Chapter Twenty-Two
Quinn joins us for the carriage ride back, her anger so palpable it practically smolders.
“Fucking bitch,” she says. “Sorry, Sylvie.”
“No, do go on,” I say.
She laughs and then clutches her jaw where Adria punched her.
“You know I could heal that,” says Ronan. When I look across the carriage at him, he isn’t looking at Quinn anymore. He’s looking at me. Our eyes meet, and he looks away quickly out the carriage window, half a smile on his lips.
Gods, it feels good to see him smile like that.
“Not a chance,” says Quinn, and it takes me a minute to remember what we were talking about. “I want them all to see what a lunatic she is. I can’t believe you two grew up in the same house.”
“My parents didn’t really raise me,” I say without thinking.
“I guess they wouldn’t have had the time,” says Queen Claudia.
Shit. I brought up my parents, also known as the traitors that they all nearly died fighting against. “I was raised by our Guardian, Larus Adama, primarily,” I say, hoping to smooth over the conversation.
“That makes sense. We love Larus. Or Typhon does, at least. I mean, he really loves Larus,” says Quinn.
This comes as a shock to me. Typhon asked about him, but I thought it was due to his suspicions about what we’re doing, not romantic interest. And maybe it was, and Quinn is just reading what she wants to in it.
“He’s been pining ever since you lot arrived. Probably long before it, even. There’s been a lot of pining going on around here.” Quinn looks pointedly at Ronan, who glares at her.
He’s been pining for me.
“Quinn,” he says in warning.
I can’t help but smile. I copy Ronan’s move and look out the window to avoid making eye contact with him, but I’m certain he can feel my reaction.
“Everyone could stand to be a bit more forward is all I’m saying. Believe it or not, it’s possible to see something you want and just go for it.”
“She has a point,” says Queen Claudia.
Ronan buries his head in his hands to avoid looking at them. “Remind me to never let the three of you in the same carriage again.”
“That’s not fair. Sylvie didn’t do anything,” says Quinn.
He shakes his head at her, exasperated. “I’m not blaming Sylvie.”
“He’s no fun,” says Quinn, shifting so she isn’t facing him. “Queen Claudia. Let me tell you what I heard about Thad of House Nauta and his scullery maid.”
Quinn and Queen Claudia spend the rest of the carriage ride gossiping about the court, filling me in on the context wherever I’m lacking it.
I catch Ronan staring twice more. It sends a thrill through me each time, so much so that by the time we arrive at the palace, I’m considering following Quinn’s advice and taking matters into my own hands.
But we don’t get a chance to be alone before we’re ferried into the ballroom with the rest of the court.
I’ve passed this room a few times during the day, but it was nowhere near as spectacular as it is at night.
Thousands of candles flicker in a dozen golden chandeliers suspended over a floor tiled in an elaborate geometric pattern, the light catching on the embedded stones and glittering.
It gives the room the effervescent appearance of a glass of sparkling wine, and the flashes from the courtiers’ jewelry only enhance the effect.
It's so beautiful I somehow forget to hate it, if only for a moment.
“It is lovely,” whispers Ronan, sensing my awe. His hand hovers over the small of my back, the heat and light of it sending tingles up my spine. “But nothing is as lovely as you.”
I turn to him. I want to ask him to leave this room, to take me back to his chambers and finally show me where his bed is, but the next moment, the court realizes I’m there, and I’m pulled away from him to meet everyone Quinn and Queen Claudia were just gossiping about.
We’ve been here for weeks, but everyone treats me as if I just arrived yesterday.
I tell the story of how I saw the assassin in the shadows and shot the arrow a dozen times before someone finally rescues me.
It’s not Ronan.
It’s Titus, the man who defeated me in the trial of the blade.
Like most of the court, he’s out of his armor tonight, wearing a silver tailcoat and black breeches, the house colors of House Faber.
His long red hair has been slicked into a low knot at the back of his neck.
It suits him. “Can I get you a drink? You’ve been talking for so long by now, you must be thirsty. ”
“Wine,” I say. “And some of those little cheese puffs, if you wouldn’t mind. I’m starving.”
“Good choice. They’re delicious.”
He returns with a glass of red and an entire tray of pastries, including several of the cheese ones.
“My savior.” I give him a little bow of my head as I stuff my face with cheese. He was right—they are delicious.
