Chapter Nineteen
I don’t have many things, but I do have Anton’s pendant—which I’ve kept hidden in my breastband—and the codices I’ve collected so far.
Those, I shove into a makeshift bag along with a few outfits I’ve strung together from the Modiste’s Hall, though the Aegis wrestle those from me the moment I step from Sundar’s rooms.
Sundar, for his part, is not permitted to follow me. Anton told him, emphatically, that he was lucky to keep his soul—let alone a position among the Exalted—and that the only reason he isn’t banished to the Sands or shoved into the Shadows to serve is on my account, for “however long it lasts.”
The worst part is the trek awaiting me afterward.
I am already weak, my vision on the verge of blackening completely, and now I find myself being led down and through the palace, across the bridge, and into Anton’s personal wing.
Just when I feel myself collapsing, a fresh layer of sweat coating my skin, an Aegis has the gall to pick me up by the waist and carry me quite awkwardly up the rest of the stairs.
Anton’s apartments, which seem to stretch the length of the entire upper floor, are magnificent.
Every outer wall is constructed of delicate glass panels rimmed in gold, as are the domed ceilings.
It seems impossible for it to be held upright, supported, and yet I’m reminded of where we are.
This was not crafted by a mortal. The evidence is everywhere: Urns holding glowing flowers that float midair.
Baubles of light hanging suspended throughout the whole of the palace.
The view takes center stage: the backdrop of waterfall on one side, the glittering cityscape on the other.
Curtains, lush and velvet, can be drawn as needed, and thick rugs soothe my aching feet, which are still nested in the thin pair of slippers I use for dancing.
And as I’m led from one room to another, between parlors and down hallways, our conversation during our dance catches up to me.
I might not be willing to seduce Anton for information, but I will befriend him. And in the meantime, I wonder if there might be a clue here in his chambers about Moranya. About where she might be. Their deal.
Whether it was a lie or not, Illian offered me my freedom in exchange for my spying. But his agent had to be me—because of both who I was and what I could do.
If the bond between Anton and Moranya isn’t romantic, then she needs him for something only he can do; otherwise she wouldn’t have made such a deal.
But why offer him her kingdom in its entirety?
He evaded my question on the matter at our dinner, which tells me I was onto something, and I resolve to look around for a clue the moment I’m left alone.
For now, I halt before the room the Aegis carries me to.
It’s one of a few along this hall, the doors all identical, save for the pair of tall double doors several feet from mine.
A simple twist of the crystalline knob and my door swings open.
The room itself is as luxurious as the rest of Anton’s dwelling—jewel-toned and plush.
The bed is covered by a cerulean duvet beneath a deep blue canopy.
A dressing table is laden with perfumes and trinkets, baubles of light floating above them.
A mantel drips with bulbous, peony-pale flowers I don’t recognize, unique to this realm.
I squirm until the Aegis puts me down. Once they have departed, I meander to the large armoire, cracking it open.
Slinky little gowns. Negligees. Underthings.
Is this where his paramours sleep?
How many live here? How many have stayed in this bed? Nausea scorches a path through my stomach. Beside the armoire, I notice another door. Thinking it a closet, I jerk it open with a scowl—
It is…not a closet.
The bed—the largest I’ve ever seen—draws my eye first. The duvet sits askew, threaded with a gold hem and studded with pearls.
Night tables bracket the bed, both littered with half-full flutes.
The gilded, arching window directly behind it frames the waterfall perfectly, intentionally.
There’s a nook with a bar, and another set of doors parted to reveal a vast bathing chamber with an entire pool, by the look of it.
This is his Fates-forsaken bedroom.
Anger boils within me. If I have to listen to him in bed with another, I swear upon Emilia’s soul I’ll fling every last item in his wardrobe into the waterfall below. I might even push him into it for forcing this brand of proximity between us when I want nothing more than to be far, far away.
But now that I’m alone, I begin to rifle through his nightstands, ignoring my fatigue. The first has nothing but a collection of jewelry.
The second, however, is locked.
