I open the big wooden doors into the main council meeting room. This spacious area has always reminded me of a church, with rib vault archways, paintings of angelic children, hardwood floors, windows made of stained glass, and gas lamps keeping the room lit in every corner. And one man that waits for me to enter upon an individual request.
“Ms. Ambrose, please have a seat.” Judas is the only one here today, elegantly eating his steak with broccoli at a long rectangular dark cherry teakwood dining table. I sit down and take a sip of a glass of water in front of me.
“How was your visit with the retired conformist I sent you to?” he asks.
I fidget in my seat. Until this moment, I forgot about Lynn.
“It was fine, thank you.”
Judas sets his fork down, dabbing at his mouth and chin with a napkin. He exhales through his nose, releasing the air from deep in his chest.
“I knew of Dessin before he admitted himself into the asylum.” Judas shocks me with a new fact, like a surprise storm of hail, and I brace myself. “I had heard of tales of the man that could walk through fire, execute an entire army with his bare hands, and who exists without a weakness.”
I open my mouth to speak, but Judas holds his hand up.
“Much of that had to be theatrical folklore, but as you can imagine, there are many waiting to obtain him. Tousehim. And after reading through your session notes, I’ve calculated that the two of you understand one another on a different level. Perhaps that changes the course of events that will happen for him. My question to you is… Are you prepared to stay with him—through the journey he will endure?”
He sets his very expensive pen down by his notepad and steeples his fingers together.
Deep down, in the center of my fascination for Dessin, I’ve known that meeting him and knowing him and understanding him is only the beginning. I’ve opened up a locked door to the world, revealing only a corner of the universe he has had to live in. But I can’t imagine that after ninety days, I could ever leave him. My story is now entwined with his, fused together with every fiber.
“I won’t leave him.”
Judas smiles and squints his eyes at me with concern. The small wrinkles around the corners of his lashes form closer. “Ms. Ambrose,” he leans forward and speaks in hushed tones. “You are a noble young woman.”
I release a long breath. “Why are you so different from the others on the council?”
He readjusts his notepad and folders, tapping them gently on the table.
“Let’s just say I am looking at a bigger picture.”
39. Fantastical Dining Party
My hand hovers over theknocker on Meridei’s front door, shaking in the cool breeze.
What if Dessin was right to ask me to stay home? What if I do get caught in his cross fire? I’m blindsiding him by even showing up. The nerve that I once had to watch those who hurt me as they crash and burn has diminished to the size of a melting snowflake.
Before I can turn away, backtrack, and erase my presence from this doomed three-story estate, the door flies open. A soft, golden light shimmers from behind Meridei and Belinda, grinning at me in unison.
“I truthfully did not think you would come.” Belinda raises her eyebrows, not trying to hide her incredulity.
I take a deep breath and dig up my best forced smile.There’s no going back now.
“I surely couldn’t miss this,” I say, allowing Meridei to take my dress cloak.
Her home isn’t nearly as lavish as Aurick’s. It’s comparing aluminum to gold, but even still, my home in the outskirts, thebear trapof the city, never held a candle to this place. Her walls are covered in floral wallpaper and copper sconces. The grand sitting room isn’t at all spacious. The walls are crowded with paintings of tea parties, rose gardens, and angels. Thick lavender curtains cover four wide bay windows, and glass cabinets display glass collectibles—majestic animals in mid-stride, dancing women in long ruffled gowns, and porcelain teacups.
Her guests sit on matching pink-velvet armchairs and sofas, reaching for miniature cakes and finger sandwiches on stacked trays on the coffee table.
One of the orderlies sits at a grand piano, playing an upbeat tune meant for dancing, yet the conformists stay seated, sipping their tea, snickering at old gossip. The sitting room carries a light aroma of vanilla and honeysuckle, a most impressive disguise for the rot and fester that transfers from woman to woman with each thought of destructive intent toward me.
I scan for empty seats, unsure of the safest location for me. In the center of them all?Never. But there is an open love seat closest to the front door.Perfect.
Aware of the sinister eyes following me, I quickly lean down to the woman sitting on the other end of the loveseat. “May I sit here?”
I’ve never seen her before, at least not at the asylum. Is she a relative of Meridei’s?
The woman nods. A genuine smile softens her cheeks and lights up her hooded brown eyes. “I’m Ruth.” She reaches her hand out to shake mine. “Tomorrow’s my first day as a conformist assistant.”
