Chapter Ten #3
Ione’s hands were still on Lina’s arms, warm and steady.
“We were just about to storm the acolytes’ building to check on you, but I’m pleased to see you’ve made a miraculous recovery.
” She grinned and leaned in, conspiratorial.
“Is the warden actually hurt? Tell me he is. Was it River again?” She bounced.
“Oh, I wish I’d been there! If River is right about the warden wanting to marry me, well, this ought to give him pause. ”
Lina swallowed, registering with delayed relief that she was not in trouble – at least not in any more trouble than she already was. “I, ah, haven’t seen the warden today,” she began, “but I…”
Ione tilted her head, waiting patiently. A little wrinkle of worry formed between her brows when Lina still couldn’t find any words; her hands lowered from Lina’s arms, long fingers twining with hers.
So many lies. Lies had done well to protect her thus far, but met with Ione’s patience, her genuine concern, Lina was struck again by the depth of her falsehoods.
Family members, friends, people Ione had known had been maimed or killed by pyromancers like Lina.
She had seen the pain in Ione’s expression whenever she learned about another death, the tightness in her jaw from trying to stay strong, that same wrinkle between her brows.
She’d heard her pray to Menon, privately, when perhaps Lina wasn’t meant to listen.
Why won’t you come?, Ione would demand quietly at the altar in her family’s flat. Why are you letting these people suffer?
Inevitably, Ione would find out about her. It was only a matter of when.
Ione squeezed her hands, bringing her back to the present. “Cynthia,” she murmured, and, understanding, Cynthia bowed and excused herself to check on River.
“Come,” Ione said then, tugging Lina with her towards her flat. “We’ll have some tea.”
Mutely Lina followed, glad at least for the tea. She could still taste the warden’s blood.
Even several weeks into knowing Ione, and after countless visits to her family’s opulent apartment, Lina felt like an interloper in these fine rooms. She peeked into the pristine kitchen as Ione flitted ahead; into the salon, at its plush cream sofas and blonde wood bookshelves and chandelier dripping with crystals cut like moon phases.
No Penina or Ronan Artem, at least, both of them likely meeting with other high priests or attending to their own duties.
Lina breathed a sigh of relief as she trailed after Ione through an ivory-wallpapered hallway lined with seascapes, glad she was saved from Penina’s furtive glances and Ronan’s awkward small-talk.
Ione’s bedroom, by contrast to the outer rooms, was like a cave: intimate and cosy, with deep-sea walls and furniture in dark walnut draped with rich velvet throws in ocean shades.
Ione pulled Lina past their usual place at the round little table and instead led her to the palatial bed layered with pillows.
“Sit,” Ione instructed, before gently pushing Lina down. With that, she glided to the end of the room and clattered through a low cabinet for her tea set.
“Shouldn’t I be the one making you tea?” Lina asked, feeling calmer in the cool shadows, away from prying eyes.
“Nonsense, I’m practicing.” Her head popped out from behind the cabinet door. “Do you know how difficult it is to control water temperature?”
Probably about as difficult as maintaining a steady flame. Lina bit her tongue and managed an anaemic smile. “Some teas are very specific about it,” she said, her voice sounding hollow. “It’s quite rude of them.”
Ione laughed, a gilded chime that coursed through Lina like electricity.
You’re an attendant. Only.
Oh, how Castor would laugh. You’d think an Artem of all people would care for you?
Shut up, Castor, you’re jealous.
Ione dragged the little table over to the edge of the bed and arranged the tea set onto it, each movement measured, a beautiful fluttering of her hands.
Ione misjudged herself at times, Lina noted; now, missing the handle of the teapot, sending an embarrassed little smile up at Lina.
Squinting, she filled the teapot with steaming water and plopped in a teabag fat with rose petals, sending a cloud of fragrant steam into the room.
Soft, and sweet.
Catching Lina watching her, she stood. “Are you really feeling unwell?” She reached to comb a stray curl from Lina’s eyes, the backs of her fingers cool on her forehead.
She froze then and pulled away. “Sorry,” she said, head bobbing, a clumsy bow.
“Cynthia’s always reminding me that not everyone wants to be touched. ”
“I don’t mind,” Lina said, and then looked down, humiliated at how quickly she’d responded. She clasped her hands together on her lap, digging her fingernails surreptitiously into her palms. “And – yes, I was very ill. Before.”
The light blue silk of her dress whispered as Ione edged closer. Knelt before her.
“I won’t demand you to talk about something you don’t want to.” Solemnly, Ione laid her hands over Lina’s. “You seemed afraid of the warden’s brother, and then I didn’t see you for so long, and I…”
Lina barely managed a neutral nod through the startling, vindictive delight in remembering Nalu’s rage. In hurting him and escaping unharmed.
Ione’s thumb brushed Lina’s skin, the featherlike a touch a contrast to Lina’s cruel thoughts. Maybe Kai and River were right to distrust her. Maybe she was a monster, fuelled by the same hideous blood that coursed through Castor’s veins.
“Especially after hearing the warden was quite hurt and hiding behind a supposed illness, I was worried… something had happened to you, too.” Ione gazed up at her, earnest. Sincere.
In the light, Lina saw that her eyes oscillated as they sometimes did and couldn’t help but smile; Ione, in turn, blinked and rubbed them, huffing.
“I wasn’t afraid of Etan.” Lina hesitated, searching for her next words. It felt wrong to meet Ione’s sincerity with lies. “I was afraid of… men like him.”
Ione’s eyes fell to Lina’s wrists, understanding. Wordlessly she poured the steeped tea and stirred in a spoonful of honey into each gold-rimmed cup.
“You shouldn’t serve me,” Lina said when Ione handed her one. “Or kneel before me.”
“My duty is to my people,” Ione whispered, her focus on the pale pink tea. “In more ways than I can explain.”
The air grew warm, too warm. Lina swallowed and set the cup back down, queasy. “Except Saros,” she said, her attempt at humour feeling flat.
Still, Ione snorted. “Oh, he doesn’t need my help.” She climbed up beside Lina on the edge of the bed, close, arms touching and knees knocking against each other. “Remember what I promised.”
Lina smiled back, the heat of the tea, the room, her own blood rushing to her cheeks dizzying her. Ione’s eyes seemed to dance, roguish mirth colouring her pale skin pink, and this close, Lina caught a hint of her perfume, sweet violet and warm vanilla.
Her pulse drummed in her throat, making the wardstrings feel tighter, claustrophobic.
“You’ll protect me,” Lina whispered hoarsely, lifting one hand to her neck, tracing the icy heat of the ward.
Ione caught her hand, brought it to her. Fire burned in her eyes – not the self-righteous gleam of conquest Lina remembered in Castor and Rigel, but something gentler. Tender and devoted, a guardian’s flame that made Lina feel weak.
“And soon – ” Ione pressed her lips to the backs of Lina’s fingers, impossibly soft, her grey eyes still fixed on her. “I’ll be able to protect us all.”
The wardstrings tightened.