“I’ll admit I had an ulterior motive in saving you. Well, two, actually.”
“Did you?” I ask, sipping my wine.
“I did. First, I’ll admit that I’ve been getting quite a bit of grief for being the one who defeated the hero of Selara, and I was hoping to show everyone there are no hard feelings. There are no hard feelings, are there?”
“Of course not,” I say. “You were more than fair.”
“It was a good fight. My second motive—”
I catch movement out of the corner of my eye. It’s Ronan, lurking off to the side near an arched doorway. A Guardian from one of the lower houses is talking to him at length about something he appears to care nothing about. His eyes flutter to mine again, his expression troubled.
“—is also a selfish one. I hoped that by freeing you from the clutches of the court, I might be able to convince the most incredible woman in the room to dance with me.”
“Oh,” I say. “Where is she?” I smile coyly. I know exactly what he meant.
“She’s standing in front of me, covered in crumbs.”
I laugh as I wipe my mouth. It reminds me of Ronan dressed as Soren wiping them in the market after we met.
“Sure. I’d love to dance,” I say, more to get my mind off the memory than anything else.
I don’t think much of it. I haven’t been to a ball like this before, but I was instructed in the etiquette. It’s customary to dance with many partners in one night if you’re unmarried.
Judging by Ronan’s white-knuckled grip on his glass, he didn’t receive the same instruction.
“Ah,” says Titus, catching my glance. “You know, there’s a rumor going around that you’re more to him than the woman who saved his life.”
He says it matter-of-factly, but it’s really a question he’s asking me. One that I’m definitely not at liberty to answer. “I have no idea what you mean.”
“Of course you don’t,” he says. “I can’t say that I blame you. He’s him, and I’m, well—”
“A very talented fighter, the heir to a Great House, and quite a gentleman besides. There’s a rumor going around about us as well, I believe.”
He beams at that and takes my hand, leading me to the dance floor.
I can’t help but try flirting with him a little. He would be an excellent match for me under different circumstances. A better match than Ronan in many ways, not least of which is that he isn’t doomed to be assassinated, if not by us, then by one of the many others Ronan has managed to piss off.
Across the room, Ronan scowls.
“If nothing else, I’m grateful I had the chance to dance with someone as beautiful and gracious as you,” Titus says.
It’s nice to hear, but it doesn’t send my pulse racing, which is unfortunate. A part of me had hoped that it would. It would have allowed me to believe that what I’m feeling for Ronan is simply physical frustration, something that could be satiated by someone else.
But if I’ve reached the point where I can’t even flirt with someone else without thinking about Ronan, I’m in trouble.
The dance floor is full of courtiers—mostly the young, but some of the older crowd as well.
I know most of the dances, having been trained by an instructor for my court debut at a time when things were going so well for us in the war that we’d believed we’d be holding our own court.
Titus dances as well as he sword fights, with similar grace and fluidity.
And better yet, he’s fun. He laughs and jokes with me much like Larus does, taking advantage of the moments when we’re near each other to point out where a cousin of House Nauta has spilled sauce down his shirt or to speculate as to why the Lady of House Modesto is smoothing her dress so much after returning from the latrines.
I do like him even though he doesn’t excite me. With him, I can almost picture a different future, one where there is no plan. Where I marry Titus, have a few kids, and eventually become the Lady of House Faber. It would be so much simpler.
It’s the life I was born to as the third child of a noble family, or the one I would have been born to if my parents hadn’t started a rebellion.
When I was born, I wasn’t the heir or the spare.
I was just there. I’m not needed to keep the family line going, and I’m not able to take up a common profession.
As much as I would have loved being a traveling acrobat, to do so would have been a scandal.
And it would have been a difficult life, estranged from my family and the resources they provide.
Because of that, like most younger sons and daughters, my only real option is to marry another noble, preferably someone with a higher status than mine.
Much of my training, the parts that weren’t meant to be used on the battlefield, concerned the keeping of a fine house.
How to entertain other nobility, how to be interesting enough to attract a suitable spouse.
Titus is exactly what my parents would have wanted for me, if he had been Nithyrian. He’s what Larus would want for me now, assuming that he survives the war that follows. If we execute Ronan and win, he’s the future I could have.
But I don’t want it.