Chapter Twenty-Four
I open my eyes to a room set aglow.
It takes me several minutes to understand where I am and how I got to this moment. This bed is not my own. This scent—spiced and ambrosial—is not mine. The view, as I roll to my side, is one I’ve seen, but not at an hour such as this.
The windows are open, the balcony doors flung wide, the waterfall beyond a luminous thread under the unusually bright aurora.
An aurora that, now that I’m more awake, is closer than ever, tendrils of it seeming to lasso around the palace.
Faint wisps of light even make it past the doors as if blown by a breeze. I swear I can feel their warmth.
Tentatively, I rise from the bed, glancing back to find it empty. My fingers twitch at my sides, then again as I slip past the doorway and onto the balcony, fatigue still heavy in my bones.
I was right about the aurora.
Swirls of light play across the flat of the balustrade, the tiled patio floor—even my palms, now that I hold them out. Like rays of sun touching petals in an open field, shifting only under the movement of clouds.
Lovely is the word that comes to mind. Glorious. And I can’t help but wonder what the aurora really is. Remnants of the power Moranya stole to make this place? Or something as simple as granting the souls a kind of sun?
A curl of cerulean loops around my wrist as if it’s alive. A thread of it even circles my finger, though I cannot feel its touch.
“You are awake.”
I jerk around and the light fades a degree, as if caught. Then Anton is there, stepping onto the balcony behind me.
“Somewhat,” I say, though I still feel like I’m in some kind of strange dream. I lean against the balustrade, something itching at the corner of my mind. I’m about to ask how I got here when, all at once, my ribs constrict, flashes of last night blinking into my mind’s eye.
The pool, the water, the heat.
The way I kissed him like it was my one and only chance. I was convinced, even this morning, that it had been a dream. But the way he’s looking at me…
Fates. “I—” I bite my lip, fumble until the words come. “Last night…”
His throat bobs, but his expression is…somber, to say the least. So unlike his usual countenance that it gives me pause.
“It was several nights ago, actually. I thought you should know.”
My gaze whips back to his. “What?”
“You were running a dangerous fever. I…Well, I had to cool you off. Which I did, only your fever came back in the middle of the night, and I couldn’t get it back down again. I had to use a duskrose.”
I try to wrap my mind around what he’s saying. “A duskrose?”
“It’s an herb that grows along the side of the mountain.
Souls use them to stay in a state of slumber when the monotony becomes too much.
Even for souls, time can be draining here.
I’ve used it myself a time or two, so I knew it was safe.
While you slept, it allowed your body to cool, and your muscles to relax. ”
“How long,” I rasp, “did I sleep?” I do feel lighter, less weighed down, but the deadline…
He pulls a stem from his robe, counting the velvet petals along the top. “Six missing, so six days.”
“You let me sleep for six days?”
If my math has been correct thus far, it means the Syndicate deadline is four days away. Four. My pulse hammers in my ears.
“You needed it,” he says brusquely, his expression one I can’t read. “And don’t worry; you didn’t need sustenance while under its influence, though I will call for food now.” He turns around—
“You are angry,” I call out after him. “Is it because I kissed you?”
He has no right, not after begging me to come to his bed. And I had been delirious.
“Has this happened before?” He gazes at me. “A fever? Headaches? Anything of the sort?”
I open my mouth but pause. If I tell him the truth, he will make me leave. But why hasn’t it happened to him? Has Moranya granted him some kind of shield or power, as she made him the ruler of this place? Or is it simply that my body was already ill and weak?
“It’s normal,” I lie. “Nothing to worry about. I am sorry for causing concern.”
“You nearly fell off the palace wall.”
Is that the reason for his mood, then? That I didn’t tell him how I felt?
“It won’t happen again,” I say. “Neither will the…the rest of it.” The kissing. Heat blazes across my cheeks and neck.
His lips press together before saying, “I know.”
I run a palm down my sleeve, only to realize I’m in a silken nightgown, the lace-lined bodice cutting open along the dip of my chest. “You changed me.”
“Should I have left you in sodden clothes?” At my withering glance, he says, “Relax. I didn’t look.”
I lift a brow. “You didn’t?”
“Much.”
Finally, his composure breaks, if only a little.
At least I’d taken the pendant off beforehand. Still, I fold my arms, heat flushing the back of my neck. I feel as if he can see through my clothes—past my ribs, even, to my longing, palpitating heart.
