“I’m sorry for what I said,” I say to him.
He doesn’t turn his head to look at me. “You don’t need to apologize.”
“I do,” I say, and I stop, forcing him to stop and face me. “I’m sorry. Not just for what happened to you, but for what I said about you and your people. I’m realizing now that there are a lot of things I don’t know.”
“You weren’t wrong,” he tells me. “Not entirely. The history between our people…it’s long, and it’s bloody, and there have been terrible losses on both sides.”
His eyes are full of a deep sadness that I can’t comprehend.
“But that’s history,” I say. “It’s not you, and it’s not me. I know how it feels to have people hate me just because I’m Nithyrian, because of what my family has done. I see it in their faces. I hear it in their whispers. And I did the same exact thing to you, and that’s not fair.”
I knew it when I said it, knew that it sounded like what Quinn had said to me, and I said it anyway.
The people at court and in the streets of Faros aren’t wrong to whisper about me. Even Quinn isn’t wrong, as much as I hate her for it. They see me for what I am. I want to believe that I’m better than what they say, but deep down, I know I’m not.
“Ronan says—” He stops himself, looking into the distance. Is he worried that he’s betraying Ronan’s confidence? “His majesty says that you’re different. I didn’t see it at first, but I think he may be right.”
I’m not different. I’m just like the rest of my family, just like the people Ronan spoke about, the people keeping score. I tell myself I do what I do for the good of my people, but is that really true?
Or am I doing it for my own good? For my selfish need to see Ronan suffer for what he did to us. What will his suffering give me? What will it give our people?
Another war. More death, more hunger. What will it cost us all?
I can’t say any of that to Taran though. “I don’t know if I’m different. But maybe things can be different one day. Like Ronan said.”
I don’t believe my own words, but unlike Ronan, Taran can’t feel that.
He nods, and he leads me back into the palace.
The entrance to Ronan’s private chambers is not exactly where I expected. Taran guides me past the tower I stumbled upon my first night here through a series of dimly lit hallways, our steps echoing on stone. Finally, we reach a discreet door nestled in the shadow of a marble archway, its heavy wooden frame inlaid with subtle carvings.
The guards that protect it don’t question why I’m with Taran. They simply let us enter.
Inside, I expect to see more of the same décor from the rest of the palace: tan stone and garish amounts of gold, with a clutter of tapestries, paintings, and a thousand other decorative things that I’m sure are worth more than my life.
But the first room we enter is closer to the antechamber to Ronan’s throne room. It’s about the size of that room, big enough for only a pair of cushioned benches in a rich red fabric, the legs made from Nithyrian wood.
I had thought Ronan had brought us to the antechamber full of Nithyrian things the first day to intimidate us, to remind us that he controlled Nithyria and our lives within it as well.
But perhaps he just prefers our aesthetic.
“You can sit,” says Taran. “Ronan should be here soon.”
I’m not sure which bench to sit on. They appear roughly equal, although maybe the one on the right has bit more wear in the cushion furthest from the door. Ronan’s preferred seat?
I take it. Because I’m annoyed with him, and because I’m petty at heart.
Taran raises his eyebrows but says nothing.
He stands in front of the door at the back of the chamber, the one that must lead into Ronan’s bedchambers and other rooms beyond.
It’s a pity that Taran is there to guard me because I’d really like to sneak a peek into those private chambers.
To find a way in. A servant’s passage we can use when the time is right.
And for no other reason.
I amnotthinking about Ronan’s bed or how near I must be to it. I know it’s good for the plan, but there are limits to how far I’m willing to go. I try to find something else to think about before Ronan gets here, but there’s little else in the room. A seascape on the wall. A potted plant in the corner. Taran. I didn’t notice it before when I was still blinded by prejudice, but he’s not a bad-looking guy. His features are soft, almost boyish, but the tattoo gives him a bit of an edge. Not exactly my type, but like the goddess Kerensa, I enjoy beauty for beauty’s sake.
