56. Lilias
Lilias
ALIVE
The meal drags on forever. I keep my eyes on the doors, waiting for Varitan to enter and smiling politely whenever someone acknowledges me, which isn’t often.
Petrys leaves at some point. When he returns, he gives me a single shake of his head.
My heart sinks, and I stare down at the food I’ve been pushing around on my plate.
Dinner finally ends. The crowd moves into the ballroom, filling the hallways with laughter and the low buzz of wine-fueled conversations.
Petrys takes his place at my side, and together we drift into the ballroom.
Music floats through the air. A few brave couples swirl together on the sleek polished wood of the dance floor.
King Malrik stands at the far end of the ballroom, on a dais, of course.
One of his sons stands next to him, looking like he’d rather be chained to a wall in the dungeons.
Acelina stands next to him in a spectacular gown, watching the crowd with cold eyes.
Basili sits beside an empty throne, completely covered in her mourning black, with Dulcia and Malrik’s youngest son behind her.
And standing behind the king and his son, beside Syvan’s empty throne—
My body stiffens. Fear ripples over my skin like flames climbing a dead tree.
Varitan stands behind the king.
He’s wearing a strange, low hat that covers his long, curving ears. Still, it’s a stretch to imagine anyone would ever think the tall man on the dais is a human. He’s watching the crowd from beneath the rim of his hat, his lips curled into a small, tight smile.
I step back, glancing at Petrys.
“That’s him,” I whisper. My voice sounds like it’s about to crack. “He’s here.”
Petrys nods. “Wait for me.”
With that, he disappears. I stand in the back of the room, trying to look at anything but the tall elf looming behind the king of Vsenrog.
Music plays. People laugh, and dance, and the massive chandeliers cast their sparkling starlight across the ballroom.
Blayne scowls at me a few times; I ignore him.
Finally, Petrys reappears in the doorway. He looks at me, then out across the dance floor. The song ends. The crowd cheers. Petrys lets his hand drop to his side. He flexes his fingers, beckoning. And then he turns to leave.
I wait until the next song begins, then step back until I’m almost pressed against the wall. I smile politely as I trace a slow path toward the doors. The song ends when I finally reach them. I glance over my shoulder, looking for Blayne.
He’s talking to a group of well-dressed men, probably minor lords. His back is turned toward me. Good.
I slip through the door and leave the crowded ballroom behind.
Petrys leans against the wall a few steps ahead.
As I approach, he turns and vanishes down another hallway.
I follow him, slowly, swiveling my head around and smiling vacantly like I’m admiring the beautiful artwork on the walls.
Almost all of the paintings I pass are portraits of Malrik.
It’s unsettling to feel his pale eyes on my back no matter where I turn.
The music and laughter of the ballroom slowly fade. When I finally reach Petrys, he hands me a bundle of dark cloth.
“Put this on,” he whispers. “Your dress shines like the damn moon.”
I take the heavy cloak from his arms and pull it over my shoulders, hiding the sparkle of the elegant ball gown. Petrys pushes on the wall, revealing a hidden doorway that leads to a tight, dark passage. For the servants, I realize as I follow him through the door.
We make our way up one flight of stairs, then another. It’s so dark in the passageway that I need to keep one hand on the wall as I climb the stairs, following the sound of Petrys’s breathing.
Finally, the door cracks open. Petrys peers out, then turns back to me. He looks very pale in the dim light filtering through the open door.
“Wait here,” he whispers.
He steps through, then pulls the door closed.
Darkness swells around me. I hear the low rasp of men’s voices in the hallway outside, followed by laughter, and then another low, muffled conversation.
There’s something that sounds like feet scuffing the floor, and then boots thud closer to the door.
Another low, growling laugh echoes through the stuffy darkness of the servants’ hallway.
“About damn time,” a man’s voice mutters.
I press my back into the wall as the footsteps thump past the door.
And then nothing. I breathe as quietly as I can as the voices fade. Finally, the door swings open silently, flooding the narrow hallway with light. I blink as my eyes sting.
“Over here,” Petrys whispers. “Watch the hall. Tell me if they’re coming back.”
I glance down the hallway. Four identical wooden doors stand in a row, their brass doorknobs gleaming in the lamplight. Petrys kneels in front of one, his face furrowed in concentration as he sticks a small piece of metal into the keyhole.
“Is that the right door?” I whisper.
“It’s the one they were standing in front of,” Petrys replies as he frowns at the lock.
I turn to stare down the hallway. Behind me, Petrys curses under his breath.
Metal clicks against metal. The flame in the lamp hisses softly.
