Despite the long day, Midas’s clothes still look impeccable. His neat hair is nearly as gilded as the floor, handsome face lacking any stubble, still looking as fresh as this morning.
On the other hand, I probably look a wreck, because I feel like one. My weakened corset has broken in two more places, and my braided hair has loosened, frayed ends poking out every which way. My brow has a sheen of sweat gathered, my feet and hands are throbbing from how much magic poured through them, and my dress has splatters of viscid gold all over it.
“Look at everything you’ve accomplished,” Midas says as he glances around the room. Rather than critical, his expression is almost…awed.
I let my own eyes wander, noting every bit I’ve adorned, including the pillars and beams and floor, since I have to be careful to keep the integrity of the castle. I don’t want it to come crashing down from all the weight like the pillow did to Slade’s bed.
But to me, it’s just a color. I don’t look at it and see wealth, because what freedoms has it ever bought me? Every time I gold-touch something, I just keep paying a price that grows steeper and steeper. Gold is just a four-letter word for greed.
“A single touch, and you can do all this,” Midas goes on, glancing down at the buffet in front of us, now laden with golden tableware. He picks up one of the plates, so shiny that it reflects his image. His thumb brushes over it like one would caress a lover. “Gold is the epitome of wealth and power. It’s the one constant in this world that will always ensure I can get whatever I want. That people will bow down at my feet. With such unattainable riches as this, I can always have the upper hand.” He speaks with reverence, the pious worshipping at his altar, and I’m the tithe.
Midas turns to look at me after he sets the plate back down. “Your magic truly is remarkable, Auren. You are exceptional.”
Feeling uncomfortable with his praise, I look away and wipe my hands on the front of my dress. “I’d like to see Digby now.”
“Of course,” he says without missing a beat. “I gave you my word.”
Thank the Divine.
The squeak of a hinge echoes through the huge room, and I turn to see the servant’s door at the back of the ballroom open and a maid bustle in.
“Ah, right on time.”
The woman comes over and sets down a tray on the table beside us before she curtsies and departs.
“I wanted to ensure you had some refreshments at dusk,” he tells me. “I knew you’d be exhausted again, and I wanted to provide for you.” With a flourish, he removes the lid on the tray, revealing the food and wine beneath. “Sit down, Precious. Eat and drink, and then I’ll take you to your guard.”
As annoyed as I am with having to wait even longer, I am starved. And he’s right, I do feel exhausted again, nearly as drained as I was the night that Slade found me on the staircase and carried me to my room. I can’t be collapsing on the floor with the present company, especially not right now when I need to be alert for Digby.
I sit down on the low bench in front of the table and start to eat while Midas pours me a goblet of wine. I quickly devour the cold cuts and cheese, my empty stomach growling in satisfaction while Midas putters with the items on the table like he’s cataloguing their combined worth.
Between bites of food, I gulp down the wine too, though it’s nearly as thick and sweet as syrup. In the back of my head, on the back of my tongue, I’m wishing for a different drink. Because this room-temperature, perfectly aged and sweetened wine is okay, but it doesn’t hold a candle to a certain ice-cold, corked, bottom-of-the-barrel wine from Fourth’s army. Now that was good.
Then again, maybe it was just the company.
Still, I down it all and then finish off a sugared tart too, knowing that my body needs whatever energy I can give it. My body is aching from my power depletion, and the call for sleep comes in the form of a sting against my eyes, but I shove it away and shore myself up.
Feeling anxious, I get to my feet, wiping some crumb remnants off my dress. “I’m finished.”
“You sure you had enough?” Midas asks, gaze running over the tray and all the pieces of food I’ve left behind. Except for the wine. I polished that sucker right off.
“I’m sure,” I say with a definitive nod, edginess taking over. “I just want to see Digby.”
Shoulders stiff, ribbons coiled, I wait to see if he tries to put me off again, if he’s going to try to go back on his word, but Midas nods and says, “Then I’ll take you to him now.”