“Only Artemisia,” he says. “She let me through and rolled her eyes, but she didn’t say anything. I think she might have missed me.”
“I think she just really can’t stand Maile, and it’s making her like other people a bit more by comparison,” I say.
“Either way, I’ll take it,” he says with a shrug. “I couldn’t sleep, either.”
“Does Erik snore?” I ask him.
Søren shakes his head, a small smile playing on his lips, though it fades quickly. “Terribly, but I got used to that ages ago,” he says before hesitating, looking down at his hands and licking his lips. “I’ve seen a lot of terrible things, Theo. This wasn’t the first time I’ve been held captive, beaten.”
I wince. “And all of them were because of me,” I point out. “I’m sorry.”
He shakes his head.
“No, I don’t mean that,” he says. “And please don’t apologize for it. I’d go through it all again to be here now, with you, as the person I am. I just mean that this time was different.”
I frown. “What do you mean?”
He considers his words carefully for a moment. “The first time—on the Smoke—I was still so full of guilt. I deserved to be in that brig; I deserved what was happening to me. I don’t think I was ever angry about it. I wasn’t angry in Sta’Crivero, either. I felt…I don’t know. Resigned. It was a misunderstanding because of who my father was, and that seemed…strangely appropriate. Besides, I think I always knew that you would find a way to get me out of there. There was always a light at the end of that tunnel.”
He pauses, his fingers playing with a run in the comforter. There’s still dirt wedged under his fingernails, still thin cuts on the backs of his hands, closed up but red.
“But this time…it was my own people holding me there. It was a girl I’ve known my whole life, someone I might have even liked and respected at one point. It was a world that I was a part of, once, a world that I was supposed to end up ruling. And you…you were dead. So this time, I was angry. And that anger felt like it was going to eat me alive, but it was also the only thing that kept me going. I think you understand that better than most.”
I say nothing, only nod.
“I thought that anger would go away, now that I’m here and alive and safe again, but it hasn’t. It’s just festering, like an open and untreated wound. I don’t know what to do with it,” he says. “I don’t know how to make it go away.”
“You don’t,” I tell him after a second. “You learn to live with it, and you learn how to let it push you forward. The anger is always going to be there, but you can give it a direction and a purpose and turn it into something good.”
He nods, his eyes still far away. “I’m with you, Theo,” he says. “I know I said that before, and I meant it then, but it was different. I knew what you were fighting for and I supported it and I wanted to do everything I could to help you succeed. But now…I’m in it with you. And I’ll be with you until the very end, whatever that might entail. Because those are my people, and whether I like it or not, they are my responsibility. And they need to be stopped.”
I bite my lip. “We’ve never talked about it, Søren,” I say quietly, “about what happens at the end, if we’re victorious. What that victory looks like and what it means for the Kalovaxians who survive it.”
“We haven’t,” he says carefully. “But I can’t have a say in that. What I faced in the dungeon was a mild inconvenience compared to what the Kalovaxians have done to millions. And I trust your judgment.”
I can’t begin to think about what judgment that will be. It’s so far away, with so many variables. But it’s a decision Søren trusts me to make, and so I hope that when the time comes, I’ll be able to do just that.
His hand tentatively reaches for mine, and when I entwine my fingers with his, we both just stare at them until he breaks the silence.
“I really thought you were dead,” he says, his voice quiet. “This still feels like a dream, like I’m going to wake up and none of it will be real.”
“I’m real,” I tell him, but I know exactly what he means. He doesn’t feel entirely real to me, either, more like a figment of my imagination that I somehow made corporeal. “We’re alive,” I add, for both of our sakes. “We’re here.”
I DON’T REMEMBER FALLING ASLEEP, BUT when I find myself in the Astrean throne room, I know I must be dreaming. Light from the waning moon filters through the stained-glass ceiling, casting the large room in an eerie, otherworldly glow.
“There you are,” Cress’s voice says, and I whirl around to see her, standing mere feet from me in a gown of ink-blue silk, with a wide neckline and gossamer bell sleeves studded with diamonds, making her look like the night sky itself. Her white hair is loose, falling just to her shoulders, still brittle and frayed at the ends. Her lips are blacker than they were when I saw her last, but when she steps closer, I realize that it isn’t all natural—she’s painted them with black lacquer.
I wonder if she’s trying to make it into some kind of style, something strange and beautiful instead of a flaw. I wonder if the court is now full of noblewomen with painted black lips, if merchants are charging absurd prices for a lacquer shade they likely made using nothing more than coal and grease.
“You’ve been forgetting about me. I haven’t seen you in days,” she accuses.
I feel the old urge to apologize, and have to hold myself back. I don’t owe her apologies. I don’t owe her anything.
“I’m dead,” I tell her with a shrug. “I have better things to do than entertain you. In fact, perhaps I should go.”
I make a move to leave, though I’m not sure where I would go or how I’d make myself wake up, but the bluff works. Cress grabs my hand roughly, her fingers hot against my skin.
“No, don’t,” she says, her desperation leaking through before she hastily adds “Please,” her voice small and childlike.
I pretend to hesitate. “Fine,” I say. “I suppose I can stay for a bit.”
She releases my hand and instead loops her arm through mine, squeezing it and smiling broadly.
“Exciting things are happening, Thora,” she says. “Very exciting things. I had to give up Prinz Søren to set them in motion, but it was a price worth paying, I suppose,” she adds with a pout.
My stomach turns as I think about Brigitta and Laius. Has she already discovered that Laius isn’t Jian? Has Brigitta broken so soon?