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She stopped right in front of him, waiting for an answer.
His lips trembled. “Fine.”
“And second, you will help save me. I will not die here.”
A low rumble came from deep in his throat. “No.”
She arched a brow. “No? Then you are of no use to me.” Dhalia crossed to the desk and blew out candles as she opened a drawer. The slick hilt of a trailing blade with a white-horned hilt slid into her hand. She held it up while turning around. “But I’m generous. I’ll ask again.”
“I can’t,” he protested. “It’s . . . not possible.”
“The two of us are clever enough to think of a way.” She made a big show of cleaning the blade before pressing it to his neck. “Let’s explore you changing your answer, shall we?” Dhalia had fire in her belly. She pressed the blade deeper. She was dangerously close to killing him.
I saw the moment King Ulther gave up. “Fine.”
She withdrew, and the hold over him gave out. He stumbled, then gathered himself. “It won’t work. I can’t save you.”
The frustration inside her was the same as my own at hearing those words again. “Try.”
He finally relented. “Let’s sit. We will think.”
Dhalia blew out the candles on the bed and rested against it. “I already have an idea.”
True to the paintings’ reliable nature of showing me just enough to leave me with a million more questions and an infuriating need to see the rest of the story, the vision ended.
I wanted to go over every detail again to analyze if I’d learned anything, but when I turned around, I spotted Gaia coming down the stairs in a flowy dress of cream and blush, her hair pulled up simply, and shoes on her feet. From her hurry, she had somewhere to be, but she moved in a frantic way as if someone followed her. Like she was trapped.
She came into the courtyard but seemed not to notice me.
“Are you alright?” I questioned.
Her gaze sprang to me, and she flittered the other way. “Eight months,” she was whispering. “Only eight months.”
“Gaia? What’s wrong?” I followed her as she flung a hand upward to call upon a chariot.
When she looked back at me, her cheeks held a pale color instead of their usual bronze complexion. Something wild was in her eyes. It gripped her and it frightened me. She spoke more clearly now. “Eight months until I die.”
“Oh, Gaia.” I crossed to take her hands. “Look at me. Look at my face, Gaia.” Teary eyes found mine. I had to tell her. “We can fight this together. There was a queen before us who survived. We just have to outwit them.”
She squeezed her eyes tight and shook her head. “No. I don’t want to die.”
I gripped her hands harder. “Then don’t. Fight.”
“I-I’ll end up j-just like Ivory.” A tear rolled down her cheek as she raised her eyes to mine, her voice soft as a dying wind. “I tried to save her, but I lost her.”
Tears threatened my own eyes as it sank in how much Gaia lost when Ivory died. She seemed to melt before me, filled with nothing but dread and heartbreak, sobbing as she eased out of my grip to bury her face in her hands. Her shoulders heaved as she wept.
Behold, the stoic Gaia. Broken.
Her cries filled the courtyard. No one understood the feeling inside Gaia better than I did.
At least I had friends to lean on when despair consumed me. Gaia had none.
“Join me,” I said impulsively. “I have a friend over, and we’d love to spend the evening with you.”
Gaia raised her head and quieted. She wiped her tears with the back of her hand and steadied herself. The chariot she had called for was here, waiting. “I have plans.”
“Really?” At her dangerous look I scooted back. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think you were attending events.”
