Chapter Fifteen
It takes everything in me not to sink to the floor. But my sharp departure garners attention. I grab Sundar’s arm, pulling him into an empty alcove at the edge of the room, far from other patrons. “How did this happen? Sundar…”
“An unfortunate turn of events,” he says, wincing.
“Your plan worked in a sense. When you disappeared, I thought we couldn’t be blamed, considering we were, well, locked up.
And indeed, after you escaped, your father released us.
The council demanded Maksim set us free once Sofya had alerted them to our whereabouts. ”
Sofya had held to her word, then. And yet…
“I should have realized it was too good to be true. A day after we were freed, your father asked that we leave his palace; without you, there was no reason for us to stay. We should have known it was a trap. It turns out that his asking us to leave was never made public. He claimed we fled—that we were in league with those who kidnapped you. He hunted us himself. We made it all the way to Kurst before we were attacked. Copelan escaped—barely. I wasn’t so lucky. ”
“He killed you,” I rasp, my fists tightening, trembling.
“I…well, I allowed it. He had conjured a way to connect me to your disappearance, and I knew he’d use it as an excuse to invade Razam even earlier in retribution.
I couldn’t let that happen, so during the attack, I stepped in front of the blade.
A life for a life. Mine for yours, a debt paid.
He couldn’t demand vengeance against my mother.
” He sighs, as if his death were a mere inconvenience, then shakes his head.
“Imagine my surprise, however, to meet Moranya, shake her lovely hand myself—souls, her allure is terribly irresistible in that moment, no? Even knowing what I do, it was as if I couldn’t see past it.
Of course she granted me a spot among the Exalted and ushered me into the finality of death—only for me to find you dancing on a table, no less.
Care to explain what in the Fates-forsaken realms has happened since you left us?
And please, for the love of Morta, tell me the food is edible. ”
“Fates, Sundar, if I hadn’t abandoned you in my father’s holding cell…This is all my fault.”
He merely shrugs. “You had to do it, Vas. At least I passed some kind of morality measurement and was deemed worthy of all this,” he says, gesturing around. “A silver lining, I suppose, along with the fact that I can now help you. I want to know everything that has happened.”
“From what I understand,” I say sadly, looking around me at the feasting souls, “it won’t be long before you cease caring.”
“Then I suppose we should make the most of our time,” he says. “And it’s of the essence, Vasalie. It’s not just the Syndicate’s deadline, which is over halfway gone.”
Time passes the same, then, if my tracking is correct. It’s been sixteen days. I had hoped I had more time, but now, we only have fourteen left…
“To make matters worse,” Sundar says, “Anton’s loyalists in Miridran aren’t even believing Gustav’s story. Sofya informed us once we were released, the day before we left. There are rumors of a civil war. Lords are challenging Gustav’s rule.”
“But Anton spoke to them directly when he made Gustav regent, did he not?”
“Some, yes. But those who weren’t part of the court that day claim it’s a ruse to steal the throne.
Worse, those from Central Miridran, who would otherwise follow Anton, see Gustav as untested and weak.
They’re allying. There’s talk of removing Gustav by force unless Anton returns.
Worse, if Brisendale invades, the army is divided.
We have to get him back, Vasalie. Only Anton can unite Miridran. ”
“It’s so much worse than I imagined,” I say, wiping my sweat-coated palms along my skirt.
“Yes, but I’m here now, so hope is not lost. We are going to fix things. Now tell me what’s become of our king.”
I fight the warring urges to both cry and throw my arms around him. I might not have known him for long, but he’s here. I am not alone. Secretly, I promise myself that if there is any way to bring him back to life, I will find it. But for now, I grip his arm. “Let’s find somewhere more private.”
The rest of the floor is composed of more lounges and nooks, some divided by walls, others by glistening, diaphanous curtains. I lead Sundar past it all, down hallways and across the bridge, until we reach the study I’ve been hiding out in.
But I’m too antsy to sit. So I pace as I spill everything I know—about my time since I’ve arrived, the Abyssal, even Illian.
The Exalted, the tiers. My bargain with Anton in exchange for him letting me stay.
The doors that lead to nothing, the chasms, and the way Moranya is all but absent.
I show him the codices, the way they work.
Sundar, for his part, takes it all in stride.
“I can’t help but feel it’s all connected. Why Moranya is missing, the strangeness of this place, what she really wants…” I sigh.