My attempts to pry it open, to pick it with a nearby pin, prove fruitless, what with my tremor-racked hands, so I abandon the idea and move to the rest of the room.
The closet is like a treasure trove, laden with robes and silk tunics, velvet-lined shelves displaying gemstone rings, hammered torques and armbands, and everything else he decorates himself with.
The space smells of citrus and spice, so like him my knees sway, begging to fold beneath me.
I examine the dresser next, running my hands inside each drawer and finding nothing save for more finery—silk and linen pants, undershirts, and briefs.
But the blot of stars in my vision forces me to pause and rest.
Only after my heart eases its relentless pounding do I set out to explore the remaining floor. Hope dwindles soon after, however, when half the doors are locked, and the rest are either guest rooms or spaces meant for entertainment.
Dizziness returns swiftly, coiling around me in a disorienting rush, to the point that I can barely orchestrate my next steps.
If I weren’t so tired, I swear I’d move my things to a different room—at the opposite end of the floor—just to spite him.
In fact, I am determined to do exactly that once I recover.
But as fate would have it, I can’t even muster up the strength to return to it, so I park myself on a nearby chaise to rest for a few moments…
I wake to the rustle of pages and the swish of liquid in a glass.
My eyes squint open, confusion spinning my head into circles. There is only the glow from the moonless, azure sky, and the soft flicker of a small candelabra to my right.
“Shall I lend you a cravat to wipe up all that drool?”
My gaze swings to the left, where Anton sits in a lazy sprawl across the couch next to me, one leg propped on a knee.
He tucks the book he was reading into his robe and sets down his glass, his lips curled into an amused grin.
“You must have been dreaming of something rather delicious. I do hope it was me.”
A flush suffuses my cheeks. I had fallen asleep, I realize, and in a rather awkward position at that—my head half askew on a pillow, one arm dangling off the chaise. Straightening, I swipe a line of drool from my chin. “How long have you been there?”
It’s still nighttime, by the look of it. Ishu is asleep at his feet.
“An hour or so.”
He says it like it’s nothing.
“What in the Fates possessed you to wait here? You could have gone to sleep.”
His brows smooth at that. “I don’t sleep. At least, not very much.”
I know what it’s like to feel lonely and stifled by the dark, he had told me once.
But I study him, if only for a moment. He looks slightly disheveled—likely from the revelry, but maybe even from our dance.
His hair is loose now, waving around his face.
But his eyes, even glinting and crinkling as they are, seem heavy.
Burdened in a way I didn’t notice before.
We all have our comforts, Minnow. I wonder if you might be mine.
“You moved my things into a bedroom that connects with yours,” I say.
He shrugs. “Maybe I think you a miscreant and prefer to keep you under my watchful eye.”
I rub my arm against the slight chill. “I am not a miscreant.”
“We’ll see.”
“And I’m not stubborn.”
“Oh, yes you are.”
“I—” I bite my tongue. No sense in arguing with him. Instead I slip my hands under my thighs. “If you brought me here in the hopes of eventually tempting me into your bed…”
He holds up a hand. “I will respect your wishes. As I promised, I will not lay a hand on you,” he says. Then adds, “Unless you invite it.”
“Then why?” I ask. “Why all of this if you get nothing out of it?” I just…I need to understand. Or maybe I want to force him to put voice to it.
He takes a second, then two, grabbing his glass and tilting it to his lips.
“I told myself I would not entertain a friendship again,” he says after a moment, his gaze fixed on the window ahead.
“I made that mistake before, clearly, with those who betrayed me. But I suppose I miss the company of a mortal. Or perhaps it’s because you remind me of home.
” His half grin returns. “Or maybe I simply find you interesting, even if I can only enjoy you at a distance…” He laughs, just a little, before glancing back at me. “I don’t know what that makes us.”
“Tolerable acquaintances?” I offer.
“Something like that,” he says. “I must be a glutton for punishment, considering you are probably the last person I should be around.”
“Because of the company I kept,” I surmise. Gustav, Sadira, Basile, and all the rest.
