Chapter 5 #2
She ran over the soft carpets and polished wood to the next guarded door. “Delivery for Prince Amron’s chambers,” she said.
“Wait,” the guard said, peered through the door and called for someone.
A moment later, a sleepy, irritable chamberlain appeared at the door. “Towels? What am I supposed to do with towels? I sent for his shirts.”
“I’m sorry, sir, but the mistress gave me this—”
The chamberlain grabbed the basket. “I’ll take it. Go tell Mistress Sariza to send me those shirts.” And he slammed the door into her face.
“Do you want something else?” The guard smirked.
She turned on her heel. She didn’t get in, but now she knew where he was.
She retraced her steps to an empty room with red poppies and blue irises on the wall and found a hidden door behind the tapestry.
A narrow corridor between the panels led to a small study, empty and dark.
She opened the window and slipped to the balcony which connected to the next room. The bedroom.
One large window was open to let the morning breeze in. She thought he’d be asleep at this hour, but as she approached the sill, words floated out, spoken by the deep, smooth voice she knew so well.
“Did you get the protocol for today? We start off together, and then I must join my brother, receiving the guild masters, then lunch with the councilors and the ambassadors. In the afternoon, you’re with the queen. In the evening, Amril has his…thing, and I must be there.”
She dared to peer in. In the hazy light, his face was younger than she’d ever seen it, without a single line of worry or pain the war would etch on it. He sat in a high-backed chair, frowning at a sheet of paper, his long limbs tucked at sharp angles, sunlight dancing in his hair.
A wave of yearning hit her so hard her knees buckled.
“Amron,” she whispered.
“Amron,” echoed another voice, “I’m sure you’ve already memorized it. Let’s go, they’re waiting for us.”
A young woman in a sunflower-yellow gown appeared behind him, thin and raven-haired, standing in her own pool of darkness, like a wisp of the night that had forgotten to retreat before the morning sun.
“I hope I’ll see you tonight, before I leave with Amril,” he said, rising and offering her his hand.
“I don’t know when my father plans to arrive.” She took his hand.
Together, they left the room.
· · ·
Liana used to play a little game every time Amron was surrounded by people—which was often, because they naturally gathered around him, pleading, gossiping, demanding. She, always annoyed by the yapping crowds, would move out of earshot, retreat into the shadows, and watch him.
She’d imagine he wasn’t hers, imagine he didn’t know her: He was just a haughty prince in his palace, dispersing favors left and right, soaking in adoration, diluting malice, solving petty disputes.
She watched his face, the way he looked straight at the people who spoke to him, the way he smiled at pretty women as they flocked like colorful birds.
Her heart would tremble, the ache and the desire spreading through her chest, filling her with bittersweet longing.
Surrounded by people, he was as distant as a bright star in the sky.
If she were a stranger to him, he would never find her in the crowd.
But she would want him just the same: She’d stalk him like an infatuated shadow, glued to his heels, watching him as he moved, her fingers itching for a touch, her heart fluttering at the sight of his face.
She could keep it up for hours, letting the flowers of jealousy bloom like black dahlias in her heart, envying every woman, every charming man who brought the spark of animation to his face, who was awarded a brief flash of Amron’s smile, his warm touch.
She’d push herself to the edge of despair, thinking how easy it would be to lose him. One day, the crowd would pull him like a strong current, drag him away from her, and she’d never be able to reach him again.
And then, just as she was ready to work herself into a frenzy, he’d stand on his toes, scanning the room. His eyes would find her, a mischievous smile would crack his princely mask, and he would wink at her above the heads of the crowd.
In an instant, he would be hers again.
· · ·
Like a wet leaf sticking to the glass, Liana remained at the window until the buzz of the palace reminded her that someone might spot her on the balcony. Numb and clumsy, she retraced her steps through the rooms and corridors, down the stairs, and into the courtyard.
Amron was married.
She’d forgotten about Melia, she’d forgotten about that Elmarran snake Amron had been married to.
In all their years together, Amron had never mentioned her, and why would he?
It was an arranged marriage that fell apart when her father betrayed the king, and she disappeared from the kingdom forever.
Liana had never found out if Melia was dead or alive and she’d never cared to ask.
She was irrelevant, Amron had never loved her.
But she was not irrelevant now.
Paying no attention to the servants and clerks rushing around her, Liana walked out of the palace.
Amron had never touched another woman behind her back, not when they flattered him at court, trying to sneak into his bed, not on the long journeys across the realm without Liana, when any kind of solace would have been welcome.
He wasn’t the unfaithful kind, he’d seen too much intrigue and drama in his everyday duties to seek them in his private moments, and his validation never sprang from what he did between the sheets.
He’s twenty-three, you idiot.
It was entirely possible that he was a different person here, now.
Music floated in the morning air, a lively tune that wrapped itself around her ankles, inviting her to dance.
The smell of food made her stomach churn: grilled meat, fresh bread, spices and herbs, fried fish and mussels with garlic and parsley.
Someone tried to push a cup of wine into her hand, taking pity on her gloomy face.
She let the stream of people carry her forward, down the streets where she knew every stone, and yet where every detail she sought looked different.
Very different. Enchanting scenes built of canvas and wood stood in the squares and on the street corners.
Dramatic mountain landscapes of the north, the high towers of Myrit, the royal palace in Amraith laying like a bejeweled dragon beside the deep blue lake.
It was like a walk around the kingdom and every turn revealed something new and breathtaking.
It was as if every corner of the city, every street, every neighborhood tried to outmatch the next one.
The whole city shone, bathed in the morning sunlight.
Not even the narrowest alley, the humblest little passage, remained unscrubbed and unlit.
