Chapter Twenty-Eight #2
“You say she didn’t know about your reputation.
What about—” My throat squeezes, my intent toeing the line of the curse a little too much.
I had been about to ask whether she knew about Illian’s attempts on his life.
But he had told me that during the last Gathering, and anything we spoke of there, it seems I am unable to reveal.
“What about the hostility between you and Illian?”
Silence.
I pause in my search just in time for him to slice a peculiar glance toward me. “And what do you know of that?”
I scramble for a lie. “I—”
“Sadira,” he says for me. “I suppose she would have told you about Illian’s assassination attempts. And being that you have been in Morta’s Lair yourself, I suppose there’s no harm in telling you that those attempts were successful. Good thing I’ve made friends with death, yes?”
I don’t know how to respond to that, so I prompt, “You never told Ademi any of it, did you?”
“I was afraid that if she knew, she would want nothing to do with me. Even so, I wrote to her on the eve of my coronation with my official proposal, even though proximity to me would put her in danger,” he says, batting a ring-clad hand.
“In my arrogance, I told myself that I had cheated death time and again, and I would spare no expense to protect her. I let my pride get the better of me, and even more so after I donned a crown and commanded leagues of men.”
But his pride wasn’t entirely unwarranted. Everything he touched turned to gold. And his rise in fame was swift.
He was so different from his brothers. Here was an ambitious prince with glittering eyes and a dashing smile, who would, over time, usher in a reign of tourism, invention, and wealth that benefited his people. Even by the time he was crowned, he had proved himself in some regard.
“I had heard your engagement became official,” I say. It was all anyone talked about for a time. And then he’d worked on that gown. In fact, as I roam the shelves once more after ensuring his gaze is still pinned on the dome above, I note something of interest.
A stack of schematics. One for the stained-glass gown. Another for the crown. More for pieces of each dress. And underneath those, a thin sketchbook. It’s spread open, flattened, and littered with pencil marks. But the first page is labeled clearly, penned in Anton’s telltale script.
Mercy’s mirror. Three other pages are filled with his writing after that, though the rest are blank.
And next to it is a golden box. I tap the lid open and find a collection of iridescent glass shards, sharp as blades.
I dare not touch these, but I quickly remove the pages from the sketchbook, then fold and shove them into my already tight corset, along with the pendant, while Anton’s attention is focused on telling his tale, still playing with his bracelet and rings.
“Ademi accepted the proposal immediately,” Anton says, examining his fingernails now.
“What I didn’t realize, however, was that she had embarked on a voyage to surprise me.
I wasn’t there when she arrived in Ansa; rather, I was en route to Razam—” He pauses, face souring at the mention.
“—in the hopes of halting the war my brother was itching to start. Apparently, she saw my Glory Court and bought the rumors I circulated as to what it was. When I returned, it was to her final letter, which she had written upon her departure.”
“Couldn’t you tell her the truth?” I ask.
“Oh, I tried,” Anton says. “She did not believe me. A few courtiers who disapproved of me used the opportunity to share every wrong I’d committed, twist all my edicts to frame me as a monster. I sent her countless letters after that, but I didn’t even get a response.
“I realized, then, that no one would believe my claim to innocence, and so I gave up trying. I merged all my sides—my grief, my aspirations, my love of life. My hatred of it. My lust for the beautiful and the grand. For companionship. Invention. All of them, I folded them neatly into one, and I leaned into my reputation. I became who they thought I was. I stopped defending myself, stopped apologizing, and never looked back.”
I press my hands to my stomach as if I could suppress the pain I feel on his behalf. I know the story from there. He had found people who did love him—Gustav, Sadira, her sons—only to have them betray him in the end.
Or so he thinks.
I wish, so badly, that I could tell him that every angle of him is worthy of being loved.
Even the worst ones. Even now. He reminded me of that when I needed it most—reminded me that all my scratches and dents, all the marred facets and shards that cracked deep into my soul, were what made me art.
Like his stained glass—broken fragments fitted back together again to make something infinitely more lovely.
Now it’s as if he’s allergic to love. He despises the very notion of it. And to protect myself, I’ve acted like I’m allergic to him.
“I am sorry.” What a pathetic response that is, and I hate myself for it. He deserves more.
“Sorry?” He lets slip a single, caustic laugh, rising from his seat. “I am only sorry that I didn’t learn my lesson when I should have.”
“No,” I breathe before I can think better of it.
“The only lesson to be learned is that not everyone is meant to stay in our lives. But you are worth keeping, Anton. Her heart did not have enough room for you, but m—” I cut myself off, my tongue crackling with all the things I cannot relay. “Someone else’s will.”
It already does. It’s so full of him it can hardly beat. But if I told him, it might push him away.
His emerald gaze captures my own the way a pirate might seize a ship, and I find myself lost in the depths of him. He is my anchor, and yet he’s been abandoned time and again. Shoved aside, slandered, used. Murdered.
I will not abandon him.
Slowly, he strides toward me. I expect him to reinforce his stance, to once again make a mockery of what I said.
Instead a subtle curve lifts the corner of his lips. His smirk becomes a glinting, devilish thing, and I pretend my knees do not want to falter beneath me.
“Someone, you say?” he says.
My heartbeat throttles at his nearness.
I wait for him to demand the kiss I owe, but he does not.
He flicks my nose, then walks away.
I let out a huff as he grabs a tool, tossing it into the air. “Has anyone told you about the planetarium? It’s right around the corner, unless they shut it down.” He slides his gaze toward mine. “Come see?”
But the echoing of voices slides under the door. Anton’s chin whips toward the workshop’s entrance, his hand already curling around mine. “Someone’s coming.”
Before I can think, he’s leading me toward the back. Bypassing the door, he yanks one of the blowpipes leaning against the furnace like a lever, and a portion of the wall pops free—
It’s yet another stairwell wrapped in pale, aged stone, only this one leads outside. It empties us onto a cluster of rocks at the edge of the palace. Gulls flutter off at our approach, the river mere feet away, scalloping against the juts of stone.
Warm, golden light pours generously across the water, dancing across our skin as the clouds shift and sway. I hadn’t realized how much I’d missed the sun. I wish I could rest, curl up in its rays, but Anton takes my hand.
“Shouldn’t there be a guard here?” I say as he leads me down the rocks.
“Look behind you. The door is all but invisible, and only two people know of it. Also, it locks automatically from the inside—meaning we can’t get back in the same way.”
“What now?” I ask, a brisk, warm wind sweeping my curls from my face.
He scans the horizon—the water and the city spread before us. “You said you wanted to see my city, yes?”