Vaasa slipped through the doors, closing them behind her, finally alone again.
If the necklace was hidden somewhere other than the emperor’s wing, this was her next best guess. So she scurried to the end of the hall, a fugitive under the cover of night, her entire body thrumming. None of the sconces were lit. She entered one of the conversation rooms. Everything was exactly as she’d remembered it—untouched, unsullied. In here, art hung on the walls, covered now by fabric sheets in order to maintain their exact state, as if someone was afraid of allowing a single day to pass wherewhat used to becould end up tarnished. Settees gathered around each other in the center of the room, all facing a hearth that she pictured raging with warmth. There were still blankets folded neatly in the corner, still end tables prepared to hold wine. Still a fluffy white rug sprawled in the center, tying everything together.
She set down her lamp, eyes landing on the books settled atop the mantel of the fireplace. Her father had grown up in warmth like this, and he had chosen differently for Dominik and her. Resentment tingled in her veins.
“You came,” a voice said from the doorway, and Vaasa practically jumped out of her skin. Instinctually, her hand curled around the knife strapped beneath her cloak. She could just see the outline of him, of trousered legs and a coat—formal, especially given the time of night.
And then he stepped into the light, and it felt for a moment like time had stopped.
Vaasa lowered the dagger. “Roman,” she breathed.
The corner of his lips turned up. “Vaasa,” he said.
She threw herself across the room, something desperate overtaking her better senses. His arms caught her and scooped her up against his body—no longer sculpted like in youth but hard and corded like that of a man. He held her so tightly she thought it might keep her together. She breathed him in, adrenaline rushing through her veins.
Was there anything left of her to break?
She’d watched as Roman left. Cried when she pictured him at the front lines. Followed each and every battle with a meticulous scorn, waiting, knowing, and when the news had come that his entire squadron had been killed, she had mourned in silence. Raged in the shadows. It was the first true moment she’d thought herself a chameleon, because to hide the way her heart broke had felt like learning an entirely new language; it took practice and an extraordinary amount of thought to translate every move of her body. She’d sworn to herself then that her father was right: Love was a useless thing.
Yet here Roman was, alive, and—
Vaasa broke from him, realization pummeling her with a ruthless edge. She stumbled away until her back hit the wall, her hand snapping to her knife again.
Instinct pulsed. This was too convenient. Too coincidental. Roman was not here by accident. No matter which way she considered it, Ozik had his hand in this moment.
And yet she couldn’t bring herself to run.
“Vaasa—”
“You’re alive?” she demanded.
Roman nodded, though something that looked an awful lot like pain flashed in his eyes. “I wanted to give you more time. To let you settle in before I sprung this on you. But then you saw me earlier, and I just thought that if you were going to look for me anywhere, it would be here.”
Her palms pressed against the wall with the same force as her back, like if she tried hard enough, she could push right through it and disappear. He was mere feet from her. She could feel the proximity as if it were a living thing. Stolen moments hung in the space between their bodies, memories it seemed they were both conscious of: the first time she’d ever noticed him in the inner ward, how he had whispered to her in the abandoned servant’skitchen over a piece of cake, the string of nights she had met him there afterward. The moment he had finally backed her into the counter and put his mouth on hers. It had been hot—on fire the way young things were, fueled by thefirstsof it all.
The nights they had snuck into these very rooms. Had slept tangled with each other in one of the many beds in this part of the fortress.
Breath didn’t come easily to Vaasa, and as she tried to take a deep inhale through her nose, her heart beat faster. “Why are you here? Why are you dressed like… a sentinel?” she asked. She scanned his attire again, and her eyes caught on a set of iron keys dangling off his hip.
What did Roman have access to?
His smile deepened. “Because Iama sentinel. Your lead sentinel, actually.”
Vaasa’s lips parted. She forced her gaze to stay up instead of looking at those iron keys. This meant he had control of her guards, her schedule, her transportation. Her rooms. Everything. Suspicion flooded her. What had he done to be put in charge of her personal guard? Her pained whisper cut the quiet air. “I thought you were dead.”
His shoulders softened, and carefully, he stepped forward. “Until Dominik’s death, I had to be.”
I’m so sorry.The words she had never gotten the chance to say built upon her tongue, but she choked them down, her eyes stinging. Alive. Roman Katayev wasalive.
She slid down the wall, farther away from him.
He paused and tilted his head, yet no hair fell into his eyes the way it would have years ago. It was cut short now, not a strand moved out of place. Perhaps she would have once thought such a style clean. Now it seemed restricted. There was something so different about him, the rebellious glint of youth hidden behind the stoicism of his gaze.
He didn’t dare come closer. Instead, he plucked a few candles off the wall, bringing them to the lantern and lighting them himself. She watched each step he took. He lit the room until even the cobwebs in the corners glittered when the candlelight hit them just so. All the while she breathed, grounding herself with the feeling of the wall against her palms. Practicing every subtle breathing technique Melisina had ever taught her.
“The hearth has been tended,” Roman said as he inspected the firebox. He gestured to the pile of fresh wood that had likely been replaced sometime within the week. “The attendants are keeping it usable.”
“Light it,” Vaasa said, gaining control of her voice again.
