Chapter 51
Hail pounded the windows.
In the past hours, I’d seen the vengeance of all the elements: Florence burned, the earth shook, the sky wept and froze, and the wind outside sounded like a constant wail as it toppled trees and rattled the doors throughout the palace.
Nowhere felt entirely safe, but I found some refuge in the comfort of a bath.
At least here, I could submerge my ears and tune out everything but the ringing in my head.
My skin was raw from the sponge. No amount of buffing got the stench of burning hair and flesh out of my nose, and the bath oils merely added an unsettling floral note.
That smell was likely to haunt me for my entire life; now I knew why Father’s eyes bulged when he recollected the day Laetitia died.
It wasn’t enough to see it, but to have that loss of life singed into my every sense…
I’d dismissed Marcy, unable to bear another moment of her hovering presence after the execution, but the solitude was just as maddening. As my fingertips pruned, I finally pried myself from the lukewarm waters of the tub and dried myself off.
The candles flickered. I held my breath, anticipating an unwelcome visitation from the Lord of Night.
The hearth was burning strong and the moon was waning, but there was no denying the sense that He had grown stronger.
I supposed, if He truly wished to do so, He could extinguish every flame in the room.
As I put on my chemise and robe, someone quietly knocked, as if they weren’t quite sure they wanted me to greet them.
Fair enough; I wasn’t sure I wished to do so, either.
Still, I did, and as I forced open the heavy door, I found Quinn waiting on the other side, looking like he’d been caught in the rain.
His eyes held a familiar edge to them. Before I could sign a word, he entered the room, bracing himself against the mantel and watching the hearthfire like it spoke to him.
I locked the door, if only to ensure no one would find us so compromised, but I had no intentions of indecency. Not with the man who’d chosen my acquaintance over Florence’s life.
Quinn’s hair dripped onto the carpet. His skin prickled from the cold, but he managed to suppress his shivers. Soot was still streaked on him, which told me he’d remained outside for some time after the execution.
Come to think of it, I hadn’t seen him move at all since they lit the fire.
“They burned her alive,” he said. “I let it happen. I should have taken her to Hadria.”
But he hadn’t.
Quinn stepped back. His voice lowered. “I grew up seeing Florence around Pontarena. Beyond the occasional greeting, her and I never spoke; the Maitres usually kept to their own. But that trick with the shadows? I feel like I have no idea who she was, all this time.”
Neither did I. So many questions I’d never thought to ask, and now I never could.
“Do you truly believe she put a curse on Gallae?” he asked, turning at last to look at me.
I shrugged, more because I didn’t want to believe it. To exact revenge upon one person was one matter, but an entire nation? What was her angle?
“There isn’t a night I don’t think of you begging me to take you away from here,” Quinn said. “I was a coward. I should have. Now you’re the queen, one who’s been trained in that very same magic, and you’ll make hard choices until there’s nothing soft left behind.”
“I’m not the person I was when I came here,” I agreed. “But as Queen of Antier, maybe I can change things. Help people. I have the commoner’s background, so I see what others miss.”
“You’ll turn out like the rest of us. Cold, calculating, afraid…” He trailed off, meeting my eyes. I scowled back at him. “No. I won’t watch that happen to you.”
I lifted my hands, but he closed the distance and grabbed my wrists, pulling them down between us.
“Run away with me.”
My glare deepened. I tried to pull away, but his grip was iron.
“I’ll arrange everything. Passage to Hadria, gold, new names. We’ll take Juliana and disappear. I’m leaving Gallae, and I want you with me. If you can look me in the eyes and tell me you want to be here,” Quinn paused. “Then I’ll drop the issue at once.”
I bit my tongue and stopped fighting.
Of course it was a risk to stay here, but frankly, I couldn’t remember a time in my life when I felt safe.
In the woods, I was raised to fear snapping twigs and mysterious interlopers.
Now I had power, and once I learned to wield it, I could fight back, not only for myself, but for anyone who ever felt that same helplessness… but I would never know true freedom.
“You can’t, can you?” he whispered, lowering his head to mine.
His hold on me loosened, then he let go.
I didn’t dare move. I let his breath fan over my neck, memorizing how this felt. So wrong, but somehow right enough that I considered his offer.
I let myself dream: a little house on the beach, Juliana covered in foreign sand, eating strange food and calling Quinn Father.
I’d wake every morning to his arm draped around me, hair tangled with mine.
Another child; I’d give him a small army if he wanted, if only to watch the way he loved them, just like how he loved little Juliana.
And all the while, the people of Gallae would starve and fall ill and die. Quinn traded Florence’s life for me. Would he willingly trade millions of others? Would he risk a war with Nicolas—
Oh, Nicolas. He’d been far from my thoughts, equally complicit in getting Florence killed as the rest of us. But now he was here, his spirit wedged between us.
He’d hunt us to the ends of the world.
I wasn’t sure if Quinn understood that. His heart would shatter, and when he inevitably caught up to us, the poor man couldn’t even hate me for it.
And even if I were to solely follow my heart’s selfish desires, I couldn’t. Because somewhere down the line, I’d started to care for Nicolas, and no matter how matters of the Crown tried to tear us apart, the wounds only seemed to calcify our bond.
Maybe I was a fool to love the king, whose heart only yearned for mine because of magical interference. But my feelings were my own; I was not enchanted.
“Quinn,” I signed. “I can’t.”
His hands framed my face, thumbs grazing over my cheekbones. He was quiet for a while, holding me as he deliberated. His eyes shut.
“Lie to me, then. Tell me you will, even if you won’t.” He took his hands away but stayed close. “Lie and say you’ll run away with me. Just this once, have the mercy to let me believe in a future where you’re mine. Play me for a fool one last time. Show me that we were real.”
His eyes opened, revealing the depth of his desperation. I searched them, cupping his jaw.
I was a fool for him, too.
Quinn kissed me.
At first, he was hesitant, as if he couldn’t quite believe I’d agreed to the lie we were about to live. Then I kissed him back, my hands fisting his shirt to pull him closer, and his kiss turned hungry.
He grabbed my hair, tilting my head back and deepening the contact. I tasted him, all salt and rain and wine, as we stumbled backwards until my legs hit the edge of the bed.
“Alana,” he pleaded.
I spun us around and pushed him back until he was seated, flattening my palms against his chest. His shirt was soft, but I wanted to feel his skin, to memorize every inch of him before this dream ended…so I pulled the fabric over his head, letting it fall to the floor.
His shoulders were lean and muscled, his chest perfectly divided by a deep crevice, rising and falling with unsteady breaths. My fingers traced the line of his collarbone, feeling him shiver beneath my touch.
I crawled onto his lap and kissed him again, softer this time, while my hands explored the warm expanse of his chest, the smooth skin over his ribs. He made a low sound when my lips found the hollow at the base of his neck.
My hand slid slower, tracing the lines of muscle that disappeared beneath his waistband. There was no duty to stop us now; only the weight of every denied moment coaxing my touch. Quinn went still, his breath shallow as desire and pain warred in his features.
“Lana, wait.” His skin burned with a fever beneath my palm. I raised a brow as he gathered his wits, pushing himself deeper into bed.
My head tilted. Now he was the liar, depriving himself of my touch despite how delightedly he’d arched into it.
He grabbed me, pulling me up beside him until my head rested on his bicep. For a long while, we just looked at one another. Occasionally he tucked my dampened hair back behind my ear or ran his fingers down my arm.
“Let’s not torture ourselves,” he whispered. “I won’t make you harbor more secrets from Nicolas. And if you touch me, I’m afraid I won’t leave after all. I’d make it as far as Woolsfell before running back to you.”
I couldn’t help but smile as I shifted closer. “What do you want from me, Viscount?”
“I want to lie here.” He twirled my hair into a coil around his finger. “I want to fall asleep and wake up at your side. If you’ll grant me that, I’ll go home with a memory happy enough to last the remainder of my days.”
What a very Hadrian thing to say.
“And you, Alana? What do you want from me?”
I inhaled him, memorizing his scent. “Your shirt.”
“My shirt?”
“Something that smells like you,” I signed, though my movements grew sloppier with exhaustion. “So that I can breathe it in and remember that somebody chose to want me.”
Quinn’s laugh rumbled through him. “I’ll think of something. When I wake up, I’ll go to say good-bye to Juliana, and then I’ll find a subtle favor to leave behind.”
His hand settled on my hip. I put my arms around him, burying my face in his neck, and for the next several hours I remained perfectly still. I didn’t dare sleep.
Some time in the small hours of the night, Quinn stirred from my grasp. I feigned restfulness, feeling as he replaced himself with a cold but firm pillow. Fabric rustled, probably from him putting his shirt back on, and his footsteps carefully receded to the antechamber.
The door clicked shut, and I saw no more of the viscount Quinn Navarro.