See where the ships are stored.
“What? No, Orlaith.” A deep roll of laughter tumbles with the words. “Island days are too taxing. I need you to spend every spare moment right here, practicing for the trial.”
“You’d rather have me spend my days scrambling up the slippery side of an oversized bowl? Really?”
“Of course! You’re going to need all the practice you can get. When you conquer it, we’re one step closer to being coupled, and Rhordyn’s one step closer to getting his fleet and sailing back to his world of problems. Isn’t that what we both want?”
“Yes ...”
But the thought of floundering in that bowl for the next two weeks while Elder Creed watches on makes my chest cramp. Makes the ache in my shoulder throb with newfound gusto.
“As the High Master, can’t you just …absolvethe tradition?”
His face pales, expression hardening, and I realize I’ve said something wrong. “I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that,” he mutters, giving me his back. “And pray the Gods weren’t listening.”
Doubt it’ll make a difference if they were. I’ll probably never climb out of that fucking bowl because no God in their right mind would letmesit on a seat of power.
Not willingly.
I button my lips, watching him shove a long key into the lock. He swings the door open, revealing a large space and opulent furnishings bathed in rich, golden light from the abundance of chandeliers. It all passes by in a blur as I dash straight to the balcony’s double doors, pulling them wide, inviting a blow of brisk wind that ruffles the sheer curtains and makes my damp skin prickle.
I swear it howls at me.
I draw a deep breath, savoring the smell of freshly fallen rain as I step out onto the stone balcony, eyes widening, struck by the brightness of the city beneath the sheet of night—such a blazing contrast.
Cainon lifts my heavy, sodden hair off my back, startling me.
“Sorry.” He drapes a plush robe around my shoulders. “You looked cold. And it’s unseasonably chilly at the moment.”
I stuff my arms into the holes, then cross them over my chest, offering him a small smile. “Thank you …”
“No problem.” He runs his fingers through the tangled length of my hair, partitioning it off into three long sections he then begins to braid. “You have the best view in the palace,” he murmurs. “You can see the entire city from here.”
Huge, fire-filled bowls dot the bridge that spills from the palace grounds far below, stretching toward the mainland and the illuminated metropolis. Separating the city from the dark jungle beyond is the wall, its abundance of turrets blazing, creating a stark shield around the compact civilization.
It’s breathtaking. Unlike anything I could have imagined.
Little pops of excitement explode in my chest.
I wonder if the city is busy or quiet. What it smells like. Sounds like. What plants and wares and food it harbors. WhetherMadame Stringsis just beyond that bridge with all the answers I can swallow, my questions stacking up like a crooked pile of stones wobbling around inside of me.
What am I … exactly?Are there more of us around? Do all of my kind have this noxiousthingliving inside of them? Is there a way to control it?
Destroyit?
Perhaps she even knows why the Irilak don’t seem to be interested in suckling me to death.
Another blow of wind batters my face, and I shiver despite the robe.
He ties off my braid, then steps up beside me. “I trust the rooms are adequate?”
I spin, looking through the balcony doors, giving the vast space my full attention: lapis lazuli walls; gold trimmings; a plump, velvet floor pillow set before an open-mouthed, blazing fireplace. There’s a four-poster bed that’s low to the floor, the gold-brushed structure softened by blue chiffon curtains that flutter in the wind.
Again, my mattress is dressed in stark, white sheets. Even the comforter folded at the end is white.
A blank canvas for me to bleed on.
I look away, toward a frosted glass door that likely leads to my own personal washroom, then to the dressing table overlooked by an ornate mirror hanging on the wall. Beside it, a dressing room packed with rows of gowns in the richest shades of blue—beaded with gold, threaded with gold, dusted with gold.
