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“Is he the one who chose me?” The words are barely audible.
“He is,” Einar confirms.
“And you still trust him?” I try to say the words as a joke, but they come out as sharply as I had thought them.
Einar shoots me a cautious grin.
“He could have chosen worse.”
I return his smile, but mine is weak in comparison. Because now I know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that the man we’re going to see is a traitor.
Chapter Forty-Four
Shimmering black stones makes up the base of the house, sparkling like tourmaline, stones that shouldn’t even be used in this manner. There was no expense spared for the architecture of this place. The stones lead to wide windows that stretch around the expanse of the building.
The main door is a large, ornate thing with metal details that form arcs and whorls nailed into the spruce egress.
"A bit over the top," Einar tells me in an undertone.
“Says the king of a castle," I tease, and he smiles.
It takes a moment before I can tear my gaze from his lips, which only makes his grin widen.
I’m not really surprised at his excess, so like Madame’s. For an ambassador, maybe, but alchemists can name their prices. That level of understanding of the properties of each everyday thing which surrounds us is rare and valuable, so, of course, he would live in a place like this.
"I can’t say much for the man personally, but he has worked with my family for generations," he adds as we make our way toward the elaborate staircase.
It doesn’t escape my notice that he’s offering up information I didn’t ask for, and I look at him askance.
"I suppose a king explaining himself on occasion isn't the worst thing in the world.” His expression gives nothing away, even as he uses the words I hurled at him only yesterday.
“I suppose not.” I give him the barest hint of a smile.
In spite of the snow falling around us, the flurries melt on each of the steps as soon as they land. Heat radiates from each one, preventing any ice from forming that could cause us to slip.
It’s probably impressive for most people, to see things such as this. But considering my history with alchemists, the showy display only nauseates me.
Khijha takes tentative steps in front of us, her tail twitching and her ears perked on high alert.
Einar gestures with a hand for me to precede him to the front door, but he doesn't hold out his arm or his elbow, and I realize he has not touched me since the cave.
I witnessed plenty of displays of affection at the festival, so I doubt it has anything to do with Gunnar's presence. The king is an enigma, but not one I have time to contemplate right now.
He knocks on the frame, and a voice calls for us to enter. As soon as we open the door, I can see that the man is not Jokithan. His back is to us as he muddles something in a wooden bowl. His hair is a mousy shade of brown; it’s sparse and balding atop his menial frame unlike any I have seen here.
The hands at work are several shades darker than Einar's, but not as dark as even mine, let alone the other Jokithans. It must be something in his alchemy that has kept him alive this long.
But where he comes from is the least of the surprises the alchemist has in store for me. When he turns around, I take a step back. Shock stills my movements and steals my breath.
Khijha steps between us, a low growl coming from her chest.
I always knew that there was a chance I would see him again, but I assumed it would be on an errand for Madame. I wouldn't have even put it past her to invite him to the château.
I am utterly unprepared for the sight of him before me now.
A thousand images flash through my mind, each more haunting than the last. I have had nearly a decade to train my mind not to go back to that night, but his unexpected presence here threatens to slither through my defenses.
I force myself to look anywhere in the room besides his small round spectacles and my reflection in them, so different than it was then. But he hasn’t changed at all.
