I guessed it could have been both.
Later, he’d left the ball held in the throne room as quickly as allowable. He’d waited for me to find him outside in the gardens. And while I had thought his irritation and restlessness in the Blessing Ceremony were due to the position that they put me in, could they have been due to the summons of the throne itself?
Hart nodded as if seeing the recollections in my face. “It’s part physical. Like the way the magic of the Oldwood drove you to dig into the dirt. But it’s also part … mental. The throne whispers promises of everything I could do with its power.”
“All the time?”
“Proximity strengthens it, but it’s always a dull throb inside me. The only thing that seems to counter it is…” Hart coughed into his fist. “You.”
“See, Chaos may have known what she was doing after all,”Charon said.
“What do you mean”—I glared at Charon, not acknowledging his comment—“I ‘counter it?’”
Hart sighed. “The night of the Masquerade, the throne called to me, desperately. I wanted to jump out of my own skin. Or seize it. When I held you, when we danced, it silenced.”
A flush heated my cheeks. I’d just thought about his reaction at the ball. I never imagined that our dance had granted him a moment of peace in that room. Was that why he’d offered it?
I shook my head. I’d become too absorbed in the conversation. I didn’t want to think about Hart’s struggles. Or why he struggled, for that matter. Why not take the throne and bedone with it? Why point me toward the truth of who I was when no one else had? Why help me at all?
Too many questions for which I had no answers. The man who could answer them stood with arms crossed and a carefully blank look on his face.
I swallowed them all down before I spoke. “I’m going to the library.”
There might have been a slight twitch of Hart’s lip to a frown. A hint of disappointment that I wouldn’t ask any of my questions.
As much as I wanted space from Hart—from his knowing gaze—I knew this wasn’t the time. He had already read many of the texts we were interested in. I couldn’t ignore the information he had. Swallowing my anger, my frustration with our situation, I asked a different question. “Will you show me the books you think are most relevant?”
He nodded. I wished he didn’t have the insights I needed. Every time I looked at him, at the way his eyebrow raised in question, or the way he worked to keep his stupid smirk from appearing, a different pain shot through me. One I wouldn’t name.
I didn’t want to notice any of it. Hart may have helped me, but he had deceived me, too. Everything he’d said and done for me had been in service to himself.
My anger at the lies flared hot, just as my devastation at his betrayal pulled me back into the fathomless depths.
Everyone had known but me.
Embarrassment heated my cheeks and soured my stomach. I closed my eyes as I tucked all of those feelings deep inside my chest and smoothed out my expression.
“Are you ready?” I asked.
He nodded again, and with a final glance at Charon, he turned and left the balcony.
5
Choice is an interesting paradox. Did you really have a choice when you realized you could change Kavios for others like you?
— ALARIC SARE’S PAPERS FOR EMBERLINE ARKOVA
Sunlight spilled over the streets of Ciril as we left the castle for the short walk to the library. Even this simple act felt unique. My skirt still skimmed the ground, and my blouse still covered my neck and arms. My gloves were still pulled high, and I kept my head low, my face hidden to shield any emotion that might cross it. This had been the way all humans acted and dressed in Kavios. A defense mechanism against the Blessed.
No one in Ciril did the same.
Citizens strolled down the streets. Few woregloves. Some even had their arms and shoulders exposed. A few outside the nearest bakery stopped to chat animatedly. Laughter emanated from multiple groups. I sucked in a breath when a pair hugged before separating.
Taverns and cafes had tables and chairs set outside. Did people really sit down to eat there? So exposed? Perhaps the most confusing display was the green space to the left. It wasn’t a forest like the Oldwood, but a large patch of grass sprinkled with trees that appeared open and inviting. A few families walked a path that cut through it. The children sprinted in every direction, under their parents’ watchful eyes.
They had no fear of the Blessed taking. There were no Blessed here.
Hart’s attention marked my covered skin. I couldn’t imagine what he thought of this. Part of me wanted to ask, but the thought of pretending to converse about such things when so much else hung unspoken between us exhausted me.
