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CHAPTER TWELVE

ALIE

Motherhood heals and wounds in ways that cannot be fully spoken.

—Marya Addou, Malfouran poet

T here was little Alie hated more than waiting.

But there was really nothing else she could do. Until Bastian managed to break into Apollius’s mind—a feat that still seemed nigh impossible—and found the location of the Fount piece, she was stuck in her Citadel routine.

Alie was first and foremost a diplomat. If Bastian was fighting Apollius off, keeping Him occupied while he searched His mind for the Fount’s broken pieces, the god didn’t have much attention left for Alie.

She could feed into that distraction by doing something to make Him happy, make Him think she was defeated.

Which was why she found herself at a romantic candlelit dinner with Jax.

It’d been her idea. She’d sent the handwritten invitation, scented lightly with her perfume, at a time she knew Jax would be in audience with Apollius.

She’d gone to the kitchens herself to collaborate on the menu.

Dates and olives, lamb as a main course, foods that were popular in Kirythea.

She’d picked the bouquets of marigolds and arranged them in vases, she’d bought fresh white tapers, she’d sent for her mother’s good plates from Courdigne and selected wine from her late father’s personal casks.

In fact, the only part of this Alie hadn’t meticulously planned was what in every single hell she was supposed to say to her fiancé once he was here.

The soup course passed in relative silence, with only murmured assurances that the room was lovely, the food smelled lovely, she looked lovely. If she didn’t know that his Auverrani was flawless, Alie might think Jax only knew one complimentary adjective.

She managed to smile and nod, her stomach tangling with her liver as she sipped her wine and cast around desperately for something to talk about.

She used to be good at this. But now, with her head a riot of worry and wind itching at her fingers and a cool, looming presence in the back of her thoughts, Alie had nothing to say.

She’d dismissed the servants, on the off chance she and Jax spoke of something that shouldn’t be shared around the Citadel. On the off chance they spoke . So she refilled their wine, brought out the steaming lamb.

“This smells excellent,” Jax said, smiling at her before his eyes dipped to his plate. There was some respite; he seemed just as nervous as she was, though Alie was sure their reasons were wildly different. And he’d managed to find another adjective.

He was always kind to her. She’d give him that.

“Perfect,” Jax said after taking a bite, filling the silence Alie left alone. “My own kitchen couldn’t have prepared it better.”

“Thank you.” Alie took her own bite. It was delicious. She was, apparently, still good at planning parties.

She clung to the thought, finally finding something she could turn to use.

Alie brightened her smile, leaned forward with her elbows on the table and her hands clasped beneath her chin, the picture of rapt interest. “Are there other dishes from your home you’d like the kitchens to try?

I’m sure we could source the ingredients locally—”

“Alie.” He said her name so softly. She didn’t like it, didn’t like the familiarity it implied, though his voice was low and even in a way that hummed down her spine. “You didn’t call me here to talk about food.”

Shit. All her energy had been focused on distracting Apollius; she hadn’t spared much thought to distracting Jax.

The Kirythean Emperor set down his knife, candlelight gleaming along the sharp edge. “You’ve made a valiant effort,” he said, almost ruefully. “But I know you don’t want this. And contrary to your obvious belief, I’m not such a monster as to force it on you.”

She relaxed at the realization he was talking about their relationship, not the god puppeteering the King. Certainly the safer subject to argue over. Still, this wasn’t necessarily a conversation she was prepared for, and that made her blunt. “So you’re going to call off our engagement?”

He rubbed at his temple. Some of his pale hair had escaped its queue, catching the light like a halo. “I would if I could,” he said. “Now that it’s become clear you won’t come around to the idea.”

Was that hurt in his voice? She didn’t care. She desperately wanted not to care. Alie wasn’t very good at hurting people, even people who deserved it.

“But I’m afraid it’s bigger than us,” Jax continued. “Our marriage will begin Apollius’s Holy Empire. It will be the culmination of everything we’ve worked for. Everything He’s worked for. And I don’t think He’ll allow us to potentially ruin that.”

A spark of irritation was hidden in his voice, in the way his eyes cut across the room when he said the god’s name. So subtle Alie doubted Jax even knew it was there, but she filed it away, a string she could tune to her own melody.

