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It doesn’t matter. Whatever the answer, I can’t fight against it. Against him. I refuse to put myself back in the position of facing him, when I know I was so, so close to giving in.
Though alchemy is my favorite course, and the very reason I let Neleda convince me to come to this school, I have to drop out of the class and make sure I stay the hell away from him.
Except I can't. He summoned me to his court.
There has to be a way to avoid it. There must be.
I should fake a broken leg. All purgatories, I might as well really break my leg to escape it. His invitation has the stench of a trap all over it. I don’t know what he has in store for me, but it can’t be good.
I thought I hated him before, but it was nothing to the waves of rage now coursing through my blood. I'll never forgive how weak he just made me feel. Entirely out of control of the only thing that was ever truly mine, even when I had nothing else: my body. My soul.
I don't know how long I stay lying uselessly on my bed before I fall asleep. I worked for three days straight and before that, I don't think I stopped much. Not for six weeks.
Out of every thirty-hour day, I'm studying for at least twenty-five. I told myself I was eager to learn, but I'm starting to see the truth. What I am is hungry. I no longer have to worry about my safety or my next meal, courtesy of the man my mother married, but my character isn't going to change just because I get ten thousand golds every four weeks. I’ll always be a lane kid eager for more.
My days used to be physically taxing, but it’s my brain I’ve overused recently. I didn’t recognize the signs of fatigue before. Now, I crash for an entire day, only awakening on Raverday afternoon with the biggest migraine I've ever had.
I grunt, dragging my heels to my bathroom, eyes half closed. I have to learn to be kinder to myself. Starting now. I take my time enjoying the shower. The hot jets feel pretty damn amazing. I can't believe I just rush in and out of there most of the time. I haven't even tried the bath tub.
"You and me, later, baby," I tell the lion-footed inanimate object.
My wardrobe is uninspiring as ever, but today, it grates on me. Not looking like myself sucks. I shuffle through hanger after hanger of clothing, attempting to find something that looks remotely like something Hel Stovrj might choose. All of my options very much belong to Helyn Stovrj-Rhodes. I end up picking a taupe blouse and a pair of green slacks, and I scowl at my reflection.
I need to go shopping.
I've only kept a hundred golds from my two first transfers. In the undercity, that would have bought me an entire new wardrobe, but up here, I'll be lucky if I can get a jacket for the contents of my bank balance.
I decide to go back to my neighborhood to shop, though there's no chance I'll blend if I wear downtown fashion.
Why does it matter? I didn't blend in wearing those idiotic, beige, boring-ass clothes either, courtesy of one Zale Devar, self-appointed royal pain in my ass. If I'm going to stand out either way, I might as well look like myself.
Reluctantly pulling my e-stone out of the bedside table, I check my test schedule. The moment I fire up the device, I wince, the screen hurting my eyes even more than usual. I never understood how other people could spend hours staring at screens. Within seconds, the brightness pains my eyes.
My next exams, History 201 and Psychology 302, aren't until next week, and I've already read the materials. I can take an evening off.
Before I question myself, I gather the pile of already-read library books on my desk and head out to return them. I can borrow the next ten I need, and get to work reading after I'm back from two essential trips.
I rush through the familiar halls as fast as I can. It's pretty late, and if I want to get to the day market before anyone respectable wraps up, I have to get going. I'd rather not deal with the Glitter Lane night market if I can help it.
I return my books borrow the next ones on my list, then I’m in my speeder, racing through the darkening streets of Magnapolis, a smile on my lips for the first time in weeks.
I'm going home.
CHAPTERTHIRTEEN
A DANCE OF SNAKES
Nine weeks. In just nine stinking weeks, at the turn of the new year, I will reach my twenty-fifth winter and hold the reins of my kingdom.
Nine weeks until I have the authority to crush my enemies under my thumbs. The means to find out who they are in the first place.
I’ve requested to see the recordings of that fateful night so many years ago, and each time, I’ve received the same answer: the archives were tampered with, deleted without a trace. I’ve asked to see the days leading up to the massacre of my family, and was told nothing of consequence occurred. Whatever I try to uncover, my inquiry is brushed aside, ignored, redirected.
When I’m king, no one can stop me from finding out—even if I have to torture, threaten, and murder my way through the long list of witness.
Someone knows what happened. Someone saw something. A guard, a servant—seven hells, I’ll take a damn ghost if I must.
I have a simple plan in mind, and I’ll implement it right after my coronation.
