Page 31

Thea

A s it was getting close to dusk, I sailed down to the kitchen and started on the ceremonial wine. Hector’s ascension to vampire society wasn’t going to be the celebration we had hoped for, but I still wanted to bring back some normalcy into our lives, a touch of sweetness amid the trial and death of the past few days.

The wine simmered with cloves, cinnamon, orange peels, and two cups of blueberries for half an hour before it was time to stir a generous amount of honey into the mixture. I left it on the stove a few more minutes, then let it cool so I could strain it. The kitchen was warm and sweet-smelling now, and the dusk outside was a sunburst of periwinkle and peach.

The flickering candles by the window, the smell of the wine, the coziness of the kitchen… I almost felt like I was back in Thaloria, at Nepheli’s balmy apartment in the city, where we would curl up after our classes to have something to eat and discuss our day.

Since her wedding was in less than six weeks, I would probably never get to see that apartment again. The thought came with a surge of melancholia. I had no idea what the next chapter of my life was going to look like. I wished I could have a vision, a peek into the future, but no matter how much I concentrated or called upon my powers, there was nothing but a vast whiteness, a void waiting to be filled. Perhaps destiny, much like Hector, was trying to teach me the value of now.

I left the wine on the counter and went upstairs to the treasure room, looking for something appropriate to wear. Instead, I found Hector, dressed in a fine white tunic and formal black trousers. His one hand was adorned with his golden wristlet, the other with the signet ring Esperida had gifted him at his sixteenth birthday. A ring I knew he’d never worn before today.

He was bent over an open trunk, staring at something intensely. When I was close enough, I wrapped my hand around his waist and stole a peek over the crescent of his bicep.

It was a dress, long and white as snow. The sleeveless bodice was bejeweled with pearls, the back decorated with a jumble of crisscross ribbons. The skirts were of gauzy silk, gathering and unfurling around the hem like sea foam. Each wispy layer was embroidered with shimmering white roses, a whole garden of them, no less magnificent than the ones decorating the halls of the Castle.

“It’s beautiful,” I sighed, almost too scared to take it in my hands, as Hector offered it to me.

“I found it in Elora,” he said, his tone strangely sullen. “I thought it would look good on you, although I know you prefer red to white.”

Bewildered, I gazed around the precious room, the wilderness of textures and colors and sparkles springing out of every corner like something out of a fairy story. A dragon’s lair or a sprite’s treasure cove, perhaps. And slowly, too slowly, I realized what this room really was.

“Hector,” I asked, clutching the dress to my chest, “did you get all these for me?”

He was quiet for a moment, running his fingers over the mahogany dresser before him in that unhurried, thoughtful manner of his. “I kept buying you wedding presents,” he whispered. “But nothing was ever good enough to send. To express how sorry I was for the way I acted back then.”

“You were not that bad,” I argued, setting the dress aside.

“I was selfish and immature.”

“Well, you were eighteen. I wasn’t exactly the embodiment of maturity either.”

He took hold of my nape, his warm fingers threading through my curls. “You were always better than me. You still are the best of me.”

The room fell away. There was only the lush curve of his mouth that I wanted so maddeningly to taste again. As though he read my thoughts, he used his lips to nudge mine apart, playing with our proximity. For a moment, he didn’t do anything but breathe my breath, feel what I felt. Tingles of anticipation crawled up my arms. And then… Then someone knocked upon the door.

Hector groaned. “I swear the gods of time hate me.”

I couldn’t help but laugh.

“Is my torment amusing to you, Lady Aventine?” he grumbled.

I loved that he still called me Lady Aventine, for it didn’t feel like a taunt anymore.

“You’re being dramatic, as per usual,” I chimed.

He seized my wrist and guided my hand down between us so I could feel his hardness over his trousers. My cheeks warmed as he stirred, growing heavier against my palm. “Does this feel like I’m being dramatic to you? Because I get like this every time you deign to breathe near me.”

Slowly, I began stroking him over the taut fabric, watching his mouth open to a soundless cry. “You weren’t like this when we were younger.”

He swallowed hard, his eyes rolling shut. “I was just better at hiding it.”

“Were you?” I teased, applying a bit more pressure. His hips lifted to my touch. In that moment, I could have done anything to him, and he would have let me. “Tell me then. Did you ever touch yourself thinking about me?”

“I always think about you.”

He was so undone it was nothing for me to push him back against the wall. I forced his stance to widen, settling myself between his legs, my hand moving faster between us, gliding up and down his length. “So the first time you finished, I was the reason?”

“Yes,” he sighed, his head lolling against the wall.

I got to my toes and pressed my mouth to the exposed column of his throat, felt it bob with the tip of my tongue. “Good,” I hummed, removing my hand from him just to make him shiver with need. “You were the reason for me too.”

Hector glared at me—or tried to, at least. “You’re a demon.”

Another knock came at the door, more insistent this time.

I almost asked him to ignore it. I wanted to keep on touching him, keep on making him mine, but Hector had always been the most reasonable between us and was already untangling himself from me.

