Chapter 31 #2
Victor was the only one left.
“Thank you,” Selene breathed.
“I didn’t want to see you lose your dream.” He put his hand to his forehead. “Are you all right?”
She exhaled the worst of her feelings, focusing on the pain. “I will be.”
“Is it worth it, Selene?”
Selene sat down at the edge of her bed, unsure of the answer. She’d given up too much already to turn back now. “I’m not doing this for me. It’s for my father. To restore his legacy.”
Giuseppe wanted more for you.
Selene remembered her father’s bright smile and how it had shifted over those last days. How gaunt he had been, obsessive and empty of anything except magic and music. She wished he were here to tell her what to do next.
“Do you really think this is what he wants for you?”
“You don’t know what my father wanted.”
Victor appraised her. “Are you happy?”
Selene was tired of all the questions. She fought to keep the irritation from her face. “It’s not that simple.”
“Maybe it could be. Maybe you could find out. I’d take you anywhere you’d want to go. The whole world could be yours.”
“I want this.”
Victor nodded slowly. “As long as you’re sure.”
She cleared the lump from her throat. “What are you doing here?”
Victor held up a basket. “Lunch?”
She lifted her foot. One of the thorns was still embedded in her heel. “You do realize I have to sing for your father in one day.”
Victor crossed the threshold, shutting the door behind him. He took a knife from his pocket and braced the flat of the blade against her foot. He had the thorn out in a few seconds and then traced the punctures up her calf, looking for more.
Each press of his fingers was a reminder of the years that had passed between them.
They weren’t children anymore. He wasn’t that mischievous boy; he was something else entirely.
A man who’d crossed seas and earned his calluses.
Still, she felt safe with him, slipping into the familiar pattern of friendship.
As far as friends went, he might be the last person she had in this world, now that Gigi was gone.
She let him take care of her, just for this moment.
His fingertips lit little fires in her skin.
“I thought you were singing for me?”
She thought of the ghost’s fingers moving over the slick black keys. “And why would I do that?”
“I make an excellent audience.”
“Unless you’re putting frogs in the piano.”
He winced. “There wasn’t a trouble I couldn’t find, was there?”
“No.” She wondered what kind of trouble he was bringing to her now.
He reached into his basket, brought out a jar of honey, and peeled off his shirt.
He was suntanned and salt flecked, as if he’d been to sea that morning.
The muscles in his back rippled, still marred by the scars of childhood.
The patterns on his back were familiar, so like the ghost’s.
She hadn’t expected to see so much of the sun in him, to see years of earned strength beneath his skin.
He wasn’t just a captain, sipping rum and shouting orders.
He worked alongside his crew, and he had the body to prove it.
He caught her eye, mischief gleaming in his. He’d caught her staring.
Selene cleared her throat. “What are you doing?”
“Honey promotes healing.” He applied it gently to each wound, his sticky fingers moving tenderly over her punctured flesh.
Carefully, he bound each cut with strips of cloth.
When he was finished, his shirt was in tatters.
Selene’s leg tingled. Sticky, but snug. “I’ve moved up in the world, ma chérie.
I am now second in line for the throne.”
Selene’s eyes went wide. “I wasn’t expecting this type of trouble. What happened?”
“Alexandre has abdicated. Thinks he’ll make a better priest than king.”
Alexandre was such a gentle soul. He’d spent so much of his time in contemplation, pressed like lavender between the pages of an old book. Selene had liked him enough, though she was never sure he had the will to be a good king.
“He’s not wrong.”
“Ah, but that leaves us with Henri.”
Selene let out a breath. She couldn’t think of a single kind thing to say about Henri. He’d set fire to newborn kittens when they were in the palace. Beat a serving girl so badly that she’d lost an eye. Beat Victor, too. Even at ten, he was a self-proclaimed sadist. He could not be king.
“And you,” Selene said, certainty settling around her.
“I’m not cut out for it,” Victor said. “Which I’ve tried to make abundantly clear in these last weeks. Who knew that acting the disastrous rake would actually endear me to the people?”
“So you admit it’s all a ruse?”
Victor held out his hand. “Come with me and find out.”
Selene’s heart pounded in her throat. Everything always seemed so easy for Victor. Every moment a prize to be won. “I’m not allowed to leave.”
“Is this a prison?”
Yes, she thought.
“None of us can go this close to the competition.”
“And if I appeal to Madame Giroux?”
“She’ll likely stab you,” Selene said. “There’s a sword in her cane.”
“Good point. Luckily, I have incredible foresight.” Victor held up his basket. “Let’s get out of here.”
“I can’t,” Selene said.
Victor’s look softened out of mischief and into something a little too close to pity. He shrugged on his jacket, leaving his bare chest exposed. “Is there someplace we can go here?”
Selene’s stomach ached with hunger. She could do that. “Let me get dressed first.”
“Two minutes.” Victor’s eyes burned like the stage lights.
She shut the door behind him, pressed her back against the wood, and closed her eyes, willing the tears away.
She needed a moment to process, to shake the image of Priya screaming on the floor and the feeling of the magic fighting back.
To search inside herself for the sound of her father’s voice.
It was still there, but softer. Selene couldn’t give up any more.
How close she’d been to losing everything.
And Victor had stepped in to save her. But she wasn’t a damsel in distress.
She’d been in control. Maybe that was what Victor needed to see, so different from the lightning strike that had changed her life.
She wasn’t a small and helpless girl, meant to be saved.
She’d grown up. Selene was powerful, indomitable. She was unstoppable.
And she wished he’d come into her life at any other point. A week earlier, a week later. Anytime but now, just as she was on the verge of something. She didn’t have the time for him. Her focus was needed elsewhere, remembering her music, searching for the death of a dream, returning to the ghost.
But the room wouldn’t stop spinning and Selene knew herself well enough. She needed to eat and take a breath and clear her mind. If she didn’t give herself a moment’s rest, she’d be useless.
Sitting down on the bed, she grabbed the only dress in reach.
It was a mulberry gown with sleeves that peeled off the shoulders and tapered into fur.
The wide skirt would allow her to move freely without aggravating the cuts in her leg.
Gold embroidery trickled down the bodice.
The high collar was lined with black fur.
It was more extravagant than she needed for the day, but it would keep her throat warm and safe against the coming chill.
The door handle was sticky beneath her fingers, honey-coated from Victor’s touch.
Victor stood at the top of the stairs. He’d gotten restless. Little flecks of mud from his boots traced up and down the hallway. When he saw her, his sharp inhale was audible. His tongue danced on his teeth, like there was something he wanted to say. He shook his head, thinking better of it.
She held up the bundle. “I finally got your letters.”
Victor’s cheeks flushed. “Oh no. Maybe you shouldn’t—”
He reached for them. Selene pulled the letters back, overjoyed to catch Victor off guard.
“You think I’m going to give these up so easily?”
“Please forgive the ramblings of a lovesick teen boy.” Victor rubbed his face with his hand.
“We were kids.” Selene put the letters on her bed.
“And yet, I kept you like an oath.”
Selene had kept him like a secret, not even telling Gigi.
“Well, now that we’ve gotten that mortifying truth out in the open.” Victor offered her his arm. “Shall we?”