His gaze follows the bob of my throat. Then he slips a hand through his tousled hair, and I notice he’s fully dressed—a fine green tunic beneath a similar sleeveless garment embroidered with silver thread.
A buckle sits low at his hips, and his usual emerald earrings glint aqua from the light outside.
“You should know I slept on the divan,” he says.
“Anyway, you should still go gently for the day; it may take time for the grogginess to subside. It goes without saying that I don’t expect you to dance for me, either.
I will honor our terms regardless; you may stay without worry.
” He rubs the back of his neck. “I’ve noticed your condition, you know.
I assume that whatever ails you is heightened by the atmosphere of this place. ”
Always so observant. I open my mouth to argue, but he says, “By the Fates, Vasalie, ask for what you need. I would never have expected you to dance if I had known. Consider that part of the bargain fulfilled. You need not perform for me again.”
“But I—”
“You should go back to bed,” he says, striding back inside, and I follow. I can’t rest, not when there are four days left…
“I must attend the appeals this morning, but I will be back by the afternoon.” He retrieves a key from a necklace hanging around his neck, uses it to unlock the drawer in his nightstand, then snags something and tucks it quickly into his robes.
I eye the drawer as he bids me farewell.
The moment he leaves, I rush to the nightstand despite the stars blinking in my vision. Again I attempt to pick the lock. I spend half an hour on it, all to no avail, then peer through the keyhole. It’s too small, the drawer too dark for me to make anything out.
What didn’t he want me to see?
Before I can think too long on it, a heavy fog settles over me, my exhaustion mounting once more. I resolve to rest, if only for a little. Just until my mind clears.
An hour or two at most, I promise myself.
Only, I end up sleeping most of the day, waking after the sky has dimmed into evening.
Panic suffuses me, but the effects of the duskrose still linger if the haze wrapping my vision is any indication.
And yet it feels like the fever returned at some point, my forehead damp with sweat.
Without my consent, my mind fades in and out.
I only briefly register the figure that comes and goes.
Every so often, a hand brushes my forehead and cheek, and later, when I squint my eyes open, I see Anton on the chaise nearby, a book in hand.
But my eyes loll back, my exhaustion mounting once more.
It isn’t until the next morning that I feel somewhat recovered, and all the worry comes rushing back.
Another day. I’ve lost yet another day.
“Your breakfast is on the tray next to you.”
My gaze swings to where Anton stands just inside his closet, adjusting the sleeves of the robe that hangs open at his smooth, bare chest. His hair is tied back, though a few strands have slipped loose.
Strands of gold hang from his ears and neck.
I swallow thickly and force my gaze away.
He’s always so distracting to look at, and I curse him for it under my breath.
He stacks bracelets up one arm, and I realize he has yet to look at me. “The food, Vasalie. Eat.”
He sounds…angry. Just like he did when I first woke, except more so. My cheeks flame with heat. I grip the tray and bring it to my lap, examining the array of pastries and fruit laid across it.
Eat, hydrate, then find Sundar. Resume the quest…
“I have matters to attend to today. If you need anything, an Aegis will assist you.” Again his tone sounds edged.
“Matters?” I ask before sipping the tea. “You mean the appeals?”
“No appeals today.”
I place my teacup onto its saucer. “What matters, then?”
He doesn’t bother to answer me before striding out the door.
Cramming the last of a pastry into my mouth, I rise as quickly as I can manage, throw on a dark linen dress gathered at the waist along with a cloak and his pendant, which I hang around my neck.
Whatever matter he claims he has to attend to, my gut tells me it has to do with Moranya.
The reason he vanishes every so often. I have two days left to figure this out, and Moranya is the key.
My visions swims, but I race down the hall and down the stairs, catching sight of Anton as he crosses the bridge into the main part of the palace. From there, I follow after him, though I stay back in the hopes that he won’t notice.
He enters the throne room, and a crease forms between my brows. He said he wasn’t entertaining appeals today. But then he parts a large door framed in gold along the back wall and disappears inside.
I wait a few beats before following, slipping behind the door myself.
The inside of the hall is dimly lit, narrow yet tall, soft blue light feathering the space from sconces bobbing high along the ceiling. Due to its curvature, I can’t see where it leads, but the distinct click of another door clues me in.
I follow Anton through what feels like multiple hallways, always keeping my distance, my steps soft, until I am out of the palace entirely.