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‘That’s not what I mean.’ He let himself fall back in the armchair with an uncharacteristically unrestrained gesture, wings folding uncomfortably between his tall back and the faded, floral cushions. ‘I know he’s on our side – as much as he’ll ever be on anyone’s side. I’m not worried about your physical safