Chapter 23 Thyra #2
The door swings open to reveal a dark, unlit corridor beyond. A single firebrand, also unlit, rests against the wall, but Antony ignores it, stepping into the gloom and letting the door close behind us.
As it slams shut, dropping us into darkness, he says, “That door gives my brother the illusion he can leave at any time.”
The chain tugs in the dark, propelling me to follow after him, and his voice sounds again. “If you stumble, I will carry you.”
It sounds like a warning, not an offer of help.
Clearly, he can see far better than I can in the dark.
I need his voice to orient myself, a sound to follow since his footfalls are so quiet, so I ask the first question I can think of. “Do you often bring ‘gifts’ for your brother?”
The worker in the forge, who was about to slap my backside, had shouted about it.
I grimace when Antony remains silent, since my question did nothing to help me.
Then, he replies, “I did. For a time. But do not think of me as an animal in that regard. The women were carefully selected for their willingness and well paid for their time.”
“So you say.”
I expect to be met with anger, but Antony’s response is quiet.
“My brother has an uncommonly good heart. He would rather have a conversation with a woman than fuck her. You won’t find a fae like him elsewhere in this kingdom.
” Now, Antony’s voice hardens. “You will certainly not find his goodness in me.”
Yet he hates the idea that I’d think badly of his brother, rising to his defense more readily than I thought he would.
I tell myself to leave it there, but the silence is disorienting. “Victor thought I was someone named Emiliana.”
“Yes.”
I wait for Antony to say more. “And?”
“And for both their sakes, you’ll forget you ever heard her name pass his lips. She isn’t free to choose whom she loves.”
I recall the full body suit that had protected me from contact with iron. Coincidentally, it also concealed my identity.
“You’re the king,” I say, pushing back against the hollow that rises within me again. For a few moments in my determination to walk without stumbling, that feeling had lifted. “You could free her.”
He guffaws at my suggestion, a reverberating sound. “No,” he says. “I could not.”
Again, I think that’s going to be the end of it, but he continues. “Even if I altered her situation, this place is Victor’s cage. It will never be any different. I can’t change it or make it better.”
I have a sudden sense that Antony has stopped moving, and I slow my steps, trying to make out what’s in front of us.
Another door. Maybe a large latch on this side of it. If I’m seeing correctly, it’s intended to keep things out.
A grinding sound fills my ears, and then the door opens a crack, letting a sliver of light in, finally illuminating Antony’s steel-clad form.
“I suppose,” he says, pausing there, “if there’s anyone whose word you can trust, it’s Victor’s.”
“Why his?” I ask, recalling the way Antony had described the Starlit Court as being full of lies and liars.
“Because he has accepted his life. With acceptance comes truth. In fact, you may discover that he wields honesty like a weapon.”
I can only guess as to the vicious grin now forming on Antony’s lips as he continues, “Victor is the opposite of me.”
“You wield lies as weapons,” I murmur, drawing conclusions from his statement.
“Or perhaps I will weave my lies with truths so you can’t tell which is which.”
I can’t stop my brow from furrowing. “I thought you hated lies and liars.”
“Perhaps.” He shrugs. “Or perhaps that was a lie.”
While the furrow in my brow deepens, he leans in close. “You’re the Oracle. Surely, you will see the difference.”
My brow furrows. “I only See what I See. I don’t get to choose.”
“So you say,” he replies, an infuriating response as his hand rises to my cheek, the circlet clanking between us, and the steel tip of his glove brushing ever so lightly down the side of my face to the tip of my chin. “The color in your cheeks betrays your fury.”
Am I furious?
All I know is that I’m captive.
A question lingers on my tongue, but it isn’t the question I should ask. Not even the question I need to ask.
“Would you really kill him?”
Antony tips his head. “Who?”
“The Ember King.”
I’m struggling to reconcile the vision I had only moments ago, in which a cord of fire had wrapped around my body, tugging at me as if…
As if it would pull me from danger.
“Yes,” Antony says without hesitation. “But not before I rip off his arms and legs and gut him. I will deliver pain for pain.”
“Even though he wasn’t the one who hurt your brother?”
“His father’s sins are his. Just as my father’s sins are mine.” I may not be able to see Antony’s expression beneath his helmet, but the anger in his voice is clear as he continues. “Maxim would do the same to me.”
With that, he pulls open the door, its inward curve forcing me to step back while Antony’s figure blocks the view outside.
More light floods around him, and I squint after the deep darkness, lifting my arm to shield my gaze from the painful influx of sunlight.
When he tugs me forward, I take a step through the opening, only for my stomach to plummet.
I’m teetering on the edge of a narrow platform.
There’s no railing. Only a sheer drop.
The first step of a narrow staircase descends on my left, but we’re up so high, I could easily fall to my death.
Antony’s arm encircles my waist, pulling me back against his chest. “Your escape from me will never be so easy, Thyra.”
Escape? I don’t have a chance.