Chapter 55
“Wake up, sweet Ly,” a familiar voice murmurs in my ear.
My eyes open slowly, cracking on an unfamiliar room.
I’m still wrapped tight in Alaris’s arms. The sleep was short, but it was so deep, I feel nothing but drowsy bliss.
Until I remember what we are here to do and unease pangs in my heart.
“How are you feeling?” he asks, nuzzling into my hair. I can tell he’s asking about last night.
“Good.” And it’s true. Even though we are setting out to do something incredibly dangerous, my body hums with deep, enduring satisfaction. “Really good. You?”
He pauses a moment, and I hold my breath, waiting to hear if there is some regret. “Happier than I’ve ever been. Happier than I deserve. I think you might have doomed me.”
I twist to read his face, but one look into his dark eyes instantly makes me picture him above me, face intense, thrusting. I squirm and flip over.
He chuckles and kisses the back of my neck. “What’s wrong, my Ly?”
I turn my face into the pillow. “We broke your rule about sleeping with staff,” I grumble. “I’m worried about my position as your hawk keeper.”
“My hawks survived before you. They can survive after.”
I smack his arm. “So you are going to fire me?”
“Ly, I don’t think I can employ a princess of the blood. As a sovereign of this realm, I’m fairly certain I work for you.” He kisses the back of my neck again. “A role I relish.”
I wiggle against him, and I don’t miss the hardness against my backside, or his sharp intake of breath. I do it again.
“You’re going to have to stop doing that, or else our night together is going to turn into a night and a morning.” His voice is low, his breath tickling the shell of my ear. He nips it. “And I need to make sure you can still ride.”
Heat spreads through me. Now that I know what it can be like, how he can make me feel, I get lit on fire even faster. He had me at his mercy, but there are a few things I’ve heard of I’d like to try on him. I arch my back. “I could easily be convinced…”
“Wicked Ly,” he groans, adjusting our bodies so I’m still tucked into his chest, but our hips don’t touch. “Take pity on me. Remember those world-ending consequences?”
“Right. The world.” The world has never mattered less.
“I let you sleep as long as I could. We have to go now.” But he holds me tighter against him, contradicting his own words.
He doesn’t move, and neither do I. I don’t want this spell to break.
“If this is the only time…” He presses his face into my hair. “I’ll carry this with me for as long as I live. Last night, and all our time together.”
I freeze. That sounded a lot like a goodbye. Or at least, the potential for one.
I flip over in his arms to face him. I examine his cool dark gaze, shuttered and calm.
I know there’s danger, for all of us, but Alaris is the one who will wield the blade to extinguish the Flame. He’s the one who has to kill the half-divine emperor. And even though he’s an incarnial, the look in his eyes at every turn tells me he thinks he might not achieve both and survive.
I’m not of Ignar, but fire flares through my blood.
“If this never happens again because you don’t want me,” I snap, “I will find a way to live with that—”
“I could never not want you—”
“—but what I won’t forgive is you dying. You can’t die.”
I don’t have any more meaningful words than that. As I glare at him, his expression doesn’t change. He stares back at me with that ancient stillness, as immovable as a mountain, as cold as the stars.
My peaceful feelings are all replaced with sour nerves, as my stomach tightens.
Impossible man.
I know no matter what I say, he will still do whatever it takes, including die.
I pull away from him then, and his grip loosens, allowing me to rise to the edge of the bed.
I have to ensure the plan unfolds seamlessly.
I need to get Dashol on my side so we can protect Alaris when he might not be protecting himself.
I hear Alaris push himself up behind me, and he places a gentle hand on my back. “I can hear your mind spinning, Ly. I’ve learned that’s dangerous.”
“Trust that instinct.” I look over my shoulder at him. “You told me to want things. You don’t get to be surprised when I do.”
His eyes widen. I turn away. I know, just like the oraculi, this isn’t a fight that will be won with words.
I adjust my dress, or what’s left of it, and stand. An ache I’ve never felt before makes itself known between my legs. I wince.
“Ly?”
“I’m fine,” I say, testing a step.
In a second, I’m scooped off my feet. I yelp and cling to his shoulders as Alaris settles me in his arms.
“Speaking of things we want, I would like to request the word ‘fine’ be stricken from your vocabulary. Now come, we don’t have much time.”
He floats me through the wardrobe as if I have a choice in the matter. He carries me across the adjoining room, straight to the bathing room.
