Chapter 32

CHAPTER 32

I stagger up the stairs, gripping my side. Under my cloak, I press my hand against the slash in my waist to try to staunch the bleeding. Walking around isn't helping to stop the flow. While the fabric of my cloak is mostly soaking up the blood, I'm not sure how well I can mask the agony on my face or the panic of so much blood loss.

When I finally reach my hallway, the morning light is pouring in through the windows. I don't want anyone stumbling out in the halls to find me dragging myself to my room, half-dead.

As I get closer to my door, I see Aisling carrying a tray of breakfast to my door. My jaw tightens. I'm going to have to mask this pain, to pretend everything is fine. And you know what? I learned how to do that well growing up: smile and pretend everything is great, even if the world is burning down. When the police show up, you smile and say Mom just has a fever; she'll be better soon.

Aisling turns to see me as I get closer and smiles brightly. "Oh, thank the gods you're back. I was so worried about you. Did you ask the soldiers to accompany you? It doesn't seem like you did. It's really not a good idea, Nia, traveling on your own. I'd never let my daughter run around the countryside alone. I was really hoping you'd be back. I brought you fruit and cheese. Did you want it here or the balcony?"

I feel nauseous, dizzy, but I smile at her, and I say, "Everything's fine. I just wanted to go home for a little bit to see my dad. He's doing great."

As I get closer, she frowns at me, clutching the breakfast tray. "Are you feeling all right?"

Fuck. "It's just a fever. I'll be better soon."

"Oh, of course. Well, I'll get you a healing brew for the fever."

My mouth is dry, and my vision is starting to go dark. "I ripped my dress."

Her eyebrows shoot up in surprise. "Not to worry. I'll fix it for you."

I hold up a hand. "No, I have nothing to do today, nothing at all. I really love mending. Especially when I'm not feeling well. Can you please just find me a needle and thread? Give me something to do while I've got a fever."

"It's really my job, my lady."

I shake my head. "You won't be out of work anytime soon, I promise. I just need a little sewing kit to pass the time today." It comes out almost pleading.

"All right, then." With her elbow, she opens the door to my room and sets the tray of breakfast on my desk. I drop onto the bed, holding my cloak around me. For some reason, my teeth are chattering.

"You really are in rough shape, aren't you? Poor thing." She tuts. "I want you to spend the day resting. I'll bring you some tea."

"And the needle and thread."

I'm sweating and shaking as I drag the needle through my skin. My teeth are clenched hard, the entirety of my world narrowed to this one gash, to the needle going in and out. I'm sitting on the bathroom floor because the blood will be easier to clean up. My body feels hot and cold at the same time as I plunge the needle into my flesh again.

I grunt as I get to the end and shove the thread through. I tie the knot, and a tear slides down my face.

When I'm done, I rest my head on my shaking arms on the side of the tub and catch my breath.

Hail drums rhythmically against the window, and lightning cracks the sky outside. The tea that Aisling brought me has been helping to take away the sharp pain from my stab wound, although I still feel it as a dull throb in my side. The nightgown I'm wearing feels soft against my weary body. Jasper called this fabric veil-silk, and it does remind me of the veil—iridescent, nebulous, soft as air.

I've been in here all day. With the storm raging outside, it's almost cozy. Yes, I'm in the heart of the enemy's castle, a place where I'd be slowly tortured to death if they ever learned the truth about me. And yes, I had to kill two people and sew up my own wound earlier today.

And yet, I've had a few hours of respite. While I rested, I started to wonder if Talan could—against all odds—actually be an ally. Has his brutal, vicious, murderous personality all been a front? Or am I trying to convince myself of that because I'm insanely lonely and he has a pretty face? How easy it would be to convince myself he's a good guy and ruin the world while I'm at it.

I'm starting to see Raphael's point about not letting emotions cloud your thinking. I need data and analysis to guide me, not the allure of a gorgeous man. For now, all options are open.