She thought of that conversation she’d overheard when she returned from Dellaire, Apollius taunting him for killing his father. Would something like that change Jax’s convictions, or was he too far gone?

“And,” Jax added quietly, “it’s keeping you safe.”

Cold nerves wound up her spine. “Keeping me safe from what?”

He didn’t say. He just looked at her. He knew.

She’d tried to be so careful, so meticulous. But she’d known that Apollius wasn’t in the dark about her power; she should have anticipated that Jax would know, too.

Alie curled her hand around her fork, like she’d use it as a weapon if needed. “And you still want to marry me?”

Jax eyed her grip but didn’t move. “How can I blame you for something you can’t control?”

“So you’re going to let Him kill me for it after the wedding, is that it?”

“Would I have brought it up, if that were so?”

Point.

The Emperor sighed. “He has… gentler plans for you than He did for Amelia. He didn’t kill her; Bastian did, to protect Lore. He won’t harm you.” His gaze sharpened, brighter than before. “But marrying me offers yet another layer of safety.”

She didn’t expect this. Didn’t expect his insistence on their marriage to have anything to do with her own well-being.

Alie loosened her grip on the fork, just a bit. “He doesn’t need me,” she said quietly. “I’m just the means to a throne, but He’s a god. He could give it to you with no one batting an eye.”

“Keeping a mortal claim is still a good idea,” Jax said. “Having a clear line of succession.”

Succession, implying children. Alie drained the rest of her wine.

Jax noticed her discomfiture. He shifted in his seat, mouth opening and then closing again. With a sigh, he closed his eyes. “This isn’t going how I thought it would.”

“Our engagement?” She bit off the end of the word. “Or your general takeover of the continent?”

He barked a harsh laugh. “Neither.”

Alie kept her silence. It was the surest way to make someone else talk.

Maybe that awful conversation she’d heard had changed him, after all.

Jax followed her lead at first. But his silence was weaker than hers.

“I was raised to believe that Apollius was perfect,” Jax said.

Quietly, like he was afraid of being overheard.

Ironic, considering her recent activities.

“To believe that He had transcended His humanity. But over the last few weeks, He…” His finger tapped nervously on the table, making his knife ring faintly against Alie’s mother’s fine china.

“He is capricious. Quick to anger. He is more focused on vengeance, on taking back power from the other avatars, than He is on creating His kingdom.” His lip lifted, half sneer and half grimace.

“He’s leaving that part to me, apparently. And I’m weary of it.”

Alie hid her hands in her lap. “Does He know where to look?” she asked casually. “For the other avatars, I mean. Other than me.”

“He has an idea. Truth be told, I think Apollius is… overzealous in His pursuit.”

“I’m surprised.” Her tone was cutting; she didn’t temper it, not for this. “It seems out of character for you to wish any clemency for them. Especially Gabe, after what you did.”

His hand, still lying on the table, curled into a fist. “I,” he said finally, “am a different person than I was at sixteen, Alienor. As are most of us.”

She swallowed.

“I wish I weren’t, sometimes.” Jax sat back in his chair, his gaze directed unseeing to the far wall, as if picturing that sixteen-year-old self.

“It would make it easier to live with the things I’ve done.

It was a time of war. My father raised me in his image, and that image was cruel.

” He paused. “I would never venture to say I’ve become a good man.

I am still cruel. I will still do whatever I have to. But I do not take joy in it.”

He was a bad man. That wasn’t changed by the fact that he sometimes felt remorse, or the fact that he thought he was protecting her. But Alie made her face soften, made herself nod. “There is always opportunity for change.” Something she believed, even if she was only trying to keep him talking.

He just nodded, still staring at the middle distance. “I thought killing my father could be an atonement,” he murmured. “But it was just one more weight.”

Alie wasn’t in a position to judge someone for wanting their father dead.

She retrieved dessert from her kitchenette, shaking off thoughts of patricide. Alie ate the flaky pastry and cream in moments; nerves made her crave sugar. Jax barely touched his.

A moment, staring at his pastry, then Jax rose from his place. He walked over to her, slowly, waiting for her to turn him away. Alie didn’t, though the muscles in her shoulders tightened with every inch he gained.

He stopped an arm’s length from her. They made eye contact, the flickering kind that seemed like an accident, but neither of them could look away.