Chapter 13
Vivian’s Point of View
Rule thirteen: Always go full octopus.
Remember when I was hopeful that being placed with a babysitter would increase my chances of finding Irena?
Old me was an idiot.
It’s been two days since Leon started spending his days locked away in Council meetings, and I’m still being watched like a hawk. Every morning, he hands me off to my babysitter, ordering me to do ‘whatever the inner circle tells me to do.’
My daytime prison is a fancy sitting room, decked out with multiple plush chaises, a Victorian-looking couch, and a few other scattered chairs. The place looks like it was pulled from the set of a historical romance movie, but at this point, I’m numb to the resemblances.
At first, I thought being placed under Nymara’s care was a stroke of luck. Given the way Need treats her daughter, I hoped my new companion might turn out to be an ally. But at this point, I think I would have better chances if I teamed up with a tree. The conversation certainly would flow better.
No matter how many times I’ve tried to draw her into conversation, she hasn’t said a word. She just stands against the wall, silently watching me. Usually, she looks bored, but I’m pretty sure she’s also judging me.
I’ve tried walking out of the room, but there’s always a guard standing outside the door. And no matter how nicely I’ve asked, they won’t let me leave.
I suppose I could knock out the guard and run for it, but without any clue as to where Irena might be, it would be a suicide mission.
At least for now, I’m stuck.
I’d like to think I’m taking my new confinement incredibly well.
Especially given the fact that Leon had the foresight to plan my afternoons.
My every minute has been spent in back-to-back meetings with florists, dress designers, and so many other professionals that they are starting to blend.
Because why wouldn’t my demented ex put me in charge of planning the wedding that he’s forcing me into?
So, I’ve been making the best of the situation and really nurturing my mental health.
Dress designer?
“I’d like to have ocean vibes for my dress.”
“No, not a mermaid dress. I’m looking for an octopus dress.”
“No, like actual tentacles. If it doesn’t have ten-foot tentacles, Leon and I will be devastated. They’re very symbolic of our love.”
“No, not as a train, they need to float around me, and I have to be able to control them, just like a real octopus.”
Cake designer?
“Have you heard of spam? It’s a delicacy from the Mortal Realm. That’s the flavor I want.”
“No icing. I want to SEE the spam. It’s a symbol of prosperity. Put spam on everything.”
Even now, the lace napkin designer looks concerned as he packs up his things. He’s had that expression ever since I drew him my ‘vision’ for the napkins.
I can’t imagine why. Personally, I think my tombstone sketch was spot-on, but maybe nobody uses ‘RIP’ in the Otherworld.
A cultural barrier checks out.
Some people might think that I’m unraveling. Personally, I think humor is the duct tape holding together the crumbling pieces of my sanity.
The napkin designer fumbles with his things to reach for the doorknob, and I open the door for him. Lifting my rosehip tea in a kind of awkward salute, I make sure to thank him for his art, even as he hustles to put some space between us.
He must not be good at accepting compliments.
Before turning back to my gilded cage, I give a dazzling smile to the guard stationed in front of the door.
His helm is down, masking whoever is underneath.
Still, I know there’s no chance this is Damien.
Yesterday, Leon confirmed that Need is allowing only the Elite guards into the castle as an extra security measure.
The guard doesn’t acknowledge my existence. They never do, unless I try to leave. That used to be fine; after all, they were just doing their jobs. Until last night, when I saw one shove Nymara.
She didn’t fight back, just stumbled away down another hall.
At first, I assumed it was personal, but it was enough to make me start paying closer attention.
This morning, I noticed how the servants gave the guards a wide berth, barely masking their fear.
Then, I saw another guard terrorizing a serving girl down the hall.
So now, I terrorize them.
Tactically, of course.
“Hey, how’s your day going?” I ask brightly.
The guard grunts but otherwise ignores my existence.
“Oh, yeah, lots of traffic getting in this morning?” I continue, undeterred.
He continues to stare blankly at the wall.
“Do you think metal uniforms are comfortable? I was thinking you’d all have a better time in spandex. There must be a charm to make it as strong as metal, no?”
Still, no answer.
“If I were you, I’d unionize,” I note, sounding serious.
When he remains silent, I lift my crystal teacup so that it’s directly in his line of sight. “Hey, can you hold this for a second?”
He doesn’t move.
I drop the cup.
It shatters, splattering lukewarm tea all over him and the floor.
