Chapter Ten #2
“I have reviewed your codex. You were judged a Shadow for a life of thievery, as you confessed to me.” She shuts her eyes, her lips trembling, but then he says, “I see why, however. The food and coin you stole from the wealthy was merely used to feed your starving younger sisters. You never took a thing for yourself. You were careful not to steal from anyone needy. Your actions were motivated not by greed, but by survival. I hereby grant your change in station. You may now walk proudly among the Dignified.”
Again I recall what Dahlia said. This—it was his idea. To reexamine Moranya’s judgments.
To see it firsthand, the tenderness with which he speaks…My heart swoops in a way that is both heartening and shattering. He is still Anton, even when his goodness—his memories, the recollection of his choices—has been stripped from him.
Though perhaps goodness is not something that can be entirely stripped way—not without losing the very essence of your soul.
“It isn’t fair,” chides a nearby Exalted. “This will disrupt everything.”
“Who is he to judge?” says another.
“Appalling in every way,” hisses one closer to me. “Moranya will not be pleased when she finds out.”
“Moranya lets him do whatever he wants,” says a man in long blue robes. “He even has dominion over every last codex, while we aren’t allowed to so much as touch one, let alone breach the Abyssal.”
The Abyssal?
“Are they even reliable? How do we know he isn’t rewriting them to do as he pleases?”
“They are incorruptible,” says another soul. “Not even Moranya can alter them.”
Even more curious, I draw nearer and see the stack lined up beside the throne. It seems Anton is skimming the list of sins for everyone begging for an appeal. A codex is currently cracked open between his hands.
At his feet is a large white tiger.
Ishu? Here? Has he brought her with him?
She’s curled up, half asleep, though her tail flicks once or twice.
The session continues, and I watch as Anton grants yet another soul’s request, effectively designating her an Exalted.
He then tells another—clearly a new supplicant—to come back in a few weeks after he has had a chance to review his codex.
I think of the blank pages of the codices, when read out of order.
He reads them one by one, no matter the time it takes him. The commitment.
Murmurs rise, complaints from the rest, but he doesn’t seem to care. He never really cared about controversy, even in the mortal world. Gratitude swells in my throat, as does a sudden hope.
Then comes the next soul, and recognition throws my heart into a painful lurch.
It’s…Lord Sarden.
Lord Sarden, whose murder Illian used against me as an excuse to imprison me for two whole years.
I inch backward behind the two souls I was listening to, though I stay close enough to hear.
“Your Gloriousness, I come before you to request not a change in station, but your assistance in finding my wife’s codex.”
“You know I am not permitted to do that,” Anton says. “It is beyond my power to grant such permission.”
“I understand, Sire. I am not asking that you give it to me, though. I merely want to ensure that she’s alive and well,” he pleads. “Could you look for yourself? I would take you at your word.”
Despite my thrumming pulse, I pause, his words looping in my mind.
His wife’s codex.
His wife, who is alive.
“I am surprised at your vigor,” Anton says, “to cling to your loved one in life. Most have let them go by now. Is your life among the Exalted not satisfying enough?”
“I admit that my romantic connection has dimmed, Your Gloriousness,” he says. “But she was carrying my child, and being in that vile court…I just—I need to know her fate. If you help me, I will be able to let them go. Or perhaps you could permit me to search the Abyssal myself?”
“I am compassionate to your situation,” Anton responds.
“However, I cannot make an exception. There is a reason such information is kept from disrupting your peace. That said, there is a newly deceased who arrived two days prior. Having been connected to your family, he may know the status of your former wife and child.”
Not an unkind answer, but it strikes an idea within me. If there are codices of the living, and if they exist in the Abyssal, that means I would have one. It means Anton would, too.
They are resistant to even her magic.
If I could locate our codices…
“Pardon,” I ask the nearest soul, the one who spoke of the codices. “This Abyssal. Where is it?”
She barely gives me a glance. “Souls are not permitted inside. Only His Gloriousness. Didn’t you hear?”
But I am not a soul.
This is but a thread of hope, if only I can locate the Abyssal.
For the first time today, I lift my eyes, settling them on the smooth, contoured planes of Anton’s face.
A mistake. Because the moment I do, his gaze slices straight to mine.
I hold my breath hostage, not daring to move. But I can’t seem to break his stare—a stare that grows more curious by the second. My pulse rattles in my ears, so fast the ground seems to swerve beneath my feet.
Move, I urge myself. I can’t get caught, not yet.
But it’s too late. I see the moment his eyes widen, recognition clicking into place.
The woman who pressed her lips to his in Razam.
Whom he backed up against a wall.
It startles me into action. I step back until I’m hidden from view.
I stay low until I’ve escaped through the doors, throwing a last glance over my shoulder once I’m safely outside.
He has risen from his throne.