After seventeen years, I’ve come to realize thatprotectis actually just a pretty word for hide.
Hide her away. Lock her up. Maybe the world will forget, if she’s kept out of sight. Maybe she’ll not look to leave, if we give her no other choice but to stay. Maybe if we conceal her well enough, she’ll disappear entirely.
Heat prickles behind my eyes and I blink hard, sitting up tall.
That was then. This is now. And Irefuseto disappear.
‘Are you all right?’ Flint is watching me warily.
I force my features into a smile. ‘Never better.’
39
Isometimes think of the Imperial Province as a web – finely spun, gleaming gold. Clinging to each silken strand are people from all walks of life, young and old, rich and poor, Etheri and Fidra, all of them bound up together. It is here they flock, weaving their lives among the gossamer threads all stretching towards the spider sitting in the very centre.
If the emperor appeared gaunt before, he is positively ghostlike now. I’d previously considered whether it was the idea of relinquishing his crown that was making him ill, but now I’m not so sure. I’ve never had the sense that Emperor Alvar feels particularly strongly about anything. He’s difficult to read in that way. There was curiosity perhaps, with regard to me. Seemingly a fondness for his Council. Presumably an affection for his sons, although Fox is rarely at court, and as for Hal, I would describe their interactions as stiff at best.
The only time I have ever seen real emotion flit across his careful mask is when he looks at Kestrel Calloway.
I think of Empress Goneril, Hal’s mother, the sour-faced Vosti princess who fulfilled her duty two decades ago and is now regarded as nothing more than an inconvenience. Howthey must resent one another, the unwanted wife and the beloved mistress.
I twirl the stem of a golden rose between my fingers. Hal was waiting for me when I returned from my lesson yesterday evening, a fresh bunch in hand.
When he marries, there will be no more roses. There will be no more visiting my chambers, or singling me out to dance, or secret kisses in broom cupboards. Because I know that Hal, of all people, who has watched his own mother dismissed by his father and disregarded by the court, could never inflict the same fate upon the Thavenian princess who will one day be his wife.
Bitterness claws at my throat. What am Idoing? Why am I allowing myself to fall for a boy who I know will never be mine?
Maybe Flint’s right. Maybe I am stupid and naive.
A sharp stinging sensation has me sucking in a breath through clenched teeth. I look down to find I’ve been squeezing the rose stem so tightly that a thorn has lodged itself deep in the soft flesh of my palm. Elva appears at my side, her beautiful face creased with concern as she dislodges the thorn with quick, careful fingers. I gaze bemusedly at the blood pooling in my hand. There’s blood on Elva’s hands too. It looks so red against her porcelain skin.
She bathes the cut in water, and I watch in surprise as she rips a strip of fabric from her white tunic and wraps it tightly round my hand, securing it in place with a small practised knot. I thank her, and she gives her head a little shake, as though her actions were not worthy of my gratitude.
‘Blaze!’ Spinner calls. ‘Come on, we’re going to be late.’
Since the night I danced with the Earth Cleaver, I have avoided all balls, banquets and parties. I say it’s to conserve my energy for my training sessions with Queen Hydra, but really it’s because the thought of seeing him again, especially after what I learned in the dungeons, makes me feel as though I’m about to turn to liquid, or fall through the floor.
I hate that he catches me off guard. I hate that I can’t work him out, no matter how hard I try. I hate that he finds a way to burrow and bulb and bloom inside my brain, more than he should, more than I should admit. And I hate that I’m thinking about him now, even if it’s only to list everything about him that I hate.
River’s words come back to me.
Hate can sink its claws in deep.
My thoughts wander to the dagger wrapped carefully in my shirt, a silver claw cut from the body of a creature with no soul. I remember the way it felt pressed against my neck, that single bead of blood like a drop of dark wine on Fox’s tongue.
Shaking my head to banish the memory, I offer Elva a small smile before Spinner tows me off towards the evening’s festivities.
The palace gardens are strewn with tiny orbs of light, all of them floating a few feet off the ground. I tense up as I catch sight of the maze in the distance, but Spinner pulls me on towards a brightly lit patch of lawn where a crowd seems to be gathering. Music swells, lilting and melodic, mingling with the sweet-scented night air.
‘Why does everything always smell of lilies in this place?’ I wonder aloud.
‘Lilies are Lady Calloway’s favourite flower,’ Spinner tells me.
‘Oh.’ I’m silent for a moment, then another thought strikes me. ‘Spinner, you know how Lady Calloway and the emperor had a second child – the little girl who died?’
Spinner glances sidelong at me. ‘Mm-hm.’
‘What was her name? I can’t remember it.’
