Chapter Twenty-Two #2
“You’re not really here,” he reminds me without looking up from his papers. “You’re but a mere projection of yourself, here through the power of our minds and the bond.”
I rise from where I’d leaned over to study myself in the mirror, and slowly look from him to the door, realization dawning. “You were waiting for me.”
Zhoric’s fingers twitch against the stem of the quill. “No.” His reply is curt and, very clearly, a lie.
“Ah.” I try not to smile. “I see why you’re usually so tight lipped.”
He sets down his pen, folds his hands over each other, and focuses on me. “And why is that?”
“You’re a terrible liar when you speak,” I say with a pleased smile.
He twists his face away towards the window, but his eyes slide back over to me. “You changed your hair.”
“You noticed,” I say, touching the ends, which feel like nothing but a suggestion in this form.
“I notice a great number of things about you.”
My breath catches in my throat and I get the phantom sensation of my body flushing.
Such alluring words for such a vile creature.
I recall when he first spoke to me here, of the spider web he destroyed when explaining mind walking.
He reminds me of a spider now, spinning a beautiful, glittering web to pull me in and trap me.
“You left rather suddenly this morning,” he says, the comment casual, meant to be unassuming as he rises to fix himself a cup of tea, abandoning whatever he was writing. It seems almost as if he doesn’t know what to do with himself.
All his indecision is putting me on edge, so I stride further into the room and sit on the end of his bed and lean back on my hands.
“Rather bold for you to bring that up when you were the one watching me sleep.” He says nothing in response.
I think back on the nights I came here and he wasn’t present.
Eventually, I would settle down somewhere in his room, usually on his bed, until my mind drifted away into some vague concept of sleep.
I hadn’t really thought of what happens to my manifestation during those times.
I’m wondering now if, at some point, he’d returned to his rooms to find me asleep.
“Do you do that often?” I ask, my muscles tensing as I await his answer.
“Does it frighten you if I admit that I do?” he responds.
If my stare were acid it would bore holes into his back. “No.”
Zhoric turns and raises a brow. “You shouldn’t cast judgment over the quality of my lies when yours are equally lacking.”
The only response I have for that is an amused grin, which he turns from swiftly before I can catch his reaction.
“You were waiting for me,” I goad. “Who else would it be? No one ever comes here.”
“You’ve been here a matter of weeks. That tells you nothing.”
“Tell me who was coming, then.”
“Perhaps it was a mistress,” he says.
At his words, it’s as if the very soul inside me goes still. “Perhaps?”
There’s a knock at the door. Zhoric straightens, and my shoulders tense up towards my ears.
“You were waiting for someone,” I whisper. The sensation of a lip prying up in a snarl dances through me.
As Zhoric moves towards the door, I hear it escape on a breath, almost as if he didn’t mean for the word to pass his lips. “No.”
Two thoughts cross my mind at once. He was waiting for me, and: I hope he wasn’t being serious when he mentioned a mistress. I stand and cross the room as he sweeps open one side of the door.
“Thrace,” Zhoric says. I lean against the second door Zhoric didn’t open. “Trouble to report?”
“Zhoric, you haven’t let me in in weeks,” Thrace says. “What’s going on?”
“You’re with your bonded and children. You should be glad I haven’t called on you.”
My nerves prickle, dancing on edge—Zhoric knows about Kalixta and Thrace.
I step closer to try to catch a glimpse of Thrace, to see if there’s any panic in him at the mention of my sister and his children from the great ruler’s lips.
Zhoric doesn’t move aside to give me space to see.
And so, I settle my face as near to him as I dare.
I catch the subtle flare of his nostrils.
“I can handle both, Zhoric. My family and you.”
“I never said you couldn’t.” Zhoric remains unmovable.
“Let me in.” Thrace demands, sounding more like a petulant brother than the draconem in charge of the Sar Dyēus’s safety.
“No.”
“You have to tell me what’s going on. How can I protect you when you don’t give me the information I need to do it?”
“Thrace,” Zhoric begins and even I can hear the warning in his tone.
“No. Zhoric, no. We’ve been down that road before and look where we ended up. Look at you.”
Zhoric remains silent, the set of his brow deepening.
“It’s not like the last time,” he says and my hope leaps to catch the words, even as I realize it means he doesn’t see me as a threat.