A shrug. “For all I know, you are plotting some grand betrayal with them. A way to rob me of this kingdom, too.”
“I don’t think that’s actually possible,” I offer up, grabbing for a pillow to clutch over my stomach. “For what it’s worth, I don’t want to take this kingdom from you; I’d much rather see you on the throne you were born for. You were a good king. I admired you very much.”
He stretches, then leans back. “Maybe you are telling the truth. But I’ve learned that one should be wary of anyone who wants something from you.”
“By that logic, then, I should be wary of you.”
“You absolutely should,” he agrees, smiling down at his lap.
It’s that look, that sheepish expression, that lends me to say, softly, “Anton…”
As if I could summon him back to me by shoving every ounce of what I feel for him into the two syllables that make his name.
At the sound, his eyes reconnect with mine.
“I don’t want anything from you,” I tell him. “There are questions I would like to ask you, certainly, but beyond that…” I spread my hands, my voice thin. “There’s nothing I seek—beyond wishing that our lands would not succumb to war.”
At that, he scoffs. “Having a difficult time keeping the leash on power, are they? Is my country on the brink of a civil war so soon?” He reaches down to scratch Ishu’s ears. “You know what, don’t tell me. I find I don’t care.”
It’s a lie; I can see it on his face. Even so, I hate Moranya for this—for souring him of any love he felt. Because the Anton I knew would sacrifice over and over for those he loved, and that included his people.
If I could just…wake him up. Remind him of who he is, of what’s at stake…
Once again, I test the bounds of the curse, relieved when it lets me say, “Not only that, Sire. Brisendale readies to attack.” I try to mention my father.
I don’t know whether Anton knows about his rise to power or not—or what he thinks happened, for that matter, beyond his misbelief about Sadira and Gustav.
Either way, though, I’m unable to put voice to it.
Instead I say, “Do you not care? Are you not concerned for your people?”
“There is no war here,” he says, his nonchalance back intact. “Besides, those you worry for will end up here in time regardless. Sooner, if war breaks out.”
I open my mouth to point out how very backward this place is, but I decide it isn’t the time or place. While I am not willing to bed him, I need to win him over—at least enough for him to trust me. To tell me things.
It means I can’t let my frustration get the better of me.
“Consider staying here,” he says.
“What?” I ask. “You mean, take your hand?”
“Moranya’s,” he clarifies. “But yes. I would make you an Exalted regardless of her ruling. It would save you the pain of actually dying, of seeing your world suffer.”
I glance at him. His offer is more tempting than he can know.
Except Moranya would never let me stay near him. Not when she realizes I’m trying to take him from her. And I, in turn, would never give him up, because dying would mean that, in time, I might no longer care. Neither of us would return home after that, and he would never take his rightful place.
I will not let her win.
But I take it for the opening it is. “There’s much I want to know about this place, and about Moranya, before I choose to stay.”
“If this is to be your final destination in the end, what difference does it make?”
“Time makes all the difference in the world, Majesty,” I say.
“It is the most precious of belongings, no? Time affords us the ability to make moments and memories that shape us to our very selves. I might return to a world of pain, but I wouldn’t want to miss out on all the things I want to do before I die. ”
Again he swirls the wine in his glass. “Are you so sure I can’t grant your desires here in Moranya’s Lair? What is it you want to do, exactly?”
“That is an answer you will have to earn, Sire.”
“And how would I earn such a thing?”
“Answer my questions. I want to understand this place. I want to know what Moranya is really like if I’m to consider your offer to stay.”
He studies me over the rim of his glass, and I fear he’ll see through me in all the same ways he did before.
But then he says, “I will answer what I can for you, if you do the same.” He stands, holding out a hand. “I think a little change in scenery is in order, no?”
I massage my temples, that vicious headache returning. “Now? Sire, it’s late…”
“And you just had a nap.” At my hesitation, he says, “A few minutes’ dip in the waterfall pool. I need it to clear my head after this.” He flicks his glass. “Very few steps required. I promise to have you safe and sound in your bed within the hour.”