He sets me down on the tile so gently, it takes longer than the trip.
“Now shower. I want to shower with you, but…” His eyes flick down my body, then back up, desire clear in his features. Under his gaze, I’m not even embarrassed at how much skin the ruined neckline of my dress exposes. “Again, world-ending consequences.”
I flush, imagining a repeat of any of last night’s activities under a stream of hot water, against slippery tile.
“I’m finding myself caring about the world less and less,” I say hoarsely.
He chuckles and closes the bathing room door between us.
I shower quickly and dress in simple clothes from the wardrobe, the moonstone dagger tied under my skirts. I braid up my hair and curl it into a bun, then hide it under a scarf.
Someone knocks, and I open the door to Vesper. I’m glad Alaris had the foresight to close the wardrobe between us. Still, I’m not sure I manage to keep my expression even.
“Lady Maren, it looks like you are still feeling your hard ride from yesterday,” Vesper says, blinking innocent purple eyes.
My cheeks flare and my mouth drops open.
“Drink up.” She hands me a cup of tea. “Consequences are close to impossible given your choice of partner, but this should settle any possibility.”
I catch her meaning. Cheeks flaming, I accept the tea and down it. I’m saved from further conversation as Alaris steps out into the hallway.
His eyes shift between us. “Thank you for your hospitality, Vesper. We are going to have to eat breakfast on the road. We are behind schedule.”
The company saddles up in the courtyard, with clean faces but travel-stained clothes. Dashol positions himself near the front, jaw set, sword at his hip. Nykiri takes a place near the back.
Alaris lifts me onto his horse, then swings up behind me.
“Lady Maren and I will ride ahead,” he says, guiding the black stallion toward the gates. “I’ll see the rest of you by this evening.”
We take off down the road, galloping slower than the eye-stinging ride when he first took me to see the wither, but still surpassing most horses at top speed.
I’ll have to remember sometime to ask him about the horse, but the ride is too fast for talk.
The pounding hooves change the scenery around us quickly.
I absorb as much as I can as we transition from scrubland to wide open plains.
This is my first time in Sophys, its golden-brown hills far different from the lush landscape in Delvos.
I know we could be observed by scouts hiding anywhere on the road, so I try to keep the contact between us to a minimum.
I’m also aware that if my mother did find some new assassin, they could be lying in wait, an arrow notched and drawn.
But above us, a single hawk traces wide circles against the pale sky.
I watch it bank and turn, riding the wind without effort, and I feel freer.
At least until I’m inside the Citadel walls, I’ll be under the hawk’s watchful eyes.
They can’t follow us in—the archers shoot any unknown birds on sight.
It’s a smooth ride, but in no time at all, my thighs ache, the muscles clenching to try to save me from the pressure of the saddle. I haven’t ridden much, and last night’s activities aren’t helping. I shift my weight, grip the pommel, press my knees tighter.
“Troublesome Ly,” Alaris murmurs low in my ear. He grips under my right thigh and lifts my leg, adjusting me to sit sidesaddle in front of him.
I almost complain. The position requires him to hold the reins in one hand, the other much more invested in holding me steady at this speed. But it’s so much better, I decide not to fight this.
I wonder if scouts along the road would find it suspicious if I nuzzled my head on the Sovereign of Arastos’s shoulder.
The road cuts through low hills covered in grain. Farmland gives way to sparse woods, then marshland as we cross a river. The air gets warmer and warmer, until winter itself feels like a myth. The sun beats down and sweat pricks my brow. The breeze helps, but only a little.
Did my father’s eternal summer always feel like this? I can barely get a breath of fresh air in this heat.
All too soon, the capital appears as a pale line against the horizon, and my stomach drops.
A phantom pressure tightens across my throat. Then hot agony, punched into my ribs. Muscles along the back of my head and spine spasm. My body holds every death I lived through. And most of them happened here. I don’t want to get sucked back into the memories.
Pleasure and pain can help.
I turn my face toward Alaris, indulging briefly in the smell of cloves and cool night air that lingers on his skin.
Then I turn my eyes back to the horizon.
I can do this.
I’m not returning as the same princess who lived in the Sunrise Palace, isolated and unaware. I ran, I survived, and I’m riding back by choice. This is my plan. This is my home. I need to use every tool at my disposal to make sure Alaris succeeds and survives.
The horse slows, and I return my attention to the road.
Captain Orso is in the middle of it.
