42. Mercy
42
MERCY
C urled up on the leather couch in the library, I try to coax myself to pick up a book and read. Instead, I stare at the stained glass window, my thoughts one long trail of winding roads leading nowhere.
It’s the final day of Tithe Season. Gemini’s day. Typically, I’d visit him while he collects secrets like handfuls of dirt from his worshippers. Not today. The threat against us is still looming and so here I am, collecting my own kind of secrets in the form of my emotions running wild and amok.
Wolfgang and I have slept in the same bed for the past three days. For the last two nights, he came and slept in the ruler’s bedchamber with me. “ Where I belong,” he said haughtily with a raised chin and pursed lips.
The dogs love him.
So I agreed.
It’s becoming too easy to have Wolfgang around. As if behind all that animosity there’s an effortlessness between us. I don’t think either of us expected it, but somehow it feels like it’s always been there. Waiting.
“There you are,” Wolfgang declares, and I jump at the sound of his voice.
He circles the couch to stand in front of me. His face is beaming, stance wide and hands tucked into his pockets. His suit is black today, a deep velour waistcoat, with a textured shirt underneath. A fleeting thought dances across my mind.
I wonder if he chose black to match me.
It’s silly. And I barely pause to entertain it.
“What is it?” I say with joviality as I wait for him to reveal why he appears so bashful.
“I need you to come with me,” he answers while offering his hand.
“What for?” I say tentatively, but still my hand slides into his, his skin warm and inviting.
He pulls me into his arms, and with my heels, we’re practically eye to eye. He gives my nose a quick peck. “It’s a surprise.”
“I don’t like surprises.” I hardly recognize myself when I follow my statement with a nearly-there giggle.
“Well,” he starts with a wink as he leads me out the door, “You’ve never been surprised by Wolfgang Vainglory.”
I say nothing as I follow him out, but I can’t help to think that his words ring true even in a deeper sense. Nothing about Wolfgang has been like it seemed.
“Are you taking me to the bathhouse?”
Wolfgang shoots me a droll look. His palm is a comforting weight against mine as we walk down the vacant corridor, our footsteps bouncing against the stone walls. “How could that possibly be a surprise?”
I shrug, barely able to contain the shy smile tugging on my lips. The levity of our shared moment is as delicious as his cologne tickling my senses. The same ease that’s been growing in strength in the past week, wrapping around us like a soothing cloak.
“Here we are,” he says with excitement as he stops beside a closed door only a few steps away from the entrance of the bathhouse.
“The surprise is inside?” I ask, my gaze sweeping over Wolfgang’s face as if expecting to find an answer.
“Open the door,” he presses, his eyes shining.
There’s a knot in my throat. Maybe from nerves. Or perhaps, it’s from the slow realization that the surprise is a gift from Wolfgang.
I bite my inner lip, my hand curling over the large doorknob, timidly pushing the door open.
At first, my eyes can’t quite decipher what I’m staring at. It’s as if by walking through the threshold, I’ve somehow appeared back at the Grounds.
“Oh my gods …”
I peer around the room. My words evaporate into a stutter of indecipherable sounds as I try to absorb what I’m seeing.
It’s a near replica of my crematorium.
The stone dome overtop the stainless steel machinery. The sleek look of black obsidian and silk. I don’t miss the subtle additions of dark red and velvet, as if Wolfgang couldn’t help but need a reflection of himself inside this room as well.
“Now you can stay close,” he says softly beside me. His voice is meek as if waiting for me to say I hate it.
“You planned this?” I ask in awe. But of course he did, who else? He nods, smiling. “When? How?”
His expression turns boyish, his hand rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s been … a few weeks.”
The knot in my throat grows in size. A rock. A boulder. A brick wall I can barely climb. I hold Wolfgang’s piercing gaze.
“But—” I swallow, hoping I can speak through the obstruction, “a few weeks ago, we were still at each other’s throats.”
He looks down, hands stuffed into his pockets. Peering around the room, his eyes finally return to me. “The gods made me do it.” Obviously downplaying his intentions. He cracks a smile, and my heart skips a beat as he lets the silence linger. “Besides, Mount Pravitia should have had one already. Your family ruled the city once before too, didn’t they?”
“They used to burn the bodies publicly,” I state, my mind still running in circles unable to fully comprehend how Wolfgang planned to have a crematorium built for me.
Before we were even … this.
