Chapter Twenty-One
The next morning, I wait until Anton leaves for the appeals and search his room. Last night proved that getting information from him is going to take time, and we’ve yet to find what we need in the Abyssal. I’m starting to fear we won’t, what with the missing codices.
I have ten days left. Two-thirds of my span, already elapsed.
So I dig through his rooms again, leaving no crack or crevice untouched.
I move to his study next, rifle through it all over again, only to come up empty-handed.
All of it leaves me winded, breathless, fatigued—more so after spending half the night with him in that pool and not sleeping a wink afterward, my heart an aching pulse in my chest. He is both so close and yet so far. And now, being in such close proximity—
You’re beautiful.
It frightens me, the intensity of my feelings. The way I can’t seem to block them out.
I feel everything I did on Anell and more.
His gentle spirit, his goodness…I see it, even here, despite his careless, hedonistic facade.
Despite what Moranya has done to him. He brought me to that pool because he thought it would help ease my pain.
And it’s all the harder like this. I want to guard my heart, yet he’s intent on thieving it from me—even at his worst.
So I remind myself what it would feel like if I were to give in, to crawl into his bed and cling to him throughout the night, only for him to reject me thereafter.
Be his friend. Gain his trust. It won’t be won by touching him, teasing him, or slipping between his sheets.
I avoid Sundar all afternoon, knowing he’ll chastise me for not using Anton’s attraction against him—knowing, too, that he might be right and I could be bypassing an opportunity we can’t afford to miss.
Instead I make a trip to the gardens on a lower tier of the mountain in search of more of those strange, glowing bulbs.
I’m running low on the shimmering cream I had made.
Luckily, I find them easily enough, and I gather them into a sack I made.
Even so, my head pulses painfully, my skin flush and far too warm.
I’m almost done collecting bulbs when I see the willowy figure clothed in rags not unlike Illian’s, there by the fountain.
A Shadow.
And yet she’s familiar. White-blond hair falling limply down her back, tall in stature. A purse to her lips. My heart skips a beat, even as I blink, sure I’m hallucinating. But as I watch her, I know for certain.
Aesir.
She notices me, too, a faint glimmer of surprise widening her eyes.
I had wondered how long she might survive at my father’s side when he never intended to share power in the first place.
I almost feel bad for her, considering she was designated a Shadow, too.
But then…she had earned this, hadn’t she?
She’d plotted her own father’s death. Maybe Moranya’s judgment is just, after all.
Still, I can’t help but approach her. “How did it happen?”
She brushes a strand of hair from her shoulder. “A fall. Down the stairs.”
“He pushed you.”
“Then held me in a show of tears, calling for help, as if I’d simply lost my balance. I saw that as my soul drifted away. He found out that I could not bear him a child and secure his line.”
I’m tempted to gloat. She should have seen this coming. She brought this on herself.
Except no one, not even Aesir, deserves my father.
“I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised to see you here, either,” she says. “So he had you killed and blamed it on that prince, then? It was only a matter of time; he’d planned to kill you off after the Syndicate deadline, the moment he had a more pliable heir.”
She thinks I’m dead. I don’t refute her. “Surely the Syndicate will be suspicious of your death, what with them watching so closely. Between you and Prince Sundar—”
“He has always been steps ahead, don’t you know? He bought off Lord Dameron years ago. Why do you think he offered to stay? He will vouch for Maksim’s innocence. Provide any alibi. Say he saw whatever Maksim asks him to.”
I rub my forehead, my dull headache throbbing all the more.
“Do you regret your role in all this?” I can’t help but ask.
She shrugs. “Even here, I don’t think it has fully set in. Once the numbness and shock wear off, I am certain I will. Then perhaps I will walk myself into the Sands.”
“But surely you would want revenge? If you had the chance, that is.”
“Would that I had the chance.” Her hand cups a flowering bulb—until it tightens, squeezing until it comes apart in her palm. “Of course. But as you can see…” She tosses the sundered petals down, her heel pressing them into the earth. “I am here. And once again, he holds all the cards.”
Tonight, Anton’s party is on a covered walkway nudged against the palace’s right wing, where a wedge of mountain rings inward. The canopy is laced in wisteria that drips down to either side, and cool air sweeps through my pinned hair, coaxing a few ringlets loose.
My heart hammers as I drift down the long walkway, my mind replaying my meeting with Aesir. Somehow I will find a way to make my father pay. For all of his sins.
For now, though, I must focus. My exertion lately has left me more exhausted than before, the painful quake in my knees threatening to topple me altogether. Even my vision is a blur, a smear of stars, my heartbeat a pulse that throbs against my burning eyes.
