26. Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter twenty-six
Q uillian shifts to my side as the other concierges fan out in all directions, roughly spaced around the grandroom so the prisoners can easily find assistance at any time. The exact positions change regularly during the evenings as we are required to do different things, including entertain the prisoners who request it, but we must always be accessible.
Traelen enters through the large timber doors that lead to the internal courtyard, greeting each of the prisoners he passes with a handshake, or a kiss on each check – or both – before making his way to Quillian and me, the taupe suit he wears making his skin look golden in the light.
The conductor of the band glances at me as Traelen takes his place and I duck my chin to give him the go ahead to start the music. As the violinist lifts his instrument, he cocks a brow and looks pointedly at Quillian. I suppress a smile when his face cracks into a broad one and Quillian shifts on his feet next to me. My smile freezes as his knuckles brush the soft folds of my dress, pushing the fabric along my skin.
The gentle weight of his hand dances along the side of my thigh as we watch the prisoners help themselves to the food and mingle, chatting with each other. As they begin to approach the concierges and the first wave of food has been consumed, my teams start to relax with their stations, but there’s still a slightly stilted feel in the room.
‘Dance,’ Traelen says.
I glance sideways to where he stands on the other side of Quillian to see who he’s talking to, but he’s looking straight ahead. One of the prisoners, Fleur – the same one Nix was with at our last dinner, Miana’s friend – approaches Traelen, my palms starting to sweat. Just before she draws him in for a conversation, he turns to Quillian and me.
‘I’d like you to get the dancing started. You two need to be on the floor. Now.’
He takes the drink Fleur offered and guides her away, a hand on the small of her back, so they can talk away from us. Away from the staff. I remember Claudius doing something so similar, many times in the past, when prisoners requested his time. But it felt so different – I never doubted that he was one of us. Traelen, though, he definitely doesn’t consider himself part of this team. At the same time, there’s a distance between him and the prisoners that feels familiar.
I stare after him.
The thought of being that close to Quillian again sparks a little fire in my belly. Right where the heat started when he walked into the grandroom tonight. But doing so, so publicly, also creates a tightness in my jaw. I haven’t seen Nix arrive and I’m not sure he will be up to it. But, despite the assurances he gave me that it wouldn’t happen again, his wounds are so raw it’s a risk I’d prefer not to take.
The conversation we had after he beat Quillian was open, and heartfelt. But I don’t believe that means he’s ready to think he can lose me to Quillian. Not to mention there is still a lot unresolved between Quillian and me—
‘Shall we?’ he asks, holding out his arm.
‘Of course,’ I say, trying to force any uncertainty from my voice.
I place my hand in the crook of his elbow, the shape of his bicep – just the very bottom – under my fingers, and let him lead me to the space between the large stone arches and the food table. The concierges barely bat an eyelid, used to this routine of the staff helping the prisoners warm up from time to time. In my old life, I was very rarely first onto the dance floor, and if I was, I’d had more than a few Flaming Georges under my belt to help me along. But while most of my teams don’t even bother to look our way and remain focused on their jobs, I don’t miss Janly’s curiosity. Or the slowly growing warmth in Blossom’s expression.
Turning into Quillian, it’s impossible for my breath not to catch at his proximity. His face gives little away but there’s a tiny, fast flicker at the base of his jaw that belies his composure. ‘— that prove—’ is written on his neck, his tattoo shimmering before it dips under his collar, and I remember where it fans on his body. But the memory of the sting when he walked out is pronounced, even now, after his apology, and it helps me gather myself under the watchful gaze of Traelen. Helps me remember he wants me off the island and back on the mainland, something that feels so at odds with the closeness we shared.
Smiling politely, I stop my perusal of his broad chest and face. The full mouth that trailed between my—
My heart hammers. I look over his shoulder as we take up our dancing position and he begins turning me around the floor. His hand is warm where it envelops mine and we keep a respectable distance between our bodies.
But the weight of his hand on my hip is hard to ignore. The way he holds me there with just enough pressure to be straddling the line of polite and familiar. We move at a moderate speed, our dancing not intended to be a display, but an invitation for others to join us. As we glide past Traelen his attention follows us for a moment, before he turns his back and resumes his conversation with Fleur. Some of the tension in my gut releases at the loss of his attention and my body feels like it moves more readily over the floor.
My fingers curve around the top of Quillian’s shoulder, not quite reaching his back, and I try not to get lost in the memory of just how muscled that back is. But the memory of our night together takes me with a low burning that builds at the very bottom of my gut, a warmth racing up my chest and carving a hot path up my neck and across my cheeks. As we move around the floor and I attempt to regain control of my wandering thoughts, I wonder if this really will be my last time at one of these events. The last time I thought that – let myself believe it wholeheartedly – I ended up crying on the floor of the collection room.
And intricately involved in things I’d never even considered before.
