I stride toward Marlayna, and she pats the velvet cushion beside her in invitation. Unbuttoning my coat, I shrug it back, letting the fabric settle as I sink onto the chaise. My legs sprawl apart, a deliberate display of ease I don’t quite feel, my chin resting between my fingers as I stare into the space before me, lost in thought.
A slender male approaches, his face hidden behind a silver mask, and offers us each a goblet. When I lift it to my lips, the dry ache in my throat nags at me, but I pause, my gaze flicking to Marlayna. She watches me with a curious gleam in her eyes.
I pull the goblet back, inspecting the blood-red liquid, inhaling its scent, looking for any trace of poison.
She laughs softly, a melodic sound that only adds to my suspicion. “Do not fear, Prince Daedalus,” she says with a teasing smile. “Your bargain has me far too intrigued to kill you.”
“Why do you call me that?” I ask sharply, the word bitter on my tongue as I hold the goblet aloft, still wary. “I am no prince here in Ballamar, and no law forces you to bow.”
She shrugs nonchalantly, then takes a slow sip of her wine, letting the gesture speak for itself. When she lowers the goblet, a single drop clings to her lips, which she licks off with a subtle, deliberate motion. “It’s nice to pretend sometimes, that the world is as it once was,” she admits. Her gaze drifts around the room, lingering on the paintings hanging on the walls. Landscapes of Thyros, the Thraelis Mountains, and the distant silhouette of Castle Taramethos.
“You miss it,” I say, a faint bitterness curling in my chest.
Her eyes drop, a flicker of vulnerability passing over her face. “I do,” she confesses quietly.
“You could have helped to save it,” I say, unable to stop the words from spilling out.
Marlayna lifts her gaze, meeting my eyes. “Does it make me pathetic that, after a thousand years of life, the reality of death terrified me?”
I consider this for a moment. “No,” I finally reply, my voice steady. “Death should frighten us more than any other creature. It’s a finality in a life that otherwise stretches on forever. I do not judge your reluctance to die. But your eagerness to flee your oaths…” My words turn sharper, a biting edge slipping through. “That is something I cannot abide.”
I watch her throat bob, the faintest sign of hesitation in her movement.
“I am not proud of the actions of my house, but as I heard not long after, the forces of the Mordorin stood victorious in the end.”
A dark chuckle escapes me, one I can’t quite suppress, my disdain curling at the edges of my words. “Oh, we may have been left standing,” I reply, my tone dripping with irony, “but the Sundered Kingdoms are hardly ours to claim.”
Marlayna lifts her chin. “Perhaps it is time House Taramethos returned to the Sundered Kingdoms.” Her fingers drift across the velvet, skimming over my leg in a caress meant to entice, but her touch is no more alluring than a buzzing fly. “We could claim it together. Join our houses.”
My gaze flicks to the mirror, still surrounded by entranced guests, some laughing, others weeping at whatever visions torment them. I let her hand remain but weigh my words with care.
“I have no need for a wife, Lady Marlayna, and last I heard, you already had a husband.”
A flush rises over her skin, smooth and dark like midnight silk. She shifts, fingers tightening around the stem of her goblet. “My beloved Rourke did not survive the journey.”
She does not meet my eyes as she takes a measured sip of wine.
“My condolences,” I offer, though I suspect she has no use for them. “I hope he did not suffer.”
“No,” she murmurs, gaze still evading mine. “It was swift.”
But when her eyes flicker back to me, they carry something else, a guarded truth, a quiver beneath her practiced grace. I hear the phantom pulse of blood beneath her skin, taste the unspoken in the air between us. I arch a brow.
“And how did you say he died again?”
Marlayna straightens, her reply curt. “I didn’t.”
I nod, and with that, I place my untouched wine on the round table beside me. “I did wonder how Lord Rourke would take to such… titillating surroundings. He was always rather pious.”
“I miss him every day, of course. But the freedom I’ve had since settling in Ballamar has been quite liberating.”
“I can see that,” I murmur.
She lifts her empty goblet and gives a lazy flick of her wrist that sends a servant scurrying to refill it. As the servant vanishes, Marlayna turns back to me, curiosity darkening her gaze.
“Now it is my turn,” she says. “Why do you seek the mirror? What is it you hope to find?”
“Something I lost,” I reply. “And a city that moves with the clouds.”
