Chapter 26

Chapter Twenty-Six

Petra made it to the belltower with less than a minute to spare.

Her feet screamed in her heels and her lungs burned from exertion, but she plastered on a smile for the two guards standing at the utilitarian door that blocked the final short flight of steps.

They gave her nothing in return — just that ever-present blank stare that made her stomach turn. Something was wrong with the members of the Ardeo. Not that they’d ever been a particularly saintly group, but the way these men looked…

Petra shook herself. There’s no time to speculate.

That would be Elise’s job, or whoever it was who took on the monumental task of unraveling what exactly was going on within the heart of Glory’s Temple.

The guards let her pass with twin, crisp nods. One of the men opened the door for her. It swung inward with a groan, its hinges creaking and a little rusted by the cool, wet air that drifted down the staircase every day.

Petra sucked in a deep breath of night air and willed her magic to settle. It still boiled under her skin, unsatisfied with the way the shadows had recoiled from it, fleeing to wherever it was shadows went. She wasn’t one for wanton destruction, but when roused, her magic craved an outlet.

Her temper did, too.

Settle, she urged herself again as she curled her fingers around the cold metal railing. Each step she took made the balls of her feet howl in pain, but she forced herself to walk steadily, to appear poised as she climbed the stairs and emerged onto the enclosed roof of the tower.

She wasn’t lying when she said that the belltower had the best view. Standing two hundred and fifty feet above the ground and atop a hill, it allowed her to look out at the sprawl of San Francisco glittering in the night. To the northeast, Solbourne Tower was a distant, glowing shape on Treasure Island, lit to show its majesty and protected by sigils carved into the very face of the building itself.

During the summer solstice and after the grand public celebrations, Petra and her staff liked to gather there to watch the sunset. They feasted on sweets, drank too much, and danced to music. It was the one day a year she’d been able to truly feel at ease with them, but she’d miss it this time around.

Because the person waiting for her by the sumptuously dressed table was not a member of her staff. The solstice was weeks away. The air was chilly and there were no cakes, no too-sweet alcoholic beverages.

“Petra.” Antonin stepped away from the table to help her ascend the final step. His hands were hot on her arm and the dip of her waist. Again, she cursed Silas. In her desperation to get free and not be late, she’d left her coat behind. That meant Antonin touched her bare skin when he took her elbow in hand.

“Thank you,” she murmured, casting him a close-lipped smile.

The belltower wasn’t huge, so thankfully he didn’t have to touch her for too long as he guided her to their table. Antonin gamely pulled her chair out for her. As much as she didn’t want to have the man at her back, Petra forced herself into the seat.

He didn’t step back right away. Instead, he covered her shoulders, bare save for the thin straps of her dress, with his hot palms and leaned down to whisper in her ear, “You look divine, my dear.”

His breath brushed her skin. His scent, all expensive cologne and something off she couldn’t place, wrapped around her. Petra swallowed hard. It took an enormous amount of self control to not shy away or gag reflexively.

Instead, she replied, “I’m glad you approve.”

Antonin squeezed her shoulders, his touch lingering, before he finally released her. Circling the table, he slid into his seat with a small, pleased smile.

The gold chain around his neck winked in the light cast by the candles arrayed around them. The glow flickered in his eyes, too, giving them a sinister, glassy look as he reached over to fill her empty glass with red wine.

“Your cooking staff outdid themselves,” he complimented her.

Petra gave the spread a good look, but she saw none of it. Not really. Her mind was split between focusing on every minute movement the Protector made and agonizing over what Silas was doing.

“We’re lucky to have such skilled staff,” she replied, reaching for her wine.

Antonin poured himself some wine as well, just a splash of bloody liquid at the bottom of his glass. “Very much so. I’m looking forward to my stays here.”

Stays. The wine soured on her tongue. She had to force her sip down with great effort.

Knowing he expected her to say something now that they were alone, Petra asked, “Do you plan on staying long?”

After a small sip, Antonin set his glass back down on the table. He peered at her from under gray-streaked brows, his lips set in a small, benign smile. “That depends.”

“On?”

“How long it takes to get you pregnant.”

A deep internal tremor tried to work its way out of her, to rumble down her bones all the way to her fingertips and toes, but she somehow managed to shove it down, to stay calm. She knew he wanted an heir. That had been part of his proposal all those weeks ago, but hearing it…

For some reason she couldn’t possibly explain to herself, Silas’s face flashed to the forefront of her mind. Not because of the filthy promises he’d made about breeding her, but because?—

Doesn’t matter.

Even if everything was different, there was no future with him. She didn’t even know why she thought of it. Besides, the idea of having Silas’s children made her shudder for different reasons. The man was a menace and lived an objectively dangerous life. There was no possibility of a family with him even if she wanted one.

