King's Cage
Page 79
The Sentinel, probably a Rhambos strongarm, doesn’t have to touch me to herd me in the proper direction. We cross through a sitting room flooded with sunlight, oddly empty and barely decorated. No house colors, no paintings or sculptures, or even books. Cal’s old room was cluttered, bursting with different types of armor, his precious manuals, even a game board. Pieces of him strewn everywhere. Maven is not his brother. He has no cause to perform, not here, and the room reflects the hollow boy he truly is inside.
His bed is strangely small. Built for a child, even though the room was clearly arranged to hold something much, much bigger. The walls of his bedroom are white, unadorned. The windows are the only decoration, overlooking a corner of Caesar’s Square, the Capital River, and the bridge I once helped destroy. It spans the water, connecting Whitefire to the eastern half of the city. Greenery bursts to life in every direction, peppered with blossoms.
Slowly, the Sentinel clears his throat. I glance at him and shiver when I realize he’s going to abandon me too. “That way,” he says, pointing at another set of doors.
It would be easier if someone dragged me. If the Sentinel put a gun to my head and made me walk through. Blaming my moving feet on another person would hurt less. Instead, it’s only me. Boredom. Morbid curiosity. The constant ache of pain and loneliness. I live in a shrinking world where the only thing I can trust is Maven’s obsession. Like the manacles, it is a shield and a slow, smothering death.
The doors swing inward, gliding over white marble tile. Steam spirals on the air. Not from the fire king himself, but hot water. It boils lazily around him, milky with soap and scented oils. Unlike his bed, the bath is large, standing on clawed silver feet. He rests an elbow on either side of the flawless porcelain, fingers trailing lazily through the swirling water.
Maven tracks me as I enter, his eyes electric and lethal. I’ve never seen him so off guard and so angry. A smarter girl would turn and run. Instead, I shut the door behind me.
There are no seats, so I remain standing. I’m not sure where to look, so I focus on his face. His hair is mussed, soaking wet. Dark curls cling to his skin.
“I’m busy,” he whispers.
“You didn’t have to let me in.” I wish I could call back the words as soon as I speak them.
“Yes I did,” he says, meaning all things. Then he blinks, breaking his stare. He leans back, tipping his head against the porcelain so he can stare up at the ceiling. “What do you need?”
A way out, forgiveness, a good night’s sleep, my family. The list stretches, endless.
“Evangeline dragged me here. I don’t want anything from you.”
He makes a noise low in his throat. Almost a laugh. “Evangeline. My Sentinels are cowards.”
If Maven were my friend, I would warn him not to underestimate a daughter of House Samos. Instead, I hold my tongue. The steam sticks to my skin, feverish as hot flesh.
“She brought you here to convince me,” he says.
“Convince you to do what?”
“Marry Iris, don’t marry Iris. She certainly didn’t send you in here for a tea party.”
“No.” Evangeline will keep scheming for a queen’s crown up until the second Maven puts it on another girl’s head. It’s what she was made for. Just like Maven was made for other, more horrible things.
“She thinks what I feel for you can cloud my judgment. Foolish.”
I flinch. The brand on my collarbone sears beneath my shirt.
“Heard you started smashing things again,” he continues.
“You have bad taste in china.”
He grins at the ceiling. A crooked smile. Like his brother’s. For a second, Maven’s face becomes Cal’s, their features shifting. With a jolt, I realize I’ve been here longer than I even knew Cal. I know Maven’s face better than his.
He shifts, making the water ripple as he dangles an arm out of the bath. I wrench my eyes away, look down at the tile. I have three brothers, and a father who can’t walk. I spent months sharing a glorified hole with a dozen stinking men and boys. I’m not a stranger to the male form. Doesn’t mean I want to see more of Maven than I must. Again I feel myself on the edge of quicksand.
“The wedding is tomorrow,” he finally says. His voice echoes off the marble.
“Oh.”
“You didn’t know?”
“How could I? I’m not exactly kept informed.”
Maven shrugs, raising his shoulders. Another shift of the water, showing more of his white skin. “Yes, well, I didn’t really think you were going to start breaking things over me, but . . .” He pauses and looks my way. My body prickles. “It felt good to wonder.”
If there were no consequences, I would scowl and scream and claw his eyes out. Tell Maven that even though my time with his brother was fleeting, I still remember every heartbeat we shared. The feel of him pressed up against me as we slept, alone together, trading nightmares. His hand at my neck, flesh on flesh, making me look at him as we dropped from the sky. What he smells like. What he tastes like. I love your brother, Maven. You were right. You are only a shadow, and who looks at shadows when they have flame? Who would ever choose a monster over a god? I can’t hurt Maven with lightning, but I can destroy him with words. Poke at his weak spots, open his wounds. Let him bleed and scab over into something worse than he ever was before.