Liana’s mind felt fuzzy and slow, but even the thick fog of shock couldn’t hide that something important was happening. It dawned on Liana that she’d never seen Abia quite so pretty and festive.
“What’s this all about?” she asked a woman selling fried fish on a street corner.
The woman gave her a strange look. “Which rock have you been living under, girl? It’s the royal wedding. Our prince is getting married tomorrow.”
The royal wedding?
Liana stopped dead in her tracks. Someone ran into her from behind and almost knocked her off her feet. “I’m so sorry,” she muttered, moving out of the way.
The wedding!
Liana bit back a frustrated whimper, breaking out in cold sweat. Her memory was skewed, fragmented, and it wasn’t the shock of seeing Amron with Melia, no. Liana could recognize a divine trick when she saw it.
The wedding had been a doorway to chaos, the start of a war that shattered the kingdom. She couldn’t linger here, in this facsimile of the past, and wait for the bloodshed. She had to make Amron kiss her and get him out of here.
That was the reason the gods had sent her here, wasn’t it?
She found a quiet alley where no one sang or tried to sell her beer and sat on a low stone ledge. Then she took off her medallion and held it dangling before her eyes. The silver oval caught the light, sharp and bright, impervious to magic, helping her tell memory from illusion.
Remember, she commanded.
· · ·
Liana sifted through her memories. She had begged her mother in the heart of the divine forest to lead her to Perun. Grudgingly, for an extortionate price, Lela agreed.
Liana walked into a long, poorly lit wooden hall. The floor was beaten earth, strewn with old sawdust, the beds and chairs covered in animal furs. The air was close, reeking of ale and mead and piss. Enough weapons to set up a small army adorned the walls.
Liana expected the hall to be crowded, but the only movement she could discern was the shadows scurrying under the tables and close to the walls. Her footsteps and the crackling of the distant fires in two massive fireplaces at the opposite sides of the hall echoed in the eerie silence.
If this was Perun’s legendary feasting hall, then it wasn’t worth dying for.
She walked on, unable to judge the length. The shadows played with her: The longer she walked, the further the other end seemed. She tried walking faster; it didn’t bring her any closer.
She paused, breathing heavily. “O Perun, the greatest of all gods, please allow me to speak to you,” she pleaded.
“Come closer.”
She stepped forward and the hall shrank. What she had mistakenly believed to be a heap of furs moved and revealed a huge man with a red beard, a war axe in his hand.
Liana fell to her knees and prostrated herself, spreading her arms, pressing her forehead to the floor, and waited. Fire crackled and shadows danced in the corners of her vision. Sawdust found its way into her nose and she held her breath to avoid sneezing.
“Lela’s daughter,” said the God of Sky and War, “get up. Let me see you.”
Liana obeyed, wondering if she should have dressed more alluringly for this god who was fond of beautiful women. But the very thought made her stomach turn.
“Look up.”
She banished her thoughts and lifted her eyes from the god’s brightly painted boots, over his massive torso and long red beard, to his divine eyes, black with golden stars in them.
They were just like Lela’s, and yet they were completely different.
Where Lela was furtive and unpredictable and cruel, Perun was cold and hard and cunning.
“I heard you have a request,” he said.
She nodded, her teeth clenched so hard she could not open her mouth.
“Out with it. Don’t waste my time.”
Liana knew fear, she’d faced it many times, but it was her insignificance, not her fear, that paralyzed her now.
This hairy mountain of a god, this dark, dirty hall, this stink that men left when they were crammed together.
Somewhere, this hall was full; somewhere, Amron sat on a bench, unaware that she was steps away from him.
She knew it. And yet, this wasn’t like the mortal world, a curtain she could simply pull away.
This was Perun’s domain, and she was nothing but a beggar to him.
So she begged.
“My husband,” she said, “Amron of the House of Amris. He was killed and you took him. I am here to beg you to give him back to me.”
“And why would I do that?”
“Because I love him,” she said, and it rang hollow and futile.
The god smirked. “Does that make you special?” He waved his hand, the fire roared, shadows melted away, and for one brief moment, Liana could glimpse at the crowded tables, overflowing horns and cups, smiling faces, and—somewhere in the far corner—one golden head she knew so well.
She ran, but the table was empty, the hall was deserted.
Perun laughed. “He’s out of your reach.”
She turned back to him, furious and struggling not to show it. He read it on her face, nevertheless. It seemed to amuse him very much.
“Tell me,” he said, “what makes your plea worthy? Lela has praised you so much, your beauty and courage and loyalty, but all I see here is an angry slip of a girl running after a man. What can you give him that he doesn’t have here?”
“Why don’t you ask him?” she said. “Why don’t you let him choose?”
Perun laughed again. “He doesn’t remember you anymore.”
She looked down at her hands, trying to anchor herself in that place, for fear of dissolving into nothing. If Amron didn’t know who she was…
But, “I don’t care,” she said. “It doesn’t matter if he doesn’t know who I am, because I know who he is. I love him. And I can make him love me again and again and again, as many times as necessary.”
She must have said something right because the fire died down, the hall faded away, and she and the god were left standing on a bleak, windswept mountaintop.
“I propose a wager, then,” Perun said. “I will send you into his past, before he met you. He won’t know who you are. You’ll have three days to make him love you. A kiss of true love will be required to prove it, before dawn on the third day.”
“I agree,” she said quickly.
“Wait, you haven’t heard it all yet. Your mother wants me to tell you that if you fail, you will join her hunt, forget about your husband, and never return to the mortal world again.”
“I agree,” she said again, without hesitation. “Whatever you say.”
“All right.”
And on the lonely mountaintop, Perun and Liana shook hands and sealed the deal.