Time passes, slowly and agonizingly. I shift back and forth under the heavy cloak, listening to my skirts rustle and trying not to glance over my shoulder at Petrys as he struggles with the lock.
Gods, if only I could do something useful. Like pick a damn lock.
“Fuck,” Petrys snaps. “Finally.”
The door behind me swings open. A cold gust of air enters the hallway, making the lamps flicker and dance. Petrys stumbles to his feet, then steps into the room and turns back, offering me his hand. I follow him. He closes the door behind us.
The room is quiet, dark, and cold. Wind rustles the heavy curtains. I shiver, wondering why Varitan left the windows open.
“Zarek?” Petrys whispers. “Where are you?”
He starts to pace the room. I let my gaze drift across the windows, following the far curtain as it dances lazily in the wind. That’s the open window.
I step closer, frowning. There’s something odd about the window—
“Oh,” I gasp.
Petrys spins to face me. I shiver as wind creeps across my skin.
“The window’s not open,” I whisper. “It’s gone. Broken.”
“Shit,” Petrys snaps.
He rushes toward the open window, and I notice something on the floor, sprawled halfway between the door and the shattered window. It looks like a pile of clothes.
Like laundry, my mind whispers. Like a pile of white laundry left on the floor of a cave. Streaked with blood.
The back of my throat turns bitter. I rush forward, knowing what I’m going to see and dreading it at the same time.
My dress crunches as I fall to my knees.
I reach forward as the dim light from the window washes over the cold, still body of my husband.
And then I jam my fist in my mouth to keep from screaming.
“It’s okay,” Petrys says.
I’m dimly aware of Petrys beside me, of his hand on mine.
“He’s alive,” Petrys insists. “Look, he’s breathing!”
I blink, trying to clear the sudden flood of hot, angry tears. Zarek looks very pale in the thin moonlight. I try to focus on his lips, his chest, to see if he’s breathing.
I don’t see anything. Panic climbs the back of my spine and beats against the inside of my throat. Petrys grabs my numb, trembling hand and holds it gently above Zarek’s mouth. Slowly, his warm breath spills across my fingers.
I choke back a sob.
“It’s okay,” Petrys whispers. He reaches forward, grabs Zarek’s shoulder, and shakes him. “Come on, Zarek, wake up. We’ve got to go!”
Zarek doesn’t respond, and I remember the cart, the ropes and straw.
“Shit,” Petrys growls.
He reaches forward, grabbing Zarek by both shoulders and shaking him. Zarek’s dark hair flutters across his neck and forehead, but his eyes stay closed.
“Zarek, for fuck’s sake,” Petrys hisses. “Wake up! I can’t drag you all the way out of the castle.”
Petrys leans back on his heels, then raises his hand. He winces as he looks down at Zarek. I reach forward, grabbing his wrist before he can hit his brother.
“Let me try,” I say.
I lean forward, pressing my cheek against Zarek’s. His skin is cool, his breath faint. I rest my hand against his chest, feeling the dull thud of his heart. I breathe deeply, taking in his scent, that thick, rich smell I once thought had to be some kind of expensive perfume.
“Zarek,” I whisper, pressing my lips to the curve of his ear. “Wake up.”
I turn to stare at his face, the curve of his lips, the long shadows of his eyelashes.
I remember the first time I saw him, when he rode a horse out to meet me as I entered the gates of Vsenrog.
I thought his beauty looked like a mask, something hard and carefully crafted. Something to keep the world at bay.
“Zarek,” I whisper. “Please. Come back to me.”
Nothing. My hands clench around the soft fabric of his shirt, and my eyes sting. I press my forehead against his shoulder.
I don’t know how to do this. Gods, I don’t even know how to shell peas or wash dishes. How can I compete with magic?
I stare at the broken window as panic closes like an invisible knot around my throat. Varitan’s voice hisses through my mind, telling me my body was too weak for sleep magic. That I needed to eat and drink.
How long has it been since Zarek was awake? How long has he been here, on the floor, in this cold room?
Rage and fear burn inside my chest. I can’t leave him here. If I have to carry him myself, damn it, I’ll do it. Because this is the man who protected me, who gave me a weapon and taught me how to fight. Who said he would have raised my child as his own.
He loves me. And I—
My breath catches in the back of my throat.
The world suddenly feels very quiet, and very still.
I lean down, press my lips against the delicate curve of my husband’s ear, and I whisper the name he told me in the hayloft of a run-down barn as we made our way toward what was left of the Kingdom of Marion.
His name. His secret, true name.
“I need you,” I whisper. “I won’t leave without you. I can’t.”
I pull in another breath, drinking in his scent, feeling the faint warmth of his body beneath my fingers.
“I love you,” I admit.