It’s so much worse than before, and that’s when I realize something is wrong.
I clutch the long swaths of pale chiffon extending from my skirt with sweat-coated fingers. I should turn around and rest, ask Anton if I might take the night off. Instinct tells me I shouldn’t ignore my worsening symptoms.
But I will manage, just as I always do. I’ll find the strength, because I can’t afford to lose any more time.
Still, it’s difficult to ignore the chills spiking along my arms and neck as I near the soirée.
Souls cluster by columns, a soft, ethereal melody adrift in the air.
The closer I draw, however, the more fatigue takes its toll, the floor warping beneath my line of sight.
So labored, so distracted, am I that I don’t hear the footsteps behind me until it’s too late.
A hand wraps around my throat.
I’m flung from the walkway and into a shadowed alcove off the main path, my knees hitting stone. I glance up, startled, as eyes—as blue and piercing as the sun glinting off the sea—knife into mine.
I blink to clear my flickering vision, yet still it takes me a moment to understand. I’d almost thought I was looking at Aesir again, except that it’s…Rurik.
King Rurik, whom I killed.
He looks younger. No beard, longer hair, both eyes, and yet his glare holds a lifetime—and the pain of death.
“It wasn’t a lie,” he growls. “You really are here. And alive.”
Did Aesir find him? Tell him I was here? But she thought I was dead—
“Rurik,” I rasp, fumbling to get back onto my feet. “I’m sorry—”
“Not yet you aren’t,” he says, and I yelp as he shoves me back yet again. “Allow me to describe what it was like having a blade cut into your neck—”
“My, what’s this?” says a newcomer. Light slides over Sorrell’s form as he comes into view—and Dahlia, too. I breathe a sigh of relief as their gazes dip down to mine.
“She’s a mortal,” Rurik spits. “I don’t know how she got here, but she is owed the same blood-soaked death she delivered me—”
“A mortal, you say?” Sorrell asks, lifting a brow. He bends, reaching his hand out toward mine. I take it, letting him pull me the rest of the way up.
Only he jerks harder, until my shoulder slams into his chest. He grips my hair, running his nose along my temple. “Oh, this is too good. How did we miss this?” He laughs, and it’s a cruel sound. I try to loose myself from his grip, but he clings tighter. “Dahlia, it all makes sense now.”
Dahlia strides forward, glaring down her nose at me before taking a piece of my hair and bringing it beneath her nostrils. She drops it as if it burned her. “Is this how you’ve had His Gloriousness eating from the palm of your hand, then? Does he know your little secret?”
“It does not matter,” says Rurik. “Mortals are not permitted here, save by Moranya’s invitation.”
“I think we can handle this,” Sorrell says to Rurik. “You may go.”
Rurik, unused to his new standing in the Realm of the Dead, starts to argue.
But Dahlia lifts a hand, halting him. “You are a Sustained, are you not? Barely more than a Shadow. We far outrank you. I am a member of the Court of the Exalted.”
“Off you go,” Sorrell says.
With a last, murderous glare at me, Rurik stalks away.
Finally, I manage to wrestle myself from Sorrell’s grip, though my vision is rimmed with black, my head throbbing even harder now. “Take me to Anton if you must, but—”
In a blink, I’m crowded against the wall with Dahlia hovering over me. “Anton,” Dahlia says. “How familiarly you treat him.”
“To hand you over to His Gloriousness would be to continue the same pattern,” Sorrell muses beside her, gliding his hand around my hip. “I think it’s time we break it, no? Handle this ourselves.”
“We could drag her into the Sands,” Dahlia says, sliding a nail along my collarbone. “Rid ourselves of her for good.”
“Oh, certainly, but it would be a shame not to have a little fun first.” Sorrell yanks me toward him, pressing his knee between my legs—
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”
“Fates, I’ve had enough Shadow filth for one day,” Dahlia hisses, and I realize that, this time, the voice belongs to Illian.
Illian, of all souls.
Sorrell, on the other hand, looks delighted at the prospect of inserting his dominance yet again. “Far be it from you to speak to us in such a way,” he muses.
“Perhaps,” Illian says coolly. “Though the Aegis won’t be pleased with this display. There are two within earshot. No, wait—three. Shall I call them? Tell them you’re playing with His Gloriousness’s pet?”
To my relief, Dahlia backs away, releasing me. “You will pay for intervening, Shadow.”
Sorrell and Dahlia push past him, Sorrell’s shoulder knocking into Illian’s.
He barely flinches.