He steps forward before the horse has fully stopped, gold insignia catching the sun. The last time I saw him, he was monitoring the exit at the end of summer party. But his stern face has been playing on my mind ever since I saw Drina reporting to one of his men in the woods.
A plain carriage with a hooded driver and gray gelding is pulled off to the side of the road. With no ornamentation and slats covering the windows, it looks more like a prison cart than a royal escort.
“Lord Alaris, I’m Captain Orso. I believe we’ve met.” He gestures to the royal insignia on his shoulder, so there can be no doubt as to his identity.
“Yes, I recall,” Alaris says, his tone smooth, as if the captain of the guard had simply interrupted a pleasure ride.
“I’ve come to collect your passenger and escort her the rest of the way.”
Orso doesn’t wait for Alaris’s confirmation. He walks up to the stallion’s flank and hauls me down, setting me in the dirt.
He steps back, settling his hand on his sword. He examines the scarf covering my hair but doesn’t comment on it. “We’ll travel the rest of the way by carriage. Get in.”
“Shall I follow behind?” Alaris asks, nonchalantly. If I hadn’t spent an embarrassing amount of time observing his face, I wouldn’t notice the slight tightness in the corner of his jaw, despite his upturned lips. “I assume the emperor would like an audience.”
“Follow the main road to the city. Go through the front gate, and the emperor will receive you. We’ll be going our own route. Get in the carriage now,” Orso says to me, gruffly. “We can’t stay on the road.”
I fall into myself and obey, forcing my steps away from the man who’s kept me safe all these months, even as my mind screams for me to stay with him.
I climb into the carriage and sit, and I have to fight not to look at Alaris through the slats.
I’m afraid if I do, I won’t be able to hide what shows on my face in such close quarters.
My traitor eyes lift just enough to note his ringed fingers squeezing a little too tight on the reins, before Orso enters after me and shuts the door.
In a jolt, we start rolling.
The huge man fills the opposite wall of the carriage, close-cropped gray hair showing the shape of his blocky head.
I keep my face as blank as I can and fold my hands in my lap to stop them from shaking. I can’t show nerves or guilt. Drina never uncovered who I was. If she had, Orso wouldn’t be here collecting me in a carriage. He would be in Arastos with a bloodied sword, carrying out the emperor’s justice.
“Do you require a healer, your highness?” he asks, his rough voice carrying no warmth. I note he didn’t use my title until we were alone.
“No. I’m well.”
“Then we’ll go straight to see your father.”
“Shouldn’t I change into something more…?”
“He is very eager to hear your account of these last few months.” His tone leaves no room for argument. “We will not keep him waiting.”
The practice with Karns suddenly doesn’t feel like enough. I wet my lips. “Do you want to hear…?”
He cuts me off. “Your father should be the first.”
I squeeze my hands in my lap and try to calm my heart.
We ride the rest of the way in silence. The space between the slats is too narrow to see much without leaning close, but it’s clear when we hit the city streets, rattling off dirt and onto cobblestones.
After winding uphill for a spell, the carriage stops.
Voices outside exchange words. Then we roll onto flat, smooth stone.
We are inside the Citadel.
I grit my teeth. I’m back in my mother’s territory. The hawks can’t follow. And with the wards against magical entry, Alaris won’t be able to use the shadowgates to reach me.
Even if the masked man is on his way here, she still might find another way to end this.
When the carriage stops again, Orso moves. He gets out first and holds the door for me.
I step out to find myself at a side door of the Central Palace. Was it always this hot? Was the glare off the marble always this bright? Everything is blinding white. Before I absorb how jarring it is to be back, Orso ushers me inside.
We avoid the main marble hallways, taking side corridors.
We encounter no one. These walkways must have been cleared, because the palace is never this empty.
There are always staff or courtiers or guards about.
I take a deep breath, trying to remind myself that Orso didn’t catch me.
I’m here because I want this audience with the emperor.
Even though my body reacts like the air here is full of hot poison, I came back on purpose.
Orso stops in front of a door. When I catch up, he pulls it open, revealing the gallery on one side of the throne room.
The floor is gold-veined marble. Rows of columns wider than a man with his arms outstretched hold up the vaulted ceiling. It’s painted with scenes of the gods, all of them beautiful but small, turning deferential eyes toward Ignar, rendered at grand scale at the front of the room, haloed in flames.
And below, on the massive marble throne, is the man I’ve always called father.
Emperor Belzas.