Those thoughts bombarded her, one after another, in the space between heartbeats. It was a certain kind of madness to think of it on a normal day, let alone when the Protector was sitting a foot away from her, gauging her reaction.

Petra draped her cloth napkin in her lap and smoothed her fingers over it. “Forgive me for questioning you, Antonin, but I’m still… It’s still shocking for me. Are you certain that I’m your best match?”

The crow’s feet around Antonin’s eyes crinkled with his widening smile. It was unfortunate that something in him was rotten. If he’d been a good man, or even just not cruel, she might have found him attractive.

“If I wasn’t certain, I wouldn’t have asked,” he replied, picking up his fork with deft, ring-clad fingers. “I’ve had my eye on you for years, Petra. A woman of your ambition— It’s like catnip to a man like me. I’ve waited a very long time to find a partner worthy of me, you know.”

Petra nodded. Unlike her, he had the luxury of time. As a witch much farther down the magical power scale than her, the threat of burnout didn’t put a ticking clock on his choices.

Taking his fork and knife to the perfectly seared tuna filet on his plate, he continued, “And of course, if I hadn’t been certain after meeting you, then I would have been after discovering how you got your position.”

Anxiety ratcheting up another notch, she asked, “What do you mean?”

Antonin flashed her a white smile. “Ah, my dear, I’m talking about how you poisoned Gurney and his assistant.”

For just a moment, she considered denying it. But what use would that be? He clearly knew the truth, and she didn’t hold out any hope of deceiving him.

Her limbs felt wooden, her stomach a painfully tight ball of nerves, but she forced herself to mimic his casual air as she reached for her own utensils. “Poisoning is a bit of a stretch, I think. They were fine after a couple days.”

“Deliciously ruthless of you all the same.” He popped a bite of fish into his mouth and chewed thoughtfully for a moment. “You can’t imagine how interesting it was to hear of some nobody witch from the mouth of the sovereign himself. The Gloriae were absolutely scandalized.”

That didn’t shock her, though she’d never been deemed important enough to meet the secretive group who ruled the Temple. She hadn’t even been invited when Theodore Solbourne met with them in a high-stakes meeting to negotiate his authority over Healing Houses in his territory.

“I’m sure it was quite a shock,” she murmured, spearing a halved cherry tomato drizzled with vinaigrette on the tines of her fork.

“They tried to refuse, you know,” he told her, as if he was imparting some great secret, “but the elf stood firm. I’ve been dying to know why that is.”

It seemed he appreciated her scheming, so Petra dared to answer honestly. “I told the sovereign that I’d only consent to marrying him and his consort if he vouched for me. To be honest, even I was surprised when he kept his word.”

Petra was startled when Antonin sat back in his seat, his head tipping back with a roar of laughter. “Clever girl! I don’t know any beings — besides maybe dragons and weres, barbaric creatures that they are — who take mating as seriously as elves do. It was a stroke of genius to use that to your advantage.”

She didn’t tell him that she hadn’t known how seriously the sovereign took his union to the witch. It was all a bluff. But if Antonin wanted to believe she was some diabolical genius for playing on the elvish mating urge — something she doubted very many people knew about — then that was fine with her.

“It seemed like the most expedient way of getting what I wanted,” she demurred.

Antonin nodded. Smoothing a hand over his beard, he agreed, “Efficiency is an overlooked but vital element to a successful rise through the ranks. Your rise has been truly spectacular to witness, my dear. A covenless witch working as an initiate instructor to High Priestess of St. Emaine’s in a single stroke. Absolutely breathtaking.”

He leaned forward to rest his forearms against the edge of the table. His expression was eager and the tops of his cheeks a rosy red. In any other situation, he would have looked like a date thoroughly enjoying himself. “I admire that, Petra. I can’t say how much. You and I have such similar backgrounds. We both came from nothing and were chosen by Glory, not given magic through the happenstance of family. It took me over a century of service to get into the Ardeo and another to become Protector, but you… If there was anyone worthy to become my bondmate and have my children, it’s you.”

“Well, that’s very kind of you?—”

Antonin interrupted her with a soft sound, his brows scrunching to give him a look of almost painful adoration. “Even now that I know all about your connection to Dooraker… You’re perfect, my dear. Truly perfect.”

Ice crystallized in her veins. “Excuse me?”

“Your uncle,” he continued, breezily, as he turned back to his meal. “It took me too long to discover the link, but when I did, everything became quite clear. The man was very clever — a trait that runs in your family, apparently.”

Petra slowly lowered her utensils back onto the table cloth, afraid that if she didn’t do so voluntarily, her numb fingers would simply lose their grip. Her mind didn’t race so much as it went curiously blank.