“Well,” he says finally, shuffling on his feet. “There’re two of us now. We can search the Abyssal for his codex twice as fast.”
“Actually, I’m not certain you can get in.” Though maybe, if my touch opens a wide enough hole. But…“Sundar, I won’t blame you if you choose to forget it all and enjoy the respite you’ve earned as an Exalted.”
A laugh. “I must say, as majestic and delicious as this death-world seems, I much prefer to get revenge by thwarting your father’s plans. Besides, the crowd here seems…pretty boring.”
“That’s what I can’t understand,” I say with a sigh.
“The Exalted don’t exactly seem like they’ve earned it.
I expected to find kindness, generosity, and instead, I’ve found souls who prefer to indulge in every luxury that would have landed them in a lower echelon had they entertained it in the mortal world. ”
Sundar treads over to the window, a slice of waterfall visible. “Have you considered that Moranya’s judgment might be completely backward?”
“More and more,” I tell him. “But murderers are still cast out. Even Illian isn’t allowed into the city on account of his sins, save as Anton’s servant.
It’s not based on your status in life, but the sum of your actions.
Moranya’s judgment might be flawed in that she overlooks your heart and motives and instead punishes based on the sin alone. But it has a structure of some kind.”
“Be that as it may, something is off—and it’s more than just twisted judgment. I don’t deserve to be among the Exalted. I might be a decent fellow now, but by the Fates, I was a terror in my teens and twenties.”
“You couldn’t have been that bad,” I say.
A laugh. “Vasalie, I once stole a considerable portion of my mother’s treasury then promptly lost it all gambling—in a single day!
That same night, I crashed her finest racing chariot by accidentally ramming it into a local forgery, which in turn set fire to half the town.
And that,” he says, “was during a relatively good year.”
“Okay, so maybe you are right.” Something is off, more so than Moranya’s echelons and edicts.
“Even my guide,” Sundar adds. “He is an absolute cad.”
Dahlia had mentioned the guides, too. “I assume he was another soul?”
“Yeah, a bratty good-for-nothing toad who told me the afterlife was a free ticket to any type of pleasure I preferred, and that he found it particularly fun to pester those in the lower echelons. He explained the whole system here in about five minutes—how His Gloriousness hears appeals and occasionally grants exceptions to Moranya’s judgment, and the Court of the Eggplants or Exalted or whatever used to spend hours a day enforcing the law before he came along.
I spent the rest of the day listening to other nonsense about soirées and senseless gossip until finally I demanded to see my eternal lodgings and he directed me to a rather extravagant apartment here in the palace. Speaking of, where are you staying?”
“Ah…” I sweep my gaze around the space. “Here.”
“Here?” He clucks his tongue in distaste. “Absolutely not. You will stay with me. I have two spare bedrooms, and Morta knows how many settees. Seriously though, what is with all the settees?”
“Do you mean it?” I ask. “That I can stay with you?”
He presses a hand to his heart. “I vow on my mother’s dear, flawless soul to be a gentleman.”
“Thank you,” I say, admittedly relieved. The last thing I want is for Anton to find me in the study, and for all I know, he could wander in tonight. More than anything, though, I don’t want to see him on that balcony again, another pair of hands wrapped around his waist.
But even as Sundar leads me back to his suite—a spacious expanse, its windows framing the glittering city beyond—and shows me to a comfortable room adjacent to his larger one, I still long to run back to Anton.
To throw my arms around him, beg him to come back to me. To resist whatever pull he feels here.
To see me once more, like he did on Anell.
Can he really be so far gone?
“That does not look friendly,” Sundar says, standing before the portal into the Abyssal the following morning.
“Yeah,” I mutter. “Are you sure you want to try? I don’t know if it will work, or if it’s safe.”
I already know the answer. Sundar, I am learning, would dive into lava for a friend if he thought there was even a sliver of a chance both might survive.
Perhaps that’s why he earned his place here. He deserves it more than he thinks. That still doesn’t explain the rest of the Exalted, though.
“If there is a room full of books and I’m not invited,” he says, “they better believe I’ll bust my way in.”
Please, let this work.
Once again, I swipe a hand across that deadly, ethereal glow, and slowly it melts away, like a blast of cold air eating through chuffs of smoke.
Sundar tests the gap with his hand, and when he doesn’t jerk back with a burn, I grab his arm, hauling him through beside me when there’s a large enough hole.