He released a sharp breath between his teeth, adjusted himself over his trousers, and roamed past the labyrinth of drawers and chests to open the door.

Espen’s dignified face came into view, and I felt myself straighten, reclaiming my composure.

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” he said in a quiet, somber tone. “Kaladin and I would like to have a word with you. Make amends, if that’s still an option.”

Hector bowed his head courteously. “Of course.”

Noticing his flushed nape, I touched a hand to my mouth. I made him like this , I thought with the pleasure of an adolescent girl. Hector Aventine, powerless for all his power.

I was already lost in my mind, listing all the things I planned on doing to him later tonight when, all of a sudden, Espen veered to face me, his sharp-edged attention dissolving both my smile and my filthy reveries. “Can I ask you something, Thea?”

“Sure,” I croaked.

“Why did you come back?”

The question was unexpected but easy. “To be with my husband.”

Espen’s dark brows drew closer, doubt flaring in his honey-speckled eyes. “Weren’t you afraid?”

I laughed at that. “Of course I was. I’m only a human.”

He thought for a moment, and my eyes darted to Hector, who seemed as baffled by this exchange as I was. “You know,” Espen said, “vampires are absolute creatures. You can’t know us in fragments. To understand a part of us, you have to understand the whole. Perhaps humans are like that too.”

“I guess we both have a lot to learn,” I mused.

He smiled a little as he turned again, wrists crossed behind his back. “Hmm. It’s nice that I still have things to learn. Makes me feel young.”

◆◆◆

T he corridor outside our bedroom no longer looked like it had escaped out of a nightmare. The roses along the ceiling were once again in bloom, the chandeliers were dazzling, and the pale tapers on the candelabras were twinkling like tiny stars.

My own appearance had undergone significant improvement as well. My reflection upon the intervening mirrors verged on unrecognizable, and I found myself slowing down to admire the way the pearls on my bodice caught the light and the way my curls swayed against the satin laces at my back.

“The gods really do have their favorites, don’t they?” Arawn whistled, coming out of his bedroom just as I was about to pass it.

I curtsied, making a show of my sparkling skirts. “Well, thank you, Lord Celestine. You cut quite the arresting figure yourself.”

Arawn grinned like a demon, despite the clear apology in his eyes. “Does that mean I’m forgiven? You know, for the whole knocking you out and taking you away from the Castle without your consent thing?”

“Does that mean I’m forgiven?” I countered. “You know, for the whole knocking you out and abandoning you in the forest an hour before dawn under the care of an exiled sprite thing?”

His dashing smile broadened, his arms opening at his side. “Come here, you little rascal.”

I hugged him tight around the waist, and he was careful not to mess up the swoop of my curls by setting his hands on my shoulders.

“If Hector finds us embracing like this, do you think he might have my head?” he wondered.

I pulled back a little, passing my gloved fingers over my lips. “Certainly not,” I decided. “He might have your balls, though.”

Arawn bristled under his breath. “How is this any better?”

I chuckled, reaching up to fix his slightly crooked… cravat.

A swift, thin chill swept through the corridor, the most terrible coldness swishing over my bones.

“How strange,” I whispered as I ran my fingers over the burgundy piece of silk, following its subtle pattern of the same color thread.

“What is it, darling?” asked Arawn, his face shadowing with worry.

“Your cravat. It looks very familiar.”

His hands on my shoulders tightened. “My gods, Thea, you look faint.” Quickly he pushed his bedroom door open and ushered me inside. “Come. Come sit down for a moment. Have you eaten anything today?”

His room was similar to ours, elegant and warm. But I was so cold . I was shaking from head to toe, my teeth chattering. Befuddled, I wrapped my arms around my midriff and dragged myself before the fireplace. Unlike ours, the mantel was bare of pretty little knickknacks. There was only a slender, silver vial glinting orange in the firelight.

The coldness set deeper inside me, ice spreading through my stomach. My mind strained, twisted to bring something it didn’t want into focus.

The cravat, the vial…

The sword was leaning next to the fireplace, with its wide hilt and curvy blade.

I picked it up in a trance, watching my distorted, firelit reflection upon its polished surface—polished save a tiny dot of red just around the blade’s edge.

“Thea, put this down. You’re going to hurt yourself.”

I veered furiously, my fingers clamping around the sword’s hilt.

Arawn, still standing by the door, stared back at me, a crease between his brows.

It was a horrible, impossible thing to think, but so many horrible, impossible things had happened lately my mind did not hesitate to wonder. Where were Calix and Esther? What was the name of the place they’d gone to after Hector appointed Arawn Lord of the North? Why couldn’t I remember?

And then another quick, disturbing thought. The words welled up my throat like bile. “What really happened to Margaret?”

Arawn’s face changed, a shadow moving across his darting eyes, making them still. His lips curled back slightly, and for the first time, I noticed his fangs. How long they were. How white. How lethal.

“I drank her up,” he said and locked the door behind him.