Lorn chuckles, but it’s not as carefree as it was before, and for some reason, that bothers me. The air gondola docks and the others begin to file off, but Lorn and I continue to watch each other, a silent battle of wills taking place.
“I have never met anyone so determined to misinterpret and misunderstand everything around them,” he observes, and he sounds somehow both impressed and bothered.
“You should get out more, then,” I quip.
Lorn runs his fingers through his snow-white hair and watches me with a challenging glint in his gaze. The movement does nothing to muss the neat coif. Every strand of hair falls perfectly back into place when he drops his hand, and I stare at his locks, offended by their easy surrender.
“Why do you refuse to see kindness for exactly what it is?” he lobs at me, inching closer despite the platform clearing of Wing members and leaving us with plenty of space to separate.
I laugh, but it’s absent of flowers and full of thorns. “Because kindness is nothing more than a pretty bow around a pretty box. Foolish people assume there’s something beautiful or valuable inside the lovely packaging. Survivors know otherwise.”
Lorn studies my face like he’s hoping to find a way to unravel my glower. “What’s inside, then?”
“Self-interest,” I reply evenly. “On the least harmful side of the spectrum, people do good things because it makesthemfeel good. Then there are those who know that pretty packaging creates a path of least resistance to what they want. Regardless of where on the spectrum it stands, things like kindness and generosity are about the giver, not the giving.”
Lorn scoffs. “That’s an incredibly sad and jaded way to go through life, Princess. Kindness and compassion aren’t just pretty packaging, they’re the gift. Not every benevolent act hides a venomous viper in its depths.”
I shrug and step back to put distance between us. “I have plenty of fang marks that prove otherwise, Heir.”
Lorn’s eyes narrow with affront. “Not from me.”
Jori steps off the gondola and it sways slightly. I push my hands out to help keep my balance as I ride the wave of movement. Thankfully, it settles quickly, and I turn to follow the others.
“I’ve only been here a week, Scion. There’s still plenty of time for you to sink your fangs in me,” I call over my shoulder as I step off the floating platform.
Relief filters through me when I’m once again back on solid ground. I don’t do anything embarrassing like lean down and kiss it, but it’s tempting. Air gondolas are not for me.
My mind buzzes with wonder as I make my way deeper into the cavern. I step under the gilt canopy of branches, and the golden leaves high above flutter almost as though they’re saying hello. Stunned, I stop mid-step and stare at the lofty branches. My eyes trace the limbs of the tree down to the thick braided trunk, and awe builds with each inch I survey. It isn’t a flashy, golden sculpture like I thought it was, it’s a real, living, flourishing, gold tree.
My first instinct is to pluck a few leaves off and shove them into my shirt for later. I look around to see if anyone is watching me, which is stupid because everyone is watching me. Herm smiles like he knows exactly where my mind just went, but I ignore him and try to look like someone who isn’t currently casing the royal treasury.
Technically, if I’m really here to claim my kith’s Crush, my stealing days are far behind me. But, worst case scenario, if my suspicions prove to be right and all of this is too good to be true, I’ll have to snap off a branch on my way out.
I skirt the tree trunk, mostly to put some distance between me and temptation, and take in everything else. Soft rosy light from the rippling chandelier dances on the ground as I walk, and for some reason, I want to roll around on the lush sofa like it’s catnip and I’m some back alley stray that has no choice but to give in.
I wonder if they’d let me steal these and put them in my room? They’d make excellent additions to my trove.
I pause at that thought. One, because I don’t have a trove—and when have I ever given two shits about furniture, let alone wanted to claim a couch? And two, the room in Aeson’s rookery isnotmine, it’s his. I just stay in it temporarily for the time being.
“My Scion, what an honor it is to see you. How may I be of service today?” the male in the pink suit gushes as Lorn approaches the reception desk with graceful, long strides.
“Thank you, Linden, I hope you and the roots are well,” Lorn greets, and the male dips his head, communicating both pleasure and confirmation that he and the roots are doing amazing.
Whatever that bloody means.
“By authority of King Noctis, I need to cede the Tenebrae Crush,” Lorn declares, sounding all official and princely. He steps to the side and gestures in my direction.
Linden’s professional mien is on point because he doesn’t even bat a lash or twitch a muscle in surprise or question. He simply bows slightly and offers a subservient smile before he raises his hands and begins typing on a keyboard that flashes into existence below his fast moving fingers. Then, out of nowhere, a translucent glowing leaf materializes in front of one eye like a bespoke view screen.
What captures my full and undivided attention though, is that the data Linden is entering on his keyboard starts to scroll across the exposed parts of his ocher skin in flashes of bright molten gold. A language of symbols I don’t recognize stream across his face, wrapping around his forehead and cheeks before slipping past his bald head. Other lines of information snake across his throat and hands, disappearing under the fabric of his rosy jacket and shirt.
Completely mesmerized by the strange occurrence, I drift closer to the reception desk and to Linden, my eyes tracking the glowing movement of symbols across the male’s smooth skin.
“Please don’t disrupt the current,” Linden declares, his focus moving from the glowing leaf screen over one eye to me before his stare drops pointedly to the ground.
I follow his gaze and gasp when I find more golden symbols slinking linearly across the ground toward the massive gilded trunk of the tree. I watch the unfamiliar cyphers move like a line of hardworking ants that just found an abandoned picnic to raid. I hop back to keep from stepping in the middle of one of the currents streaming from Linden into the tree itself like the two are linked.
My eyes snap up to Lorn, questions teeming in my wide stare. His broad smile is painted with thick strokes of self-satisfaction as he watches me take it all in. The branches above me shiver and then shift. I flinch and look up just as a sturdy forked limb drops down. One arm of the bough stretches toward me, and the other reaches for the scion.
