I consider my response carefully as I continue eating, not wasting a single crumb or even the smallest smear of butter.
Without answering him, I push back my chair and step toward the wall near the hallway.
I’ve passed this spot many times for days, but it was only last night that I noticed the imperfection extending across the icy-blue roses at a spot a little above my eye height.
I press my fingertips to the wall. “Will you tell me about this?”
Stellen has stiffened. He stares at the spot on the wall above my fingertips. “You said you wouldn’t ask.”
The faint bloodstain suddenly feels far darker than it did before.
Other than requesting help, there was only one thing I promised Stellen I wouldn’t ask about: how his family died.
When he first brought me here, he’d hesitated outside the front door—a door whose cracks are filled with resin that looks like falling tears.
His mother and sister lived here.
Now it’s clear to me they died here.
With this knowledge comes a greater understanding of why Stellen sleeps outside. He may have framed his actions as a way to avoid crossing a boundary with me, but I doubt he would have chosen to come here at all if it hadn’t been for me.
Even on that first day, his movement through this space was forced. His tension high. At the time, I thought it was because I insisted on controlling my armor, but now I consider his behavior in a different light.
He came to this place because of me. He must have reasoned that I’d be warm here and easily protected.
He’s still here, guarding this space, because of me.
A torture I unknowingly inflicted on him.
The False Queen’s promise echoes back at me:you will rip and tear at their hearts.
At my own heart too. One of the few things my father would tell me about my mother was that she could conjure the most beautiful white roses. Every rose carving and every painted petal reminds me of her.
I lift my hand from the wall.
“Take me to the temple,” I say. “I’ll be ready in a few minutes. I’ll meet you outside.”
I hurry toward the bathing room, where I’ve stored my training suits and the other garments the staff brought me. I haven’t spent more than a few moments in any of the bedrooms. It didn’t feel right to linger in them, and I’m glad I didn’t.
But now I hesitate, casting a glance at the wall ahead of me, behind which my Lethian armor hides.
If I’m leaving the city walls, even though I’m certain I’ll come back, I don’t want to leave my armor behind.
Aware of the quiet opening and closing of the front door as Stellen steps outside, I head to the wall, compress the lock, and reach my armor within seconds.
The silver threads hum as I approach, resonating with a faint melody that makes my heart squeeze.
Quickly stripping naked, I reach for the threads, an apology on my lips. “I’m sorry?—”
Whoomph!
The material wraps around me so fast that I teeter wildly on the spot, my arms extended as I try to keep my balance.
Oh, I missed these threads.
Slowly, I wrap my arms around myself, feeling the material settling against my skin like a hug.
I groan with relief as every strand settles back into place, covering my legs, my torso, my left arm, my right shoulder, fitting to me far better even than any training suit.