Quillian inhales deeply, almost like he’s noticed any awkwardness from touching him so publicly fading from my steps as I sink into rhythm with him. A tickling at the back of my neck runs up the side of my face and over my head, and I catch the lights of the music in their own dance, streaming above and out from Quillian and me. They rapidly create a gentle whirl around us and the two other pairs that have now joined. White and yellow blinking lights that imbue the essence of the music.
A soft laugh bubbles in my mouth and Quillian tugs me forward a fraction. I can’t see his face properly without pulling back to look at him, but his nearness makes me tingle and I can’t help but wonder what his face shows.
‘Did you talk to him?’ he asks quietly.
It’s my turn to suck in a steadying breath. But the conflict between Nix and Quillian is a mountain I haven’t completed getting over yet. Nix may blame him for his loss, but they have been through some of the darkest things together.
At the same time, the kernel of disappointment that Quillian has arranged for me to go back to the mainland without talking to me won’t dislodge.
Part of me thinks I should be wounded that Quillian didn’t tell me he knows Nix. There was certainly enough trust on my side for me to confess things to him. But he did openly admit that the beating Nix gave him was deserved. So he didn’t hide it, either.
I think on my conversation with Nix. About how he admitted he doesn’t think Quillian’s all bad, but Quillian still made a decision to save him despite the pain Nix would ultimately endure. How much of that operating style is in effect up here?
Is that what he’s doing? Does he think he’s saving me by sending me away?
‘Yes,’ I breathe, ‘I spoke to him.’ It’s an effort to keep the genteel smile on my face as the music, and the dance, continues when all I want to do is drag him away so we can talk.
Quillian doesn’t immediately respond. Whether that’s because knowing we spoke is all the answer he needs, or he doesn’t know what to ask next, I don’t know.
‘So you know why I said ‘shouldn’t’ the other night, then?’ he asks, his voice still a whisper as we move around the timber dance floor.
I let my head lower a little, conscious not to rest it on his shoulder despite the pull to do just that.
‘I know,’ I murmur. ‘And Nix knows you did the best you could with the information you had at the time.’
He’s quiet for a moment, the music dying away around us as we move. The sound of our breaths like our own beat.
‘Sometimes what you know in the moment isn’t enough,’ he says roughly and it feels like he’s talking about more things than I can possibly know right now. ‘I signed off on your recommendation … before …’
His words trail off and I wonder what ‘before’ he means. Before we were intimate? Before we grew closer? Before he shared thoughts and feelings with me that could easily be taken as traitorous to Nuntainia?
‘I wanted you to have options,’ he whispers. ‘This is … messier than I had expected.’ His fingers tighten around my side.
I try not to exhale too heavily. Or lean into him too far.
‘Which bit?’ I ask, still smiling my concierge smile.
‘Bits I’d really like to explain. Things I regret not being able to tell you earlier.’ His voice is quiet but serious and I can’t help but feel like there’s truth there. Like he genuinely wants to let me in but between our jobs and Nix and Traelen and all the deaths, we haven’t really had a chance to talk properly. Not when there seems like there’s so much to talk about.
Our steps slow as the piece comes to an end and I catch Nix’s narrowed gaze in the crowd of prisoners, his fists clenched as he watches Quillian and me in the final stages of the dance. Blossom approaches him and he bumps her shoulder as he spins and walks away.
Something pinches around my insides but I still don’t let go of Quillian. I give Blossom a beseeching look and she sighs but leaves the room after Nix. The song ends and Quillian guides me back to our station.
‘I do expect that explanation, Quillian,’ I say quietly as we now take in the other dancers before us. My waist still warm from where he held me.
He turns to look at me again but one of the newer prisoners, Zenaton, dressed in a simple grey suit with his white shirt open to the navel, approaches from across the dance floor. His focus is firmly on Quillian who, when I glance sideways at him, is struggling not to keep the usual disdain from his features. He told me once that Zenaton had particularly good connections to the Prime Minister. I swallow. With both he and Traelen here, in a sea of prisoners who have seen death after death, the likelihood of someone asking the wrong – or right – question seems suddenly very high. If those answers got back to the Prime Minister …
I still as the back of Quillian’s knuckles brush mine for a moment before he looks back to the approaching prisoner.
‘Lovely event you’ve put on,’ Zenaton says as he reaches us. ‘Much grander than when the last Warden was with us.’
I stifle a grunt. Given the teams that have organised the events under both Wardens are the same, I find that very hard to believe. Although I suppose Zenaton hasn’t been with us that long.
‘How fortunate you get to partake in all the festivities,’ Quillian says and gives a tight smile.
‘I was thinking,’ Zenaton continues, gesturing to Quillian with his scarlet filled glass, tiny pink bubbles bursting around the rim. ‘A glass platform could be nice.’
‘A glass platform?’ I ask, meeting his dark, hazel-blue eyes.
