Gods.
He allowed himself to be hauled from the bath and toweled dry, limp as a child’s dolly. When two slaves pressed him into a chair by the fire, wrapped up in a warm robe, he clutched it tighter under his throat and basked in the hearth’s heat.
Grandson. I’m his grandson. The thought cycled through his mind, an endless loop that left room for little else. He sat pliant while his heels were massaged with oil, and his nails cleaned and buffed. Closed his eyes and tipped his head back while a slave shaved his face. Had they tried to cut his hair, he would have snarled at them, but it was only combed out and then swept back with a golden headband. He wondered where his beads had gone, and felt a momentary pang that he’d never see them again.
Hopefully Erik would braid new ones into his hair, when they were reunited.
Grandson. I’m his grandson.
There would be no reunion. He was too tired and shaky to delude himself.
When he was dressed in a knee-length gold tunic slashed with white, matching breeches, and high-gloss boots, two guards came to escort him.
He wobbled in the hallway, and wondered if he would grab at one of his guards if he started to fall. No, he decided. He’d rather faceplant on the flagstones. He didn’t ask where they were going, because it didn’t matter.
Grandson. I’m his grandson.
They bypassed the king’s—the emperor’s—quarters, and continued to a spiral staircase. Down and around, down and around, walking single file. At least, Oliver reflected, if he fellnow, he’d land on the guard in front of him rather than shatter his front teeth.
Grandson. I’m his grandson.
Maybe Romanus Tyrsbane would reject him and any imagined familial relationship if he was toothless.
Imagined…there was a thought. Perhaps all of this was a lie. Some terrible misunderstanding. Or an intentional lie meant to sway him to the enemy side.
That was it.
It must be it.
Otherwise…
Grandson. I’m his grandson.
Oliver spared a thought that, fever or no, he was still a little delirious, and then nearly collided with the guard in front of him when he pulled up short. He threw his hands out, and slapped them against the guard’s golden-armored back to catch himself. “Oh. Apologies.” If his voice dripped sarcasm, so be it. No one was going to clout the emperor’sgrandsonupside the head for laying hands on a guard.
Gods, oh gods…
The guard stepped to the side, and Oliver rocked back on his heels. He wasn’t dizzy, per se, but unsteady. He forced his hands to his sides, took a deep breath, and edged his feet apart to regain his balance.
When the guards stepped up to flank him on either side, he looked ahead, and took in the room before him.
It glowed. A long room with a high, barreled ceiling, and intricate gilt-framed paintings adoring the walls. The table stretched all the way to the iron-framed bow windows, heaped with gold candlesticks of all shapes and sizes, the candle flames tall and still, filling the space with warm light.
Nearest him, at the head of the table, Romanus pushed back his chair and stood to face him.
Grandson. I’m his grandson.
Oliver could hope and pretend, but it wasn’t a lie or a fantasy, was it? The Drakes were dragon riders once upon a time, and the girls had strong magic of their own, to be sure…but Oliver had felt that vibration with the emperor from the first. That spark, that pull. There was a connection there, one he’d mistakenly attributed to lust on Romanus’s part. He’d beenthe red whore, and he’d thought that meant Romanus wanted him.
But it was even worse than that.
Oliver stared up at him, at his harsh face, and his gleaming white hair, and the room tilted around him.
“Here,” Romanus said, and took his arm. “Come with me.”
Too dizzy to resist the help, too crushed by the enormity of a revelation that had happened hours ago, but which kept happening, he let Romanus tow him down the length of the table and deposit him in the chair at the foot of it. Once he was seated, Romanus pushed the chair in closer to the table, as though Oliver’s weight were an afterthought. He plucked the golden-embroidered napkin from the place setting, snapped it open, and draped it across Oliver’s lap.
Oliver lay his hands on the table edge to keep them from shaking.