I glance down at the book of Fey love poetry in my lap and flip the page. It has an almost violent quality to it, a lot of passages about raging storms, the deaths of gods, lightning igniting cities into infernos. Still, the language is starkly beautiful.

A knock sounds on my door. "Who is it?"

A deep voice pierces the wood. "It's your prince. Who else would it be?"

I swallow hard. I thought he was supposed to be gone longer.

Already, he's opening the door. Instinctively, I pull the blankets more tightly around me.

Talan saunters in, carrying a silver goblet. His rings gleam on his fingers, and the faint scent of wine and musk wafts into the room with him. His dark eyes look half-lidded as they slide to me, and his gaze brushes down, taking in the top of my nightgown.

"Usually, you wait for someone to say come in after you knock," I protest.

A lock of his hair falls before his eyes, and I can tell he's ever so slightly drunk. "You know, I almost missed your mutinous attitude, my favorite mistress. Everyone around me is so fucking deferential."

"Might it be your habit of slitting the throats of those who annoy you?"

He slips off his shoes. "And yet here you are, living and breathing before me, your heart still beating, cheeks pink with life, while you take such great pleasure in insulting me." He takes a sip from his wineglass, then frowns at my book. "Are you reading love poetry? A bit lonely, are you?"

I was absolutely, chest-achingly lonely here in the palace of lies I'd constructed for myself. "Just bored."

"We can get you a bucket of dirt and some onions if it would make you happy." He plucks the book from my lap. "Is it good?"

"The writing is interesting…lots of morbid metaphors. Love, relentless as death, tortures me at the gallows ."

A smile ghosts over his full lips, and he traces his fingertips over the words. "Good. I like my beautiful things to have a bit of darkness in them."

"Well, that describes you perfectly."

"That makes the second time you've called me beautiful." He lets out a sigh. "We have a problem, though."

"What problem?"

"Lumos was with me on my trip, and he's still asking questions about you. He remains convinced that this is fake."

I open my eyes wide. "Wherever would he get that idea?"

He sits on my bed and slides his wineglass onto the table. "He had all sorts of questions for me about you. And knowing that obsessive, conniving bastard, he'll double-check everything. So, tell me about yourself so I don't get this wrong. I need to actually know you, Nia. And since I can't get in your head, you're a complete mystery to me, and I'm afraid you'll have to use words to explain yourself. It's frankly not something I'm used to."

"You already know where I'm from. You met my family. What else is there to tell?"

He leans his head back against the propped-up pillows. "Lumos, for whatever reason, thinks I'm wildly self-obsessed and there's no way I could ever possibly fancy a pig farmer unless I saw something in you that reminds me of myself. Bizarre, isn't it?"

Thunder rumbles outside, and Talan's dark gaze searches mine. Is he anything like me? That's the question. Is it possible that he's secretly saving all those human kids—that he is the secret benefactor?

Considering Avalon Tower is in the process of trying to assassinate him, I really need to find out.

"I've spent a lot of time pretending to be something I'm not," I say. "Not just here. At home, too. I pretend like I have everything together, that I'm in control, that everything is fine. I'm very skilled at hiding what I'm feeling."

"Because your father isn't in control, so you pretend to be."

My mother , I think, but yes . I nod.

Intensity sparks in his eyes, and the rings of copper seem bright in the firelight. His skin looks warm, too. Gilded. "Perhaps we do have something in common. Tell me more."

I think back to my real life—my Nia Melisende life, not Vaillancourt. There were the times my mom forgot to pick me up from school, and I'd have to make up a quick lie to the teachers so they wouldn't worry and judge her. You know what? I forgot , I'd say with a smile. I'm supposed to walk to dance class today. Then I'd make the two-mile trek home in the LA heat.

There was the time my mom fell down the stairs and broke her jaw, and I called the ambulance. The first responders asked me if she'd been drinking, and I blamed it on a broken stair. There were the hundreds of times I claimed that she couldn't show up to school events because she had a work emergency, so I made up a career for her—she worked in PR, and she had to entertain a celebrity. When I got home, I made dinner and did the laundry.