I gasp, “Oh my gosh! Why didn’t you take the cup? That was Need’s favorite cup! And you broke it!” I whisper-shout in a horrified tone.
The only reaction I get is a slight scraping sound as his hands fist at his sides.
Mission accomplished.
When I look down the hall and don’t see any incoming servants, I give the guard one last accusatory frown before shutting the door in his face.
“Alright, who’s next? A utensil carver? Do I need to choose what kind of texture will be on the rugs?” I ask as I head back to my seat, mostly talking to myself.
“No,” Nymara answers, still standing by the wall.
If I were still holding my cup, I probably would have dropped it.
She speaks!
I take a breath, trying to calm my excitement so I don’t spook her. “Sorry, to clarify, do you mean no about the people I mentioned? Or no, as in no more meetings? Blink once for the first, and twice for the second.”
Her mouth quirks up, just for a second, as if she might smile.
I might be in shock.
“You’re–” she starts, but is cut off when the guard opens the door.
That’s when I realize my day is probably about to take a turn for the worse.
Lilanthara stands in the doorway. Once again, she’s adorned in rose gold, but today, her dress has enough glitter that I’m pretty sure she could get away with calling it reflective gear. Her wings are folded neatly behind her, and she doesn’t have a hair out of place.
I wonder if she’s glamouring, or if she spends hours every day achieving this level of perfection.
The evil twin saunters into the room, and the door closes silently behind her. Her serene mask melts away as she glances between Nymara and me. She looks at us like a cat who’s just caught a mouse between its claws.
“Well, well. Doesn’t this seem like a stiflingly boring get-together?” She asks, taking a seat in a low-backed chair.
I’m torn between wanting to ask her if she has a pair of sunglasses I can borrow, since her glitter is blinding me, or keeping silent.
I haven’t seen her since the Council dinner where she saw me steal a knife.
Yet she still hasn’t said a word. It’s killing me that I don’t know why she’s staying silent.
Is she trying to help me? Or does she want leverage?
A clicking fills the tense silence as Lilanthara drums her fingernails (claws) on the chair’s wooden armrest. “I’ve graciously given up an hour of my time, on Need’s instruction, to provide you with an example, so that you can learn how to act like a proper Creator,” she pauses like she’s waiting for some kind of acknowledgment for her sacrifice.
“Mmhmm,” I mumble.
The staccato of her nails stops short, and she sneers at me. “However, I know a lost cause when I see one. You aren’t fit to hold power of any kind, and I don’t like to waste my time.”
Leverage is looking far more likely.
Shame.
She examines her cuticles, and her wings give a slight twitch. “Still, we have an hour, so why don’t we have some fun?”
There’s an evil gleam in her eyes, and I get the distinct feeling that her idea of fun is going to be anything but. Nymara must agree. Her gaze is now fixed on the floor, and her posture is rigid. Even with her loose black dress, I can tell she’s breathing faster.
Is she afraid?
“You know, you really are a complete stranger to us, Vivian,” Lilanthara continues, her voice turning sickeningly sweet, “and I would just love to learn more about you as a person. I ran into Leon this morning, and he mentioned you must follow my orders.”
Alarm bells go off in my head. “I’m an open book. Ask away.” Hopefully, my easy agreement will stop her from using the leash.
She giggles, and the sound is eerily similar to Rosie’s laugh. “Don’t be silly, just because Leon is a lovesick moron, doesn’t mean we all are.”
Oh, this is not good.
Just as I try to think of something to say that will distract her, Lilanthara snaps, “Vivian, you will answer my questions truthfully.”
Fuck.
“Do you love Leon?” From the knowing smirk on her face, she already knows the answer.
The leash tugs on my mind. “No,” I answer through my teeth.
Lilanthara leans forward in her chair, excited. “And do you love the other Destroyer, Sin?”
Ice crawls down my spine when she says his name, and I bite my bottom lip, trying to force my mouth shut.
“Yes!” The word is all but wrenched from my lungs.
A Cheshire cat grin forms on her face. “Oh, this is positively scandalous information.”
Goosebumps prickle over my skin. I keep my eyes fixed on the wall, forcing my expression into indifference. If she can’t pull a reaction, maybe she’ll get bored.
“And I’m sure you would hate for Leon to learn this information, wouldn’t you?” Lilanthara purrs, clearly not done with me.
A sliver of tension eases in my chest. She’s not sprinting off to tell Leon. If anything, I’m pretty sure she wants to blackmail me. Considering she already caught me stealing a knife, I’m not sure why she’s bothering.