“They did?” Wolfgang replies, his eyebrows pulling upward in surprise.
I nod. “Crèvecoeurs were less private a hundred years ago, it seems,” I reply with a small grin.
Taking his hand out of his pocket, he steps closer, his fingers curling around my upper arm. He gives it a little squeeze. His gaze is seeking, open, and vulnerable. “Do you like it?”
The tentative intonation of his question finally snaps me out of my daze. My arms wrap around his neck. “Yes,” I say, my lips close to his. “Of course. I love it.”
His hands slip over my hips, clasping them together behind my back while he kisses me softly. “There’s a studio room behind that door for your pictures,” he says, tilting his head toward a door to our right.
I laugh warmly and return his kiss. “You’ve thought of everything.”
He smiles, his arms squeezing even tighter around me. “Anything to keep you close.”
We spend the next few hours together, most of it in the bathhouse as I sit in a plush chair next to the water, listening to Wolfgang play the violin near the large windows, the sun’s rays bouncing off his instrument.
It’s the first time I can bask in the vision of him like this, without having to hide from view or taunt him into paying attention to me. Sleeves rolled up his forearms, hair slightly messy. He’s a masterpiece at play. An animate carving of a god himself. He is beauty in material form.
Abruptly, Wolfgang ends the song he was playing, pulling me out of my reverie. Checking his watch, he curses under his breath while hurriedly putting the violin back into its case.
“Something wrong?” I ask.
His smile is warm and inviting as he looks over to where I’m sitting.
“Nothing, I’m just late for a meeting at Vainglory Tower. I’d usually let Dizzy attend in my place, but she’s busy with a lead.”
“A lead about the bombing?”
He nods as he shrugs his jacket back on. Walking up to where I’m sitting, he leans over to rest his palms on the arms of the chair. His grin turns seductive as he peers into my eyes, nudging my nose with his before kissing me softly on the lips.
“Will you miss me?” he asks smoothly when he pulls away but still stays close, his voice like a pleasant trickle down my spine. His lips graze mine as he waits for me to answer.
“Perhaps,” I say, acting coy.
He chuckles darkly, leaning into a deeper kiss before pulling away. “Are you okay with walking back upstairs alone? I need to leave now,” he says as he fixes his tie.
I press my lips into a mocking pout. “I think I’ll manage.”
He smiles warmly, then sends me a kiss with a quick press of his hand to his lips before walking out of the bathhouse. I stare at the spot where he disappeared, my chest full of strange affection, our kiss still tickling my lips.
Stepping into the drawing room, I hide the small jolt of surprise at unexpectedly seeing Dizzy standing near the fireplace.
“Dizzy,” I mutter, eyebrows pulling together in irritation. “Wolfgang isn’t here.”
Upon hearing my voice, she turns to face me, her expression cold while her eyes sweep over my body, then back up. “I know.”
The hairs at the back of my nape rise, my senses suddenly on high alert.
Something here is wrong.
“If you know that he isn’t here then you should also know you aren’t welcome in our private quarters,” I say, squaring my shoulders, my fingers instinctively brushing my dagger under my skirt.
Dizzy’s dark brown eyes dip to my thigh before flashing me a forced, thin-lipped smile.
“Don’t you want to know why I’m here?” Her voice is sickly sweet, and the urge to dismiss her strengthens the more I pin her with my stare.
“I don’t care,” I reply with a small sneer.
Her laugh is dry as she approaches the two settees facing each other. “Oh, I think you will care.”
She smooths her ruffled blouse before sitting down, inviting me to do the same with a quick wave of her manicured hand.
The chilly bite to the air around us whispers that I won’t like what she has to say but something prevents me from kicking her out. My curiosity wins. I step up to the settee but stay standing.
After a tense beat, Dizzy speaks. “Congratulations on your win, it was well deserved.”
I flash her a distrustful look, eyes narrowing as I try to decipher the meaning behind her words. I know she’s been Wolfgang’s right hand for years now, but she’s not related to any of the six families and therefore wasn’t in attendance on the day of the Lottery.
Then why does it sound like she knows what truly happened on that day?
“Enough,” I spit. “Tell me why you’re here or get out.”
“Fine then.” Her face flattens into something a lot more menacing, her dark eyes souring in distaste. She crosses her legs, her hands folding over her knee. “What if I could help you become the sole ruler of Pravitia?”