now that he’s made his confession. “We used to go out for things together. Like when casting calls were for brothers. Our agent said we looked so perfect for Val…Fred got it over me. But have I shown you the haircut I auditioned with? It—”
“ Yes ,” every other voice cries in unison.
Erik looks startled, but in classic Erik form he doesn’t get self-conscious. He merely sinks back in the couch. “Glad my story is memorable,” he says cheerily.
Laurel offers him a sympathetic smile. “You both really do look like Val.”
“Yeah,” Brit continues. “If the TV show happens, maybe you can both be in it. One of you can play Val and the other can play Resten. You know, his brother.”
Erik, who has probably studied Val’s character more than anyone in this room, does not need the clarification. He waves the suggestion off.
“As long as I’m Val,” he replies, his voice blatantly bitter. In fairness, Resten doesn’t have a whole lot of page—or rather, screen—time, since he’s killed before the events of the story.
Scott laughs, but the sound is humorless. He’s uncrossed his legs, and he leans forward onto his elbows. “You’re perfect for Val,” he says. His expression has darkened to match his tone. “In the shadow of the brother who is effortlessly everything you want to be.”
I expect the comment to offend Erik. Instead, my roommate perks up. “You’re right!” he exclaims. “I can absolutely use this in my character work!”
When auditions give Erik lemons, he makes vesperynthe over lemon water cocktails, I guess. Laurel laughs.
“It’s perfect,” she agrees. “Let’s not go too far, though. There’s no need to have your brother killed so you can then align with enemy courts in order to avenge his murder.”
Erik nods, undoubtedly glad the impact of his revelation is wearing off and, of course, eager to discuss Val’s characterization and the effect of Valance’s brother thereon. The conversation continues, Brit and Laurel delighted to find a fellow Elytheum fan in the gorgeous guy who shares their friend’s room.
I don’t join in. I’m stuck on Scott.
Scott, who delivered what I have to say was a surprisingly good Elytheum diss.
I remember he said he only skimmed the series. Either he happened to skim some very key pages, or…he read with more focus than he admitted. He’s mentioned enough specific details over the past few days for me to suspect the latter. I remember his deduction of the West College clue when I realized his deciphering of the “Last Court” required knowledge he wouldn’t have just from overhearing office chatter.
Feeling my eyes on him, Scott looks over. I avert my gaze, feeling ridiculous, like my crush caught me watching him in the middle of fourth-period French. Moi? Mais non.
Honestly, my curiosity is growing. The series is thousands of pages long. One wouldn’t keep reading unless one…liked them. Even if one said they didn’t in numerous Parthenon marketing department meetings. How far has he gotten? The full details of Val’s relationship with Lord Resten aren’t revealed until the third book, which opens with a prologue when Val was a child and his brother—
I gasp.
Everyone looks at me.
A fraction of a second later, I swat my arm. “Mosquito,” I pretend.
It’s poorly done. Erik frowns, his dramatist’s intuition picking up on my weak performance.
Brit, I’m relieved to find, is none the wiser. “I have some cream if you need,” she offers.
“Thanks!” I reply hastily. “I’m going to grab some ice from the kitchen real quick.”
With everyone’s eyes on me, I hurry out into the quiet of the hallway. I head into the seclusion of the stairwell, where my heart starts pounding without my setting foot on even one step of the four flights of stairs.
I’m not going to the dining hall. Instead, I pull out my clue scroll. Yes, I keep it on me always. There’s no knowing who might go through my things. I’ve memorized what it says, of course. Nevertheless, I need to ensure the wording matches exactly the ingenious idea I’ve just had.
The Lord of Night cherishes me. Mounted with Glory. Watching over all.
The prologue of The Ember Court is a flashback of Val and Resten—who, as the older sibling, holds the honorific “Lord of Night” until his murder. In the opening, a young Val finds his brother mounted on an ebony horse…whose name, I remember now, is Glory.
It’s why Glory is the only improperly capitalized word in the clue, I realize. It’s not an error. It’s a name . Just like in National Treasure. I should have known—Amelia is a huge fan of the franchise.
And “Mounted with Glory” and “Watching over all” don’t describe a sword. They describe a person . They confirm that the “Lord of Night” referenced in the clue is not the series’ famous Lord of Night, Valance—rather, it’s the man who held the title before Val. The Lord of Night we meet mounted on Glory, and who, after his death watches over Elytheum from Afterrealm.
The Lord of Night cherishes me.
The object of the clue is whatever Lord Resten cherishes.
In the prologue, Winters elaborates movingly on how the noble, deep-feeling Resten cared for nothing the way he cared for his…
Oh no.
His horse .
The answer is in the stables. Of fucking course it has to be horses.