Good. He shouldn’t. If he did, then my plans would be as dead as me if he ever found out what I was trying to do.
“Is it what I think it is, then?” Thrace asks, voice dropping to a whisper.
“Forget it, Thrace. It’s of no concern to you.”
“It is, Zhoric. You are my concern. You always will be.”
“You have a family now,” Zhoric says, placing his hand on the door I’m pressed against, his forearm a hair’s breadth away from skimming my throat and clavicle. “Make them your concern.”
“Keeping you safe is keeping them safe. You know that.”
Zhoric’s fingers dig into the wood. “Speaking of keeping them safe, any trouble with the elites after what her sister did?” I have to stop myself from pressing in closer.
“You’d have known long before now if there was.”
“Good. So, Kalixta and the babies are safe.”
“You know they are,” Thrace answers, but the tone is threaded with mild suspicion.
Zhoric’s eyes narrow at the subtle cunning gleam in Thrace’s expression as he moves in a little closer, but Zhoric holds his ground. “Speaking of Kaisa…” Thrace pauses, as if waiting for a reaction. “Has Ozias come pestering you since he took her?”
I wasn’t sure what Zhoric thought of my escaping to the Realm, but it seems that he and Thrace have discussed it before.
“Blissful silence from him.” Zhoric lifts his free hand to look at his nails.
“It turned out to be rather lucky he was there here still. What a mess that would have been for you if I’d had to intervene instead.”
Was that why Thrace came that night? To stop Alixor? I wait for Zhoric to admonish him for it, but he doesn’t. My insides swirl with unease. When Zhoric says nothing, Thrace goes on. “I wonder what would have happened if you’d let me go—”
Zhoric interrupts him before he can finish his sentence.
“Thrace.” His tone is deep and cutting. Thrace’s mouth twitches against the threat of a smile.
I chew on my cheek, wishing I could have heard what Thrace was about to say.
“The elites have been keeping the hoard along the border busy. Any news there?”
“I heard they almost got their hands on two rogues recently. Some reports say one of them of was Ozias himself.”
Zhoric’s shoulders relax, his hand on the door slipping a fraction, putting his forearm closer to my chest. “They do love to spin a tale.”
“The other was gray. Accounts say the draconem’s mane was the same shade of green as your eyes.”
I scowl. That particular detail bothers me, like even my dragon form wants to find any sort of connection to Zhoric.
“How fanciful of them,” Zhoric answers, unbothered. “Perhaps if they spent less time crafting pretty reports, they’d make more headway on the front.”
“As if that’s what you want,” Thrace counters, his words laced with sarcasm.
My mind is spinning. Isn’t that what Zhoric wants?
Zhoric changes the topic again. “Aside from begging an invitation into my suite, have you any other reason for being away from your bonded and children?”
“Are you annoyed?” Thrace asks with a wry grin.
“Thoroughly,” Zhoric answers.
“Then I’ve done all I can.” Thrace turns on his heel and walks down the long hall, throwing up a hand after a few steps. “Let me know when you’re ready to divulge that secret you’re keeping.”
Zhoric’s mouth draws into a thin line as he shuts the door. “Insufferable brute,” he says, dropping his forehead with a thud against the wood. The words, though harsh, are said with reticent affection.
“What was that?” I ask, crossing my arms.
Zhoric twists his neck in my direction, not bothering to lift his head from the door as he pins me with his eyes, staring so long I wonder if he even heard me. Long enough to make me not want to ask the question again for fear of hearing his answer.
“Follow me,” he says, lifting his head and opening the door. I blink after him as he strides down the silent corridor.
I hurry my steps to catch up to him as we make our way out of his private suite and into the castle’s main halls.
I was never around the castle this late at night.
Alixor kept our meetings lively, choosing activities over romantic strolls at twilight, though he occasionally mixed in a few.
After dark, myself and all the women who were not yet ready to reproduce were locked into our rooms. It had felt respectful.
Though not safe. I knew what the dragons were capable of and a solid wood door and an iron lock meant nothing.
The castle, glittering white and splendid in the daylight, feels hollow and devoid of life at this hour, save for the sentinels lining the halls.
Those we pass bow low in his presence, eyes to the ground—but as we move down a new corridor, I notice the sentinels here turn their heads to keep an eye on him. I frown, unsure what to make of that.