All day long, it was a torrent, an absolute waterfall of lies to make it seem like no one needed to worry.

Clearly, I was raised to be a spy.

"When our family came to visit and people would ask after my father, I'd make up excuses for him. I'd say he was sick or working. I'd take care of everything. I learned that no one will take care of you, and you must take care of yourself. And it always made me feel like I'd never amount to anything because there was always work to do, or someone to look after, so there was no point in having dreams. So, I felt like life would pass me by. I felt like the dreams and goals that other people had weren't meant for me. I had too much to do, and it trapped me. It was like I was watching the world through a looking glass I was stuck behind."

His eyes narrow. "I think I want to hurt the person who made you think all of that."

My heart flutters. I don't want him hunting down Meriadec, and he seems like just the kind of person who might. I wouldn't want him to hurt my real mom, either. Spending time with her when she was actually paying attention to me was glorious. I remember when she'd take me to Venice Beach, and she'd buy me funnel cake, and we'd stop to watch the musicians play. Once, she bought me a kite shaped like a giant dragonfly, with bright ribbons that flowed off it. Then we'd wander through nearby art galleries and pick out pieces that would decorate our future, imaginary mansions.

"My father can be fun, too," I said quickly. "He has an artistic side. He always wants more than we have. He lives in his head and dreams of greatness but can't ever seem to get there. He's stuck in a life he didn't want. He tried to escape in any way he could, and the easiest way is by getting drunk. He wanted better for me, but he didn't know how to make it happen, and it was just his own narrow vision of what greatness was. So, maybe my own dreams got lost while I was looking after him. But things have changed, haven't they? And now I'm here. And it's not the worst thing in the world to be able to take care of yourself. It's kind of a gift to be self-sufficient."

When I look back at Talan, he has gone completely still. "I think there's more to you than Lumos could ever have realized."

"You said that we had something in common. You're hiding something, too. So, what is it?"

A line forms between his eyebrows. "Father's reign has always wrought catastrophe. He will unravel the fabric of our kingdom, like a loom weaving in reverse, until all is tangled and ruined. He turns the world into a rotten necropolis where hope withers on the vine. Where we watch our lives pass by, helpless to change our fates."

I swallow hard. When he's drunk, the words he speaks out loud sound more like his thoughts. Strange. Poetic. This is the real Talan. "But what, exactly, will you change?"

His gaze shutters, and he looks away from me. "Like I said, I will achieve our goals more efficiently."

He glances at me again, as if he's searching to see how I'll react. Then he frowns at me. He reaches to brush his thumb over my chin, just below my lips. "How did you get hurt?"

My heart speeds up. I'd just looked in the mirror twenty minutes ago, and I thought it looked much better. But of course, I didn't have the godlike Fey senses. "It's nothing."

"But how did it happen?"

My mind whirls as I try to come up with another story, but I feel crushed by all the lies, each one of them a rock weighing on my chest. Breaking my ribs. I'm desperate for something real, a connection with anyone. And I have the most insane impulse to simply tell him the truth about everything.

I'm lying to him, to Tana, to Nivene, to Mordred, to Raphael and every single person I know, and right now, I just want to scream the truth, even if it kills me.

Of course, I know that makes no sense at all, so I swallow the impulse, bitterly.

I realize I've simply been staring at him in silence for far too long.

"Nia," he says softly. "If you want to keep your secrets, you can."

"Why?"

"Because I trust you."

I blink. Strangely, my eyes are misting. "Why would you trust me?"

"I don't know. For some reason, I feel like I know you."

I swallow hard. No one knows me, though, do they?

He drains the rest of his wineglass, then stands, heading for the bathroom. "I'm going to take a bath."

"Just make yourself at home."

He turns back to me with a half-smile. "Perillos is my home, my mistress."