They both nod with somber faces, but don’t try and talk me out of it.
Then I take Clara’s hand and lead her to the elevator that will take us up to my new palace.
She leans in to me, once the elevator doors have closed, and discreetly whispers, so the liftman can’t hear, “Where are we going?”
I let out a huff of air. Because she doesn’t even know yet. She has no idea who I turned into since the last time we saw each other. So I just whisper back, “You’ll see.”
When we get to the top the liftman opens the doors for us and Clara and I exit. I put my hand in the small of her back, allowingmyself to feel just the slightest bit of happiness as I watch her fascinated, wandering gaze as she takes in the luxurious hallway leading to the Extraction Master’s office.
We stop in front of the massive, fifteen-foot double doors and finally that astonished gaze of hers finds mine. “What is this?”
I sigh. “My new home.” Then I open the doors and she steps in, once again looking around, trying to see everything at once.
She’s breathing heavy when she finds my eyes this time. “I don’t understand…”
“This”—I pan my arms wide to indicate the whole of the palace—“was my father’s office. Apparently. I never knew about it, but nonetheless, it’s here. But it’s much more than just an office. It’s… well, a regular palace, as you can see.”
“Oh.” Her face crumples into a frown. Then, suddenly, she’s crying, covering that beautiful face with her hands.
And I am so stupid. Why would she care about this place? Aldo’s body was just burned in a pyre. The bells are still ringing for Haryet. This is the absolute worst day of Clara’s life and I’m bragging about my new palace?
What the hell is wrong with me?
I put my arms around her. “Shhhh. It’s OK.” I want to explain that this is a good moment, she just doesn’t realize it yet. But it’s not the right time for that conversation. It’s not even the right time for that thought.
So instead, I just hold her. Caressing her back with my fingertips. Because this is a terrible, awful day and she won’t understand until it’s too late that we are at the end of the best of times, so we need to enjoy it. And I don’t want to tell her that—not yet. I don’t want to kill all her hopes and dreams until I have no choice.
It takes a few minutes, but when she finally calms down, I lead her over to the nearest couch—sans blue sheet, courtesy of Mitch or Jeyk, I presume—and after we sit, I pull her intomy arms and we let out that breath. A collective one. The one we’ve been holding, in our minds, at least, since the bells started ringing last night.
It’s not over yet, of course, but we’ve come to terms with it. And in my experience, that’s always half the battle.
We don’t talk. We just sit. Not because there’s nothing to say—there are millions of things to say—but because we don’t know how to say them. The world doesn’t make sense yet.
Instead, we kiss. And I am a little taken aback—not to mention slightly ashamed—to find that I am hungry for her.
There is no time for a tryst, there is so much to do before the ceremony tonight, but after, when the bells finally stop, I will bring her here and she will spend the night with me. Fuck that god. Fuck him and his tower too. Fuck the bells, fuck the Extraction, fuck the Matrons, and fuck the consequences.
She’s mine and I might just take her prisoner. Keep her forever. Lock her up in some… upper palace room that I don’t even know about yet, and never let her leave.
“What are you thinking about?” Clara’s low whisper pulls me out of my anger, and shame, and lust and forces me to take a breath.
“You.”
She snuggles into my neck, her mouth pressed against my skin just below my ear. I hold her as we lean into each other, trying to get through the moments.
“Where’s your mother? I didn’t see her at the funeral.”
I blink. Squint. Then… I dunno. Get lost for a moment. Because Clara’s right. I didn’t see her either. And I didn’t even notice that she wasn’t there.
Clara pulls back a little, trying to see my face. “Finn?”
“Uh…” I have to lie. That’s the only way out of this. “She was… sick. She couldn’t come.” I don’t want to look Clara in the eyes as I say this lie, but I force myself to.
She’s squinting her eyes in a severe look of confusion. “She didn’t…” She can’t even finish the sentence. Because it makes no sense.
My mother did not attend my father’sfuneral?
And I didn’t even notice?
