Page 42 of Chaos and Crowns

Nora’s look of distaste didn’t fade, but she conceded.

“Fine, if you don’t mind having her around, then she can join in the fun too.”

Odelle nodded. “I think she’d like getting out into the world a bit more.”

Nora looked skeptical but pushed ahead. “Either way, we’ll keep an eye on you, and you keep listening for signs of the Shadow. The sooner we get the crown back, the better.”

Odelle couldn’t agree more. Retrieving the crown would go a long way towards loosening the knot of uneasiness and guilt that had taken up residence in the pit of her stomach.

* * *

The parade of guards from the Eteria turned out to be a welcome addition to what was quickly becoming the most boring work week of Odelle’s life. In a market like Chicago, the problem usually seemed to be figuring out which thefts, murders, and trials to report on. Now though, she and Paul were scrounging up special interest pieces to pad their run time. Last night, she had done a piece on a local dairy-free ice cream making competition. It was slim pickings.

Having Nora or Adam around to keep an eye on her seemed superfluous when the world was generally so peaceful. Still, the twinge of guilt in Odelle’s chest when she remembered tossing the crown to the Shadows kept her from being relieved that the Shadow hadn’t struck yet. The longer it bided its time, the longer it had to amass its forces.

Odelle could tell Antony felt the same. As much as they were enjoying their newfound intimacy, he asked if there had been any news of the Shadow first thing whenever she visited in the evening. They spent most of their time together at the Sanctuary, and while Odelle didn’t bring it up, she suspected it had to do with Antony wanting to keep her out of danger.

Still, Odelle wasn’t going to turn up her nose at spending more time at the Sanctuary with Antony as her guide. One evening, he led her through the halls, telling her stories of all the art adorning the walls; some of it made by Eteria members in the distant past while some had been collected by Adam throughout the years.

Odelle paused before an impressionist-style painting, resting her head on Antony’s shoulder as she admired the hazy pink and purple florals before her. He laced his fingers between hers in response, and she smiled at how easily casual intimacy was growing between them.

“Adam brought this one back to the Sanctuary when he was spending some time living in Australia. I think Adam thought he would enjoy nature and wildlife, but it turns out he enjoys nature only in an academic sense,” Antony explained.

Odelle huffed a breathy laugh, not having a hard time believing that of her sister’s boyfriend, who seemed to have invested considerable stock in the tweed blazer business.

“I didn’t know there was a large impressionist presence in Australia,” Odelle commented.

“This was done by a friend of his,” Antony said. “He didn’t become famous, and I don’t even think he painted for a living, but it’s still beautiful. In fact, I don’t think any of our paintings come from famous artists, but I still think we have a lovely collection.”

Odelle lifted her head to peer up and down the walls, and indeed the compilation of paintings would have made the Art Institute envious. Even then though, something about these works spoke to Odelle even more than those in museum galleries. Perhaps it was due to the stories of the people who made them, creating them for the sheer joy of expression and given to people they yearned to share their beauty with. It was a perfect echo of the way Antony spoke of the Light.

“I’m surprised none of these paintings are yours,” Odelle commented, thinking of Antony’s room strewn with endless works in progress, from jewelry to mechanical toys.

“To my great shame, painting was never something I mastered. I can sculpt and throw pottery passably, but drawing or anything of the sort doesn’t resonate for me. I have tried to pick it up dozens of times over the centuries, thinking it will be different, but I guess it never is,” Antony admitted.

“Well, I suppose you couldn’t go around being good at everything,” Odelle teased. His responding smile made her heart do some interesting gymnastics in her ribcage. As she tugged him along to the next painting, a portrait, his pleased expression faded.

She glanced between Antony and the face in the painting, a severe woman in white, hair pulled so tight her scalp must surely ache. Even in a picture, the woman exuded power and authority. Still, the tiny crinkle at the corner of her eyes spoke of a kindness under the stern exterior.

“Who is she?” Odelle asked, voice quiet to reflect the sense of reverie in the air.

“She was our Commander. She led the Eteria for hundreds of years before the Defeat and is the reason most of us are here,” Antony explained, not taking his eyes off the portrait before him.

“She sounds like a force to be reckoned with.”

A smile pulled at Antony’s lips, even as the sorrow in his eyes deepened. “She was everything the Eteria needed in a leader. Fearless in a fight and compassionate off the battlefield. Sometimes I think—” Antony swallowed thickly. “If she had survived, then she would have been able to regain the Light for us. She would have led us back to our former glory, instead of us being a ragtag group, haunted by grief.”

“Did she die in the Defeat?”

“She died on the battlefield to save me.” Antony’s shoulders slumped at the admission. “She dove in front of a Shadow while beseeching me to use my powers to save the Eteria. The only sorcerer with more capacity for Light than me, one who everybody looked up to, died because of me, and all I could do was lead us in a retreat.”

His voice broke, along with Odelle’s heart at the grief he carried. Guilt was a burden that only grew heavier with time, and after millennia, the weight of it on Antony’s conscience was palpable.

“Do you know how I lost my legs?” Odelle asked abruptly. That drew Antony’s gaze away from the Commander’s image as he glanced at her with furrowed brows.

“No?”

“I don’t talk about it much, and people assume it’s because it hurts to think about, but that’s not the truth,” Odelle said pensively. “I never bring it up because I don’t want people to see me as a victim—not when I have lived an incredibly fortunate life, all things considered. Just like I don’t like to mention I was once a foster child, as it seems wrong to have people pity me when Nora and I were adopted by the most loving woman to walk the face of the earth. The truth is though, that I don’t think about losing my legs often… I don’t even remember it. Irina, though—I know she thinks about it all the time.