In the Veins of the Drowning(106)

I locked my gaze onto its silver point. “You wouldn’t have the chance.” Then, I studied his dark-rimmed eyes, resolute and grim, and could see no scheming in them. It set me off-balance, how we had gone from a warm, if awkward, farewell just yesterday to this.

His lips twisted. “Two of my guards are Siren-bound, Imogen. They’ll kill you before you can beg. And I’ve told you before, I have no desire to see you dead.”

I’d known Lachlan’s fears over how I might set Varya toward ruin from the first. He’d threatened and scolded me and made his dislike clear. Our discord had sat between us like a reared-back weapon, but I never once thought he would bring it crashing down so violently.

He raised his brows in unhappy irony and gave my chain a tug. “Rise, Your Majesty.”

Not long ago, the Mage Seer had given me guidance: Take what you want. I wanted to curse and gnash. I wanted to scream and be heeded and see all these guards on their knees. But I also wished, for better or worse, to live.

I stood with my clamped teeth bared.

Lachlan led me by the chain—my crown and sword in his other fist—with two of his guards trailing us. Slowly, painfully, we wove through riotous beds of orange and yellow and red blooms. We passed the glittering fountain that cradled three proud Siren statues in its center. With each step my throat grew thicker.

I’d returned to this place, and all its beauty, with the purpose of ending a threat, but as I moved closer to the palace, glowing pure white in the afternoon sun, I remembered that I was the danger cutting through its grounds. I was the terror encroaching.

As we crossed under a sun-dappled tunnel of vines, its white blooms yawning and plentiful, I stumbled over my own feet. My pain thrummed. It set sparks off in my vision. I closed my eyes, tried to focus on the warm rays of light, how they kissed my cheekbones, and I thought of Theodore.

As intemperate and corrupted as I was, I could never risk his safety, even for Agatha. Not with the dark and terrifying yearning that flooded me at the very thought of him. It came on like a fever, heat storming through me. My mouth watered with a hunger that needed sating. I yearned for his blood, for his flesh between my teeth. For his soft lips against mine.

I stopped hard in my tracks, pulling my chain taut. My eyes flew open. I could hardly delineate between my own care and desire, and the way Eusia wanted to consume him.

Lachlan spun, brow knit as he glared at me over his pauldron.

“Don’t…” I whispered to him, struggling to keep my eyes from welling. “Don’t let him near me.”

Unlike Theodore, Lachlan’s face was readily sculpted by his emotions. Sympathy softened his stern brow. But on its heels came a flash of suspicion. There was a question he wanted answered, a wariness he needed soothed. I held his glare and tried to will his trust, ignoring entirely whether or not I deserved it. His mouth firmed, he gave a brisk nod, then his gaze cut to the soldiers behind me. “You’re dismissed. I have her from here.”

“Sir, we’ll take her,” one of them objected. “You’re not safe with her alone.”

Not safe. How strange to have lived so long ruled by my own fears, only to become the source of it for others.

Lachlan started back down the path, toward the palace. A high whimper split my lips at the sudden movement. “You’ve been given your orders,” he said.

Good. Now we would be free to speak, and I could try to pull him to my side.

The guards lingered behind us for a moment, and as I waited, I studied the rigid line of Lachlan’s shoulders, the determined yet vacant way he seemed to move, as if a vital piece of him had been carved away and it was now sheer force of will that animated him. It was so unlike him—even in his anger he’d been effusive, glinting with mischief.

Finally, we reached the empty palace terrace. I tried to slow my steps. “Lach, wait.” He tugged, and I cried out, but he kept our pace, pressing onward toward the glass door. “Gods damn it, you asshole,” I hissed. “It’s about Agatha.”

His steps hitched. I’d found the crack in his armor, and I knew how tender the flesh was beneath. My words were a well-honed blade. “I know where she is.”

But my attempt didn’t pierce. Lachlan carried on, doggedly as before, and led me through the door. “Did you hear me?” We were in the Garden Room, crossing over its gleaming floors, past its bloom-painted walls. “Lachlan, are you actually going—”

“Quiet.” He took me toward the entry hall, but I’d heard worry in the word.

“We’re running out of time,” I said, voice loud and shaking. “The empress might have—”

He stopped and whirled, eyes wide with a horrific look. “The empress?”

I nodded and took in his stricken face. His neck strained, eyes widening as he composed himself. He gave me a warning glance, then tucked us into the shadows of the eastern stairs before we could be noticed. He scanned the entry hall. A few soldiers milled. Some servants cleared away decorations.

Awareness prickled over my skin, and I finally took in the space myself. When I’d left—just yesterday—it was being set for a wedding. Flowering vines had been woven through the black marble banisters, where they looped around the ankles of the Great Gods’ statues. Obelian sigils had hung beside Varian ones, a mingling of deep blues and greens. Now, all of it was half undone. Before the statue of Ligea, who stood beneath the western stairs, two maids worked together to fold a deep green and gold banner, making crisp creases. They tucked it neatly into a basket at their feet.