A light in the flame

“You hold your breath. Usually for a count, and then you exhale.”

“Gods, it’s really that noticeable?” I asked, thinking of when he’d seen me do it in the throne room while Holland and Penellaphe were there.

“Not really.”

I frowned at the darkness. “But you noticed.”

“Doesn’t mean others have.” Several beats of silence passed. “Why do you do it?”

I closed my eyes. “It’s just something that Holland taught me to do.”

He was quiet for a moment. “But why do you need to do it, Sera?”

“I don’t know.”

Nyktos didn’t speak after that. There was nothing but silence for a long time, and then it was I who spoke. “Are you worried about the summons? What will happen?”

“No,” he said, and it was a lie. The bed shifted again. His arm came over my waist, the heavy, cool weight was…pleasant. “Arm’s reach.”

I closed my eyes, trying to ignore how much I enjoyed the feel of his arm. It wasn’t until that moment that I realized I’d done something I’d never done in my entire life.

I’d left the dagger in my bedchamber.

I was in a…mood.

A morose mood as Holland would call it. It had been with me upon waking on what should’ve been my coronation day, but for the second time in my life, I’d woken on the day I was supposed to be married, only for those plans to change.

It was early, the sky still a deep shade of gray, but Nyktos had already left, and I hadn’t lingered in his bedchamber. I’d cleaned up with the fresh water someone had brought in and changed into the last gown I had, one cut quite similarly to the one I’d worn the day before but in all black. It was only after practically squeezing my breasts into the bodice and fastening the last of the buttons that I realized my clothing had finally been laundered and returned, placed in a neat stack on the bed. I sighed, having no plans of undressing.

Instead, I went to the chaise and plopped down. That’s where I stayed, my mind restless, even though my body was still. Too still.

The moods had seemed to come and go with the changes in the wind while in the mortal realm, often striking me in the night when I couldn’t sleep and had nothing to occupy my mind. Those were the nights that even the idea of occupying my body in one of the hedonistic dens littering the Luxe held no appeal.

Those were the nights I wondered if my father had been plagued by the moods. If they had played a role in his fall from the tower the night of my birth. If so, was that the only thing he’d left me, if such a thing could be passed down? I wasn’t sure. But if so, I would’ve preferred something a little less dark.

Had Sotoria felt the same? Experienced these moods? Was she—?

I stopped myself as my heart began tripping too fast, and the feeling of having no control rose swiftly. I couldn’t think about any of that, so I sat there, the day yawning before me, empty and irrelevant. Would tomorrow be the same? The day after next? There was no training to take part in. No food to take to the families affected by the Rot. No unexpected visits from Ezra or requests to aid the Ladies of Mercy. Just more waiting. No escaping from where my thoughts wanted to linger—a place that thrived on replaying all the worst moments.

The disappointments and failures.

The embarrassments and desperations.

Except now, there were new ones. The destiny that had never been true. My betrayal of Nyktos and the fact that none of us had questioned what we believed would end the Rot. It was hard to look back now and not feel as if I should’ve known that Nyktos wasn’t the cause. It was hard to sit here, warm and well-fed, while those in my kingdom starved and would soon face unimaginable hardship and death if Nyktos’s plan didn’t work.

And it was hard to sit with myself. With the knowledge that I dreaded the summons when I should look forward to it.

My fingers worried the seam on the arm of the chaise as I stared at the neat pile of clothing that had been placed on the bed. I wasn’t used to such idleness. Such lack of purpose. It made my skin feel too tight and thin. A knot lodged in my throat, my thoughts becoming as heavy as my body felt. I leaned into the chaise, feeling as if I could sink into the soft upholstery and become a part of it until I faded away. And wouldn’t that be kind of lovely—?

“No.” My heart started thumping as I sat up, my muscles going rigid. Breathe in. That was a—a bad thought. Uncomfortable. Suffocating. I smoothed suddenly damp hands over my bare knees. Hold. The chamber was too small as I sat there.

I was too small, shrinking with each passing second. Breathe out. I continued the slow, even breathing and squeezed my eyes shut until I saw white and the pressure in my chest loosened.

Why do you hold your breath?

My eyes opened as I rose. I couldn’t spend one more moment in this chamber. Slipping my feet into thin-soled shoes, I left the room, surprised to find Saion in the hall instead of Orphine. He didn’t put up a fight when I told him I wished to take my breakfast elsewhere, and the farther I made it from my chambers, the more the constriction in my chest and throat loosened.

We stopped in the kitchens, and then I took my breakfast in one of the many receiving chambers on the first floor with Reaver, who ended up following us and was currently napping on a narrow couch the color of the Dark Elms beyond Wayfair. Having breakfast outside my chamber was a marked improvement, but the silence was getting to me.

So was the way Saion quietly hovered near the doors, one hand resting on the hilt of a short sword, watching me as he had the day the Cimmerian came.

Placing my spoon aside, I glanced around the chamber. Just like all the ones I’d seen when Jadis had led us in and out of rooms, this one was well kept, even though it appeared as if no one had stepped foot in it in decades—maybe centuries. There wasn’t even a speck of dust on the wood adornments of the arms and legs of the couch Reaver slept on. I sca

“Are these spaces ever used?” I asked as I ran a finger down my glass of juice.

Saion inclined his head, glancing at the walls. “Every once in a while, Jadis or Reaver explores them, but other than that, not that I’ve seen.”

“Who keeps them so clean?”

“Usually Ector.”

“Is he that bored?”

Saion chuckled. “I’ve wondered that myself, but I think he does it for Eythos.”

My fingers stilled on the glass. “Like in his memory or something?”

“I think so.” He glanced over the space. “When Nyktos’s father was alive, he kept all these chambers open and clean. There used to be guests. Not as many as I imagined there were when Eythos was the true Primal of Life, but there was…” He trailed off as if he were searching for the right word.

“There was life here once?” I suspected.

Saion nodded. “Yeah,” he said, clearing his throat. “There was.”

That was thoughtful of Ector, and it was only surprising because I knew so little about him—about any of them. I leaned back in the chair. “Where are you from?”

Saion raised a dark eyebrow. “That’s a random question.”

It was. “Just curious.”

He said nothing, and I figured that whatever change of heart he’d had only went so far. “Never mind,” I said. “I suppose we can resume the awkward watching-over-me-in-silence thing.”

“I was born in the Triton Isles.”

My gaze cut to him, a little surprised that he’d answered. “You belonged to Phanos’s Court?”

“Stayed there until I was about five decades past my Culling and then both Rhahar and I left.”