Chapter 3 #2
“Were you ever going to tell me?” Idris snarls incredulously. “Or were you just going to let my attempted murderer – a traitor of the city – get away with it?”
“Only because I have a plan—” I try to start.
Of course I want to tell him. I wanted to tell him everything.
But he hasn’t spoken to me since. He’s refused to come near me.
This is the first time we’ve spoken after he abandoned me in the storm on the steps of the High Chamber the night he almost died.
“What else is new? That’s all you Di Maineri do, isn’t it?” Idris shouts over me, the very pictures on the walls quivering in their frames. “Plot and scheme and exploit and manipulate—”
“ENOUGH!”
Our heads snap up to see Giulia on the staircase, a silky silver robe hastily tied around her waist over her night clothes.
Her blonde hair cascades over her shoulders like spun gold as she levels a murderous glare at Idris.
Michelle runs up behind her, hastily fastening her own bed robe and rubbing sleep from her eyes.
Giulia holds the fury of a tempest as she glares at my Fated.
“You come to my home, at this early hour, and dare scream insults against my sister and my family?” Giulia’s voice quakes with outrage.
Idris lets out a huff, face draining and shoulders dropping as he weighs her words.
“I’m sorry for waking you,” Idris says sincerely, shame colouring his tone. “I let—”
“Get out.” Giulia interrupts without mercy as she folds her arms. Idris blinks, not expecting her harshness. It’s a rare sight from Giulia.
“Get out,” Giulia repeats, each word drawn out and dripping with venom. Idris snaps around to look at me, as though expecting me to defend him or argue.
“Her home, her rules,” I answer quietly, holding out his copy of the document declaring him my replacement. “We’ll speak again.”
He growls in frustration then snatches the letter from me.
“Why bother?” he bites out, before violently tearing the document in two and throwing the pieces at my feet.
Then he storms out of the house. I close my eyes and take a deep breath, the vile chafing of the bond slowly slipping away, that hot fog in my mind clearing up and returning my exhaustion.
A veil of cotton and smoke settles over my nerves, like a barrier between me and the feelings I can’t quite summon.
Instead, there is just a wide, empty void.
I open my eyes to see Giulia closing the door behind him. She turns to look at me, unimpressed.
“I’m sorry we woke you,” I say.
“So much for your early night, I see,” she counters, jutting her chin towards my attire.
“Ah, yes. I suppose it is a little late—” I try to mollify her irritation but she cuts me off.
“Early,” corrects Giulia. “Go to bed.”
“I’m almost done—”
“You haven’t gone to bed before midnight once in the last ten days. You can’t function properly without sleep,” Giulia says firmly. “You need to clear your head for tomorrow, so go to bed.”
She has a point.
“Of course, I’ll just blow out my candles.”
“I’ve got it,” Giulia says, moving past me towards my study door. “Bed. Now.”
I nod and surrender to my sister’s commands before heading up the stairs.
“Goodnight, Giu, night, Michelle,” I call to them both.
“Night, Renza,” Michelle says, lips pursing slightly as I walk the corridors to my rooms.
Moonlight streams through the arched windows, gleaming silver off the stone columns and outlining my familiar furniture.
I cross to my desk and light a fresh candle.
The smoke tickles my nose, and as I rub my brow the heavy weight of the day settles like swollen fingers behind my eyes.
I change quickly, discarding my clothes to the wash basket and slipping into my silk nightdress.
The cool material washes like water over my skin.
The fit is looser than normal. I’ve lost a bit of weight recently.
I move across to the bed, slipping between the covers. The vermillion silk is embroidered with beautiful gold flowers, the material smooth and welcoming against my bare legs. I blow out the candle and descend to my plush cushions.
I take a slow, deep breath and close my eyes.
The smoke of the candle reaches my nose. It is scented with lavender. That’s Idris’s scent, lavender and mint.
I frown, huffing as I twist to my side and try to throw thoughts of Idris Patricelli from my mind.
But I can’t. His anger, his outrage. His assumption that I would be so honourless, so devious – not to mention entirely brainless – as to try and buy him.
Is that what he thinks of me? Does he think me so low and baseless?
So slimy? So delusional? And what was all that talk about me getting what I want?
How would he have any idea what I want? Or what I’m trying to do?
He hasn’t bothered to raise so much as a finger since our argument, let alone help in any capacity.
Instead he’s content to pout and hover around the edges of the High Chamber like some kind of ghastly ornament.
If he is this petty, if he is this angry, perhaps I did make the wrong decision.
Savino made several great points this afternoon.
My life is now the only thing standing between him and …
everything. Do I need to hand him yet another reason to slit my throat?
Of all the people trying to kill me, I never thought I’d have to consider Idris amongst their number.
But his rage this evening, his loathing … it burns inside and breaks me down into tiny, jagged shards.
I groan, turning back over to stare at the ceiling, my mind racing at a thousand miles an hour. That mural from the sea wall jumps into my consciousness. It was a bold picture, one that the artist must feel confident would be well received.
No matter how sore my eyes grow, how heavy their aching lids, my mind won’t slow.
My pulse thuds, my throat is thick, my fingers itch to be moving.
To be doing. My mind drifts to the stack of scouting reports weighing down my desk in my father’s study.
I can’t believe once I was so desperate to step out of my father’s shadow and make a name for myself that was separate from his.
What I wouldn’t give to have him here now.
To have his strength, his knowledge, his bravery.
Giving up, I lean over to my bedside table.
I relight my candle as I open the draw, pulling out the small metal pot.
I unscrew the lid and take it off to reveal the fine red powder inside.
I take the little metal spoon that goes with it and carefully measure a small dose of Red Root.
I tap the powder into the glass of water at my bedside and stir it in.
Giulia is right. Sleep is important, and it’s been eluding me for weeks.
Red Root brings it back. I’ve tried to rid myself of it, to lessen my reliance.
But last night I lay awake all night turning over the question of food rations, fighting to come up with a way to make everything stretch further.
I need some rest tonight if I’m going to function tomorrow.
Two nights without sleep would leave me practically incapacitated.
I set the metal spoon down and pick up the glass, drinking deeply until I finish every last drop.
I quickly set it down and lie back against the cushions.
I focus on my breathing and attempt to keep my thoughts away from the maddening turmoil of Idris Patricelli until I drift into a restless, dreamless sleep.