‘Hmm. For our next event. You could put it up near the edge of the island and then we’d be able to literally party in the air.’
Quillian turns to me, a little wide-eyed at the request, but I don’t miss the tension that creeps back into his shoulders. It’s an outlandish request, but when I would have once laughed it off, this evening it makes me bristle. I might not know what Zenaton has done to be here, but I know he is not merely on holiday in Nuntainia’s most fabulous resort.
I glance at Traelen, still in deep conversation with some of the prisoners. For all I know, they are planning what they will do when they each get out, and Traelen is completely unconcerned with what they’ve done to be sentenced here. Or are they giving him their account of the strange things that have been happening around them. My skin itches. I don’t actually know what he thinks of all of this and I do think his priority is the Prime Minister – perhaps the prisoners here are just part of that ecosystem and not a priority in their own right.
But giving Zenaton anything to complain to the Prime Minister about is another piece of attention we don’t need right now, and so I make myself smile widely.
‘We’ll add it to our list,’ I say to Zenaton. ‘Thank you for the suggestion.’
He nods in acknowledgement before he turns and scans the room.
‘Ah! Davorous,’ he calls as the large timber doors open and Davorous slips in.
Quickly, I glance around the room myself, but there’s no sign of Blossom and I’m quietly thankful I sent her after Nix. I watch as Davorous scours the room himself. His predatory gaze searches all the concierges – I can only assume it’s for a particular curly-haired one. My skin starts to crawl at the thought of what he’d like to do to her. Because there’s no doubt in my mind that it is to her that he wants to do things, not with .
I keep one eye on him as I monitor the prisoners. A number come to me with requests or suggestions for improvements; my frequent position at Quillian’s side having obviously been noted. I dutifully make a note of them, knowing I’m unable to outright dismiss them. Indeed, some of them I will need to make happen so their satisfaction of the stay remains high.
Finn offers me a small smile as he stands not too far from me, quietly observing the prisoners. Just as I am. I still haven’t seen him engage a lot but Janly confirms he is present enough and I suppose being here at our busiest event is testament to him having a reasonable time at least. Sometimes it’s the quietest ones who need the most careful watching to make sure they’re enjoying themselves. The loud ones make their own fun.
But, at least according to Traelen, we need excellent client reviews from them all.
Quillian engages, mostly, with the prisoners that come to talk with us, but otherwise doesn’t leave my side. Despite that I would normally wander the room and check different details, I find myself hesitating to leave my spot next to him as well. I peek at Quillian, his face like stone as he watches the celebrations. Celebrations that are for nothing more than frivolous enjoyment.
‘The details for the transfer are complete.’ I try not to jump at Traelen’s voice which appears out of nowhere. ‘I’ll have a team of Hunters up here in the morning to make sure nothing goes … awry … in the meantime. I’ve also shut down the portal in the Warden’s Residence for safety. I do not need any rogue prisoners turning up in Parliament.’
I stare at him, hoping I’ve misheard.
‘The transfer?’ I ask. Quillian gives nothing away. The portal? I don’t ask out loud.
‘To Vana Prison,’ he says.
‘Who do we need to prepare?’ Quillian asks blandly.
‘The Kilroy brothers.’
Traelen’s face blurs before me and I try to blink.
Nix and River Kilroy.
‘I’ll be back in two days to facilitate the transfer – the Warden over there can be a bit prickly,’ he says, face blank. ‘I’ll need to do some more negotiating, but it will go through as planned.’
Phantom screams fill my mind as I imagine what the inside of that prison will be like. Cortane herself said the innocent scream the loudest. Once, I would’ve argued that’s exactly what River and Nix are. Now, I know they’re not entirely ‘innocent’. But what does ‘innocence’ mean in the face of the things they were made to do under government direction? How do their actions under orders compare to the other choices they’ve made, leading them … here?
Standing still while I watch Traelen walk away takes more of my strength than I expected. It’s all I can do not to run from the room and straight to Cortane. But having her portal them off without knowing how to bring the wards down will only mark them – for a lifetime. They will be tracked and hunted by the best bounty hunters of Nuntainia – the same Hunters that Traelen is bringing here.
Maybe they’re not innocent, but I’m starting to understand there are degrees of guilt and innocence, and that seems to depend on who’s making the judgement.
And when I think of what Nix has lost, what they were asked to do—
‘I need some air,’ I say to Quillian, my voice barely there. I don’t look at him or the large stone arches that face directly into the sky and head across the grandroom. Davorous has a satisfied smirk on his face as I pass him, gloating about something to Zenaton, and I hurry past so I don’t have to hear what it is.
Two days.
I have two days to get the information on the wards and organise Cortane and her portal – and River and Nix have two days to complete whatever it is they came here to do. I refuse to think about the possibility that they’d choose Vana over escape, duty over life. But, then, it’s no longer a duty for them – any of them. It’s honour.
A creed, Cortane called it.