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Chapter forty-one

A strid left the library, abandoning her coat. She turned into the hall and thanked the serpents Ambrose remained with the priest. Her drumming pulse quieted when she entered Dimitri’s room. She stripped and drew a hot bath, stilling when the usual chill didn’t seep into her bones.

Her attention shifted to the fireplace and the flames burning within it as she leaned in the doorway. Keres’s magic kept the space comfortable. Astrid’s only regret was not bringing books with her. She would ask Dimitri to take her back to the library in the morning.

Astrid stepped into the bath and moaned. Comforting heat enveloped her as she lowered herself using the black porcelain rim. She bathed, scrubbing each place Ambrose’s hands lingered until her skin pinkened.

She leaned back, resting the back of her head on the lip of the tub. What should have been a relaxing moment of peace was eerily quiet instead. She’d unknowingly grown accustomed to Dimitri’s constant, unwanted attention.

Memory echoed his booted footsteps behind her and Astrid cracked her lids. The steam curled, and her imagination configured the shape of Dimitri’s figure seated on the side of the tub. The arrogant bastard wasn’t here but she could still feel his amber stare traversing her skin.

Did she want him here? The thought led her to a far more worrisome inclination. Did she… miss him? Astrid ran her hand over her face.

Serpents guide me. What is wrong with me?

Astrid stepped out of the bath and roughly toweled off. She slid into bed, tucking herself under the furs and pulling them up to her chin. She was warm and comfortable, but it wasn’t the same. The heat radiating off Dimitri sank in deeper, branding himself on her.

She blinked, willing herself to relax. It wasn’t long before her gaze swept the room and stopped on his pillow. The empty place in his bed. She should be glad for his absence—a day of reprieve.

Astrid closed her eyes, listening to the wind howling in the courtyard. This should be the best sleep she’d had in weeks.

Why did she yearn for his presence?

Astrid laid still but her restless mind refused to quiet. She threw back the covers and paced the room. If she were home, she would have gone to her temple. If King Constantine hadn’t destroyed every remnant of the Three-Faced Mother, she would be there now.

Frustration swelled within her and Astrid stilled. She closed her eyes and visualized the cloaked statues. The rasp of scales over stone.

Mothers hear me, Astrid voiced in her mind.

The words rang hallow.

She wasn’t home, wasn’t in her temple. The Mothers’ serpents couldn’t guide her because they weren’t here. Because Queen Vesta abandoned her faith and condemned every soul weaver who remained in Ledivion to her fate.

Astrid gritted her teeth, glaring around the room. She returned to her pacing, in search of an outlet for her turmoil. Moonlight glinted off the scabbard she’d left on Dimitri’s desk. Astrid stalked to it, ripping the blade free and letting its sheath clatter to the ground behind her.

The darkened corner of the room called to her. Foxglove would have coiled in the shadows there, blissfully unaware his bone-colored scales disrupted his camouflage. Astrid approached the wall and pressed her hand to the wood.

Ambrose’s father desecrated her temples. She would remake the first one here.

The point of Dimitri’s sword bit into the wood. Astrid dragged it over the paneling, carving sweeping lines into the wall. Curling slivers dropped at her feet as she etched three robed figures.

She took a step back, examining the hooded silhouettes.

They stood taller than her, crowding the corner of the room.

Tension slowly left her body, and she returned Dimitri’s sword to its scabbard.

She laid the blade across his desk, examining the oak face.

It would make a poor altar with the drawers and files disrupting the flat surface.

She turned, searching the room for the best-suited piece of furniture.

Minimal alterations would be required for the smaller set of drawers situated on Dimitri’s side of the bed. Astrid dragged his nightstand before the carvings and wedged it into place. It was lower than she’d like, but it would serve its purpose.

Astrid moved to the dining cart and piled the best cuts of meat onto a plate. She set it on the altar and lowered to her knees.

Mothers hear me, she began in her mind.

What was she asking? What did she need?

Astrid listened to the wind, silently wishing the sound originated from the Mothers’ serpents. She longed for the familiarity of her temple. The crackle of fire. The rasp of scales. The quiet security.

Is Foxglove even alive? It didn’t occur to her to ask Dimitri what happened to the rest of the court. They couldn’t have killed everyone. People would be needed to run Clorea. The internal workings were passed from one king to the next.

Astrid’s lashes lowered and she stared into the shadowed corner. Foxglove wasn’t hers, but she missed him. The ill-tempered cobra hissed and snapped at everyone but her. Her hands spread over the cold wooden surface of her makeshift altar.

“Mothers guide me. Show me my path,” she whispered.

Why have you led me here?

She sat back on her heels and exhaled. Without the serpents to guide her, she was simply talking to herself in front of a drawing. She turned and glanced at the empty bed covered in furs.

When Dimitri returned, she would bargain for Foxglove...

Astrid tucked herself back into bed with a final thought. If Dimitri killed the Mothers’ Serpents, she was going to cut his dick off.