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“How about this for a reason, then.” Bastian drew himself up, somehow managing to look regal despite his bare chest and bedraggled hair. “If you involve my father and my uncle in any way I don’t want you to, I’ll have you both sent to the Burnt Isles.”
Lore couldn’t swallow her harsh intake of breath.
Gabe’s eyes darted her way, the stiffness with which he’d held himself slowly uncoiling. Finger by finger, he unclenched his hands.
“Fine,” he growled.
“Perfect. That’s settled.” Bastian grinned. “I suppose you two work for me now.”
But just because Gabe had given in didn’t meant he was going quietly. “So when exactly did you decide to take an interest in your subjects dying?”
“Gabriel.” Lore’s voice was sharp, but they were off again, though thankfully without violence this time.
“I’ve taken an interest since the beginning, Remaut.” Bastian dug in his pocket and pulled out another cigarette. Lore didn’t know how he’d managed to keep it dry enough to light, but it did without issue. He breathed out a cloud of smoke. “As much of one as I’ve been able to, since both Anton and August tried their hardest to keep me in the dark about the details.”
“Do you really need the details when you’re probably involved?”
“There’s an easy way for you to find out, Gabe.” Bastian stuck his hands in his pockets and grinned. “Why not just ask the corpse when we go to the vaults? That’s what Lore is supposed to be doing anyway, isn’t it?”
She thought of what happened this afternoon, when August had admonished her for asking questions of the corpse she’d raised instead of telling it to obey his orders. She hadn’t thought much of it then, but now she wondered why August and Anton hadn’t wanted her around when the dead started answering questions.
“I’ll ask again,” she said. “When we go, I’ll ask again.”
“Excellent.” Bastian ambled forward, casually strolling back into the manicured woods. The sky already looked lighter, the threat of dawn lurking around its edges. “If we have any further childhood traumas to work out after that, we can do it over breakfast.”
Inside the Citadel, the hallways were empty. Even the most dedicated of the debauched had finally retired to private rooms. Their steps echoed on the marble floor as Bastian led them back through the tangled warren of gold sconces and oil paintings and bejeweled statues to the narrow, unmarked door of the vaults once again.
The guard Gabe had incapacitated earlier was awake now. He stood at sleepy attention, the sharp end of his bayonet sagging slowly to the floor before he roused every few seconds and pulled it back up. His brow furrowed when he saw them coming, but when he recognized Bastian, he stood up pin-straight and inclined his head, apparently not discomfited in the slightest by the prince’s half nakedness. “Majesty.”
“Hail.” It was the most regal Lore had ever heard Bastian sound, not at all like he’d spent the last few hours getting beaten up on a dock. “I and my friends have business here. Lady Eldelore’s mother is in poor health and recently purchased a vault, with specific instructions that her daughter inspect its views at all different times of the day and night.”
Horseshit, but in that measured, princely voice, it sounded convincing. The guard’s face didn’t betray whether he bought it or not, but he nodded, opening the door behind him. “The Sacred Guard is still at his post.”
“He won’t be expecting us, but I’ll explain.” Bastian flicked his hand in obvious dismissal, and the guard stepped aside.
The three of them walked silently down the hallway beyond, still dark—no one had relit the candles after Bastian pinched them out. It made him a vague shape in the shadows, all dark hair and bare skin and bloody knuckles. He pushed open the door to the tunnel and waved Lore through with a bow.
Behind her, Gabriel snorted.
The Sacred Guard stationed at the end of the short tunnel said nothing as he watched them approach, but his grip on his bayonet eased when he saw the Sun Prince. Bastian didn’t wait for him to speak. “We have business here,” he said shortly.
The Sacred Guard nodded, though his eyes lingered curiously on Lore. He undoubtedly recognized her from earlier.
Fantastic.
But her mind didn’t have much room for worrying over the Arceneaux brothers and what they’d think about her going to the vaults with Bastian, or what they’d think about Horse’s reanimation when they inevitably heard. Lore could come up with something, lie enough to explain it away in a manner that would satisfy. Right now, she was too busy fighting down nausea at the prospect of seeing the child’s body again. At the possibility that he’d come back to some awful semblance of half-life, too.
“Lore?” Gabriel, soft and worried.
She shook her head, straightened. “I’m fine.” She set off toward the vault August had taken her to, trying her best to keep the tremble from her fingers. Above them, stars wheeled through the glass dome of the ceiling, the indigo sky streaked with fingers of lavender.
The opening in the side of the stone tower yawned like a toothless mouth. Bastian crossed his arms, cocked his head. “This the one?”
Lore nodded. She was pathetically thankful when Bastian entered first, ducking into the circular opening and disappearing into the dark beyond.
With one more look at her and a heavy sigh, Gabe ducked into the vault. Lore tipped up her head to the night sky through the glass, took a deep breath. Then she followed.
Her eyes adjusted slowly. Bastian stood between the stone Apollius’s outstretched hands, the cavity of the god’s chest positioned right behind him, like he was its missing heart. Gabe stood across from him, pressed into the opposite corner.
