In the Veins of the Drowning(76)
Cold skittered through me, but I offered her an agreeable nod and worked to clear my mind enough to answer. Nemea’s family name was Miros. I couldn’t even remember what Ligea’s had been, though I’d learned it in my lessons. “I was born on Seraf,” I answered with a shaking voice. I could only offer her the story I’d been told.
“Seraf. I see.” Her eyes shone with cunning. That finger still traced a repetitive line over my hand. “It’s an interesting name,” she said through a small, unfriendly smile. “It’s Obelian.” Her finger stopped moving, but she did not let me go. “Did you know?”
My throat tightened, senses on alert. I shook my head.
She looked out at the collection of beautifully dressed nobility, at Theodore and Halla. Then her gaze sliced to mine. “I’ll tell you of it,” she said, as if sharing a secret that was to be kept between us. “Years ago, back when King Athan still ruled, when Seraf’s king, Nemea, was still young, my husband died. Sweet man. Simple. He liked horses. The blandest consort an empress could ever hope for.” She gave a cold chuckle. “All the Leucosian rulers came north for the remembrance. Queen Rillion. Queen Ligea too. Some of them had never visited the continent before—it’s quite a distance. The Nels were a very rich, very old Obelian family that I had been close with since my youth. Our families intermarried for generations, but by then, their members were few. A matriarch remained, her sickly grown son, and his mousy wife. They had a quiet little girl with the most perfect white curls. That first night, they hosted an elegant dinner for the Leucosian royals in their manor home.
“Between courses, we toured their gardens. It was summer and the night was unusually balmy for the north. When we returned for the next course a half an hour later, the bodies of the Nels—all four of them—were piled in the middle of the dining room, beside the table.” She tutted as if to say such a shame. “They’d been sliced open from their necks to their groins, so deeply that their insides spilled out onto the lovely rug.” Again, that finger traced a slow line down the back of my hand. Down the middle. Mimicking the way the Nels had been sliced. “The matriarch’s body had been stripped of its jewels. A spinel necklace and earrings to match. A ring too.”
I jolted. “That’s an awful story.”
“It is.”
“Why did you tell it to me?”
“Oh well.” She brushed her thumb over my palm quickly—over my many scars. She smiled. Then she let me go. “You, born on Seraf, with that name. It brought forth the memory.” She gave a thoughtful hum. “Nemea was very handsome then. He was very attentive to me in my shock and grief over my late husband. I wonder how he’s fared.”
My pulse sped. “How many years ago was this?”
Her blue eyes rolled upward in thought. “Halla was not born yet, so, twenty-five years ago now. My, time is a savage thing, isn’t it?”
In that moment, it was not time that I thought to be savage. “Good evening, Your Imperial Majesty.”
I dipped into a shaky curtsy, stole one last glance at Theodore, and blood bond be damned, fled the throne room.
I staggered up the candlelit stairs. The Great Gods lining the banisters stared down at me and I steeled myself against their empty, searing gazes. Against the relentless, stabbing pain in my stomach. I scowled up at the uncanny statue of Panos, but there was something to be learned from all the Gods—my mother included. Something in their stoniness, in their implacability. Theodore had those qualities, but I… I was prone to dissolve in the face of my want, of my fear. It took all of me to not run back to Theodore’s side.
And alongside everything else, I was certain the Empress of Obelia knew precisely who I was.
At the top of the stairs my stomach clenched. I ran quickly toward the end of the hall and the door to Theodore’s chamber. Perhaps I should have gone elsewhere, but the palace was winding, and I yearned for the comfort of a familiar place. I twisted the knob and raced toward the washroom. At the basin, I heaved and heaved until I sweated. The retching settled, but not the pain. I splashed cool water over my burning face and peeled my filthy shirt from my body. Before I stripped my trousers, I carefully took the severing draught from my pocket and set it on the table beside Theodore’s bed.
It was as if a stone had been set on my chest where it gradually pressed down, cracking through my bone, pressing on my heart. I scrubbed with soap that smelled like Theodore. When I was clean, I wrapped myself in a towel and curled onto the tiled floor, waiting for the next roll of nausea.
The hinges of the chamber door squeaked. I rose quickly. Raced into the room. “Theo?”
Agatha stood in a lovely charcoal gown, her face edged with concern, and my eyes burned.
Gods damn it. I’d wanted it to be him. I wanted it to always be him.
“Lachlan told me everything.” Agatha’s look gentled.
“About how I almost killed him because I lost control?” I sucked in a shaky breath. “About Eusia, and Nemea?”
She gave me the barest nod. That look on her face slid too close toward pity. “At least you made it back in one piece.”
“I don’t think I did. I feel like I’ve been split wide open.” My voice snagged. “I think… I might love him.”
Agatha froze. Blinked. Nodded once. “Let’s get you dressed.”