He knows.

He knew. For how long she couldn’t say, but he knew the truth. Petra stopped feeling the cool air, nor the warmth of the wine in her stomach. She didn’t exist at all. She was outside of herself, protected from the horror of the situation by some great internal distance.

Apparently unaware of her distress, Antonin continued, “It was smart of him to keep you a secret. I do have such a soft spot for luminists, you know, seeing as we’re Glory’s favorites. And with your mind, I certainly would have plucked you from the flock early on. It’s for the best, I suppose. This way I got to see you rise to your true potential without any interference from me.”

He chuckled. The tines of his fork slid neatly through a roasted and glazed carrot when he added, “Well, a little interference. We both know St. Emaine’s seat wouldn’t have been vacant if it wasn’t for me, don’t we?”

Her voice came from somewhere far away. “I had my suspicions, yes.”

Speaking like he was inquiring about how she liked the color of his suit, he asked, “And what are your feelings on those suspicions, my dear?”

Hatred. Disgust. Fear. Grief.

There was so much, too much, and yet she couldn’t feel any of it. Not at that moment. Not when she was standing over her own shoulder, watching the conversation happen to the mirror version of herself.

Buy time, she urged the other Petra, the one who endured it all with a neutral expression and even voice. Buy Silas time. Say whatever you have to.

Her stomach rolled again as a new, terrible suspicion wrapped its fingers around her throat.

Did Silas tell him?

No, it had to be a coincidence that the Protector admitted he knew about Max so close to when she told Silas the truth. It had to be.

Because if it wasn’t, if she allowed herself to believe the cynical part of herself that had come out of that children’s home, then something fragile would shatter. Something she hadn’t even allowed herself to look at but knew was there in the comfort she took in his arms, the tightness in her chest when he looked at her like he was a lost little boy.

If Silas had betrayed her, that last little bit of hope and trust that had somehow managed to survive everything she’d suffered would be snuffed out forever. And it would be her own fault for letting her loneliness talk her into actually trusting the demon.

For just a moment it’d felt like she had someone to trust again, as mad as that sounded to her own ears, but now she was back to where she started — with the only person she could count on sitting in a plain wooden box in her nightstand, nothing but ashes and bone.

“I’d have preferred he retire,” she heard herself say, “but these things happen.”

Antonin nodded sympathetically and let out a long sigh. “They happen too often, but that’s the reality of the Ardeo, I’m afraid. We must do what’s best for the Temple, even when it’s not what we would personally prefer.” He reached across the table to lay one too-warm hand over hers. “I am truly sorry, Petra, but I’m glad we’ll both benefit from your uncle’s unfortunate choice to go against the Temple. I’m sure he’s happy by Grim’s riverbank, hearing the news that he brought us together in the end.”

She never imagined she’d actually have the chance to find out the truth, but now… Petra found herself back in her body, staring across the table at the man who murdered the only family she had left, and asked, “Would it be possible to know what happened?”

Antonin gave her another sympathetic look and squeezed her hand. “I’m afraid I can’t share all the details before we’re bonded and married, but I will say that he approached me personally with several outlandish accusations and threatened to go public with them. I was forced to take care of the situation. You understand.”

So it was exactly what she’d thought. Her once street-hardened uncle thought he could handle Antonin on his own and paid the price for it. Petra really couldn’t say whether it was better or worse to know that.

“But let’s not dwell on something so negative!” Antonin lifted his glass and tipped it toward her. “Tonight is for celebration, my dear! After all, we’ll be bonded by tomorrow morning. If we’re truly blessed by our goddess, you might even be pregnant.”

An electric current ran down her spine, jolting her out of her haze. “Tomorrow morning?”

Swallowing a sip that stained the inner part of his lips burgundy, he answered, “Of course. Tonight you’ll bond with me and we’ll try for that heir. Tomorrow we’ll announce our engagement and begin planning our wedding. I’ve got business to attend to in the city, so there’s no rush there. You should have at least a few weeks to get everything in order.”

“I… didn’t realize you wanted my bond tonight.”

“Why wait?” He gave her a slow, sultry smile. “In fact, I’ll have your bond as soon as we finish dessert. You’ll do it here, now, and then we’ll head back to my suite.”

She wasn’t sure why she was fishing for excuses, knowing that there was no good outcome for herself either way and that she was only there to buy Silas time. Still she asked, “I’ve heard the bond can take a toll on the body. Are you sure we should do it here? What if you?—”

Antonin waved a hand dismissively. “Only the weak and magicless suffer when the bond is forged. I’ll be fine.” He gestured for her to pick up her glass. She did so under automation. Clinking their glasses together, he toasted, “To Glory’s own rising star — my bride. Let’s conquer this world, my dear.”