And whether the worst thing out there might be…him.
Chapter 8
After the Shadow leaves me, I sleep again. Somehow.
I don’t know for how long, but when I wake, I lie in my lavish bed, staring at the ceiling and counting the beats of my heart.
Except my heart feels less like it’s beating and more like it’s prodding at an internal bruise. The events of yesterday throb within me, a bottomless pit I might drown in, if I’m not careful. Every time I blink, scenes from the Claiming play out in my mind. I see Evelyn reaching for me. My father dragging her away. The cold fire in Amriel’s eyes as I begged at his feet.
The memories claw at me with cruel fingers. When they threaten to drag me under, I force myself from bed.
There’s only one thing to do. One way to fix this.
My knees settle into the mossy floor as I lace my fingers beneath my chin. For a moment, I hesitate, because the act of prayer feels different here. Strange. I have no temple, no sisters to kneel beside, no care-worn Book on the altar before me. But I have myself, and Ishanna, and in the end, that’s all I really need.
“I trust you in all things, my goddess,” I murmur. “When I can’t see, I trust you to be my eyes. When I can’t hear, I trust you to be my ears.When I’ve lost my way, I trust you to take my hand and guide me. And I will follow. I will always follow.”
The words roll from my tongue, a comfort that tastes like home. By the time I’ve recited the prayer seven times, the chaos in my stomach has settled. My pendant warms as if in reassurance, and when I stand, my legs only tremble slightly.
With my newfound tranquility, I make a slow circuit around the room, taking inventory of everything I missed last night. At one end of the chamber, a vine-covered door leads to a bathroom, while another opens to a closet. The clothes hanging inside make me grimace—diaphanous gowns with barely enough silk to keep themselves up, much less preserve my modesty, and I turn away, relieved to find a chest-of-drawers on a nearby wall. But those outfits prove even worse, made of form-fitting leather with an array of pockets and laces that defy my understanding. I stuff the garments back into their drawers, disgusted.
No, nothing will serve besides the dress I’m wearing, with its high neck and its hems that brush the floor. Last night’s tumble down the garbage chute has left my already-torn sleeve in tatters, but I manage to find a needle and thread in a vanity drawer and rectify the damage. That done, I frown at my reflection. Dirt and bits of moss still cling to me, evidence of my close brush with death.
Time to make use of the bath, then, I guess.
After peering into the hall and finding it empty, I lock my door and set about the laborious task of unbuttoning my dress. Deep aches twinge in my muscles as I twist this way and that, but I manage to get the thing off, unveiling dozens of scrapes and bruises along the way.
A sigh drains out of me. If only I were at home, Carina could heal me. Erase the evidence of last night’s ordeal with a brush of her hand.
But my little sister is far, far away, so I make my way to the steaming bathtub and lower myself in. Heat floods my muscles, pulling a groan from the deepest recesses of my chest.
Ishanna’s blood, the fae have gotten everything else wrong, butthis… This is heavenly. Back home, my baths are usually tepid, at best.
I relish the quiet interlude, letting the glorious heat liquify my aches. But by the time I get myself dried off and into my dress again, I start to wonder. Is anyone going to come for me? Or am I supposed to ventureinto this castle on my own? Maybe make a wrong turn and careen down another garbage chute?
My mood sours. Leave it to Amriel to abandon me here. Some mate he is, forgetting me like this.
Just as the thought passes through my mind, a knock comes at my door, and I stiffen. I can’t imagine the fae king coming to fetch me himself, but that doesn’t stop me from bracing as I swing open the door.
To my relief, my gaze locks with pink eyes, not yellow ones. Calen fills the hallway, one shoulder propped against the wall, his arms folded casually across his chest.
“Why’re you still wearingthat?” His nose wrinkles. “Didn’t you see the clothes in the closet?”
“I did, unfortunately.” I make a face and spin away, then stop to reconsider. But when I glance back, Calen seems unaffected by the fact that I’ve just turned from him. He slides his hands into his pockets and strolls into my room, the height of nonchalance.
“None of those dresses are suitable,” I tell him. “If you can even call them that. They’re more like underwear, if you ask me, and I’d rather die than wearthosein public.”
He makes no effort to hide his amusement. “All right. Then don’t.”
“I won’t.” I lift my chin, partly to make a point, partly to keep my attention from sliding downward. From remembering what certain parts of him look like when he?—
No. I nail my focus to his. I amnotthinking about that. Not now or ever again.
A sly twitch tugs at Calen’s mouth, as if he can decipher the exact direction of my thoughts. “Amriel wants to see you. But it’s almost noon, and I figured you’d be hungry by now, so I can take you to lunch first, if you’d like.”
My stomach chooses that moment to grumble. As if it can hear him, the traitor. “I’m not going back to that dining room.”
He arches one silky dark brow. “Why not? Because of dessert?”