The words I manage to speak are quite different.
“Do you like Iris?” I ask instead.
His bed is strangely small. Built for a child, even though the room was clearly arranged to hold something much, much bigger. The walls of his bedroom are white, unadorned. The windows are the only decoration, overlooking a corner of Caesar’s Square, the Capital River, and the bridge I once helped destroy. It spans the water, connecting Whitefire to the eastern half of the city. Greenery bursts to life in every direction, peppered with blossoms.
Slowly, the Sentinel clears his throat. I glance at him and shiver when I realize he’s going to abandon me too. “That way,” he says, pointing at another set of doors.
It would be easier if someone dragged me. If the Sentinel put a gun to my head and made me walk through. Blaming my moving feet on another person would hurt less. Instead, it’s only me. Boredom. Morbid curiosity. The constant ache of pain and loneliness. I live in a shrinking world where the only thing I can trust is Maven’s obsession. Like the manacles, it is a shield and a slow, smothering death.
The doors swing inward, gliding over white marble tile. Steam spirals on the air. Not from the fire king himself, but hot water. It boils lazily around him, milky with soap and scented oils. Unlike his bed, the bath is large, standing on clawed silver feet. He rests an elbow on either side of the flawless porcelain, fingers trailing lazily through the swirling water.
Maven tracks me as I enter, his eyes electric and lethal. I’ve never seen him so off guard and so angry. A smarter girl would turn and run. Instead, I shut the door behind me.
There are no seats, so I remain standing. I’m not sure where to look, so I focus on his face. His hair is mussed, soaking wet. Dark curls cling to his skin.
“I’m busy,” he whispers.
“You didn’t have to let me in.” I wish I could call back the words as soon as I speak them.
“Yes I did,” he says, meaning all things. Then he blinks, breaking his stare. He leans back, tipping his head against the porcelain so he can stare up at the ceiling. “What do you need?”
A way out, forgiveness, a good night’s sleep, my family. The list stretches, endless.
“Evangeline dragged me here. I don’t want anything from you.”
He makes a noise low in his throat. Almost a laugh. “Evangeline. My Sentinels are cowards.”
If Maven were my friend, I would warn him not to underestimate a daughter of House Samos. Instead, I hold my tongue. The steam sticks to my skin, feverish as hot flesh.
“She brought you here to convince me,” he says.
“Convince you to do what?”
“Marry Iris, don’t marry Iris. She certainly didn’t send you in here for a tea party.”
“No.” Evangeline will keep scheming for a queen’s crown up until the second Maven puts it on another girl’s head. It’s what she was made for. Just like Maven was made for other, more horrible things.
“She thinks what I feel for you can cloud my judgment. Foolish.”
I flinch. The brand on my collarbone sears beneath my shirt.
“Heard you started smashing things again,” he continues.
“You have bad taste in china.”
He grins at the ceiling. A crooked smile. Like his brother’s. For a second, Maven’s face becomes Cal’s, their features shifting. With a jolt, I realize I’ve been here longer than I even knew Cal. I know Maven’s face better than his.
He shifts, making the water ripple as he dangles an arm out of the bath. I wrench my eyes away, look down at the tile. I have three brothers, and a father who can’t walk. I spent months sharing a glorified hole with a dozen stinking men and boys. I’m not a stranger to the male form. Doesn’t mean I want to see more of Maven than I must. Again I feel myself on the edge of quicksand.
“The wedding is tomorrow,” he finally says. His voice echoes off the marble.
“Oh.”
“You didn’t know?”
“How could I? I’m not exactly kept informed.”
Maven shrugs, raising his shoulders. Another shift of the water, showing more of his white skin. “Yes, well, I didn’t really think you were going to start breaking things over me, but . . .” He pauses and looks my way. My body prickles. “It felt good to wonder.”
If there were no consequences, I would scowl and scream and claw his eyes out. Tell Maven that even though my time with his brother was fleeting, I still remember every heartbeat we shared. The feel of him pressed up against me as we slept, alone together, trading nightmares. His hand at my neck, flesh on flesh, making me look at him as we dropped from the sky. What he smells like. What he tastes like. I love your brother, Maven. You were right. You are only a shadow, and who looks at shadows when they have flame? Who would ever choose a monster over a god? I can’t hurt Maven with lightning, but I can destroy him with words. Poke at his weak spots, open his wounds. Let him bleed and scab over into something worse than he ever was before.
The words I manage to speak are quite different.
“Do you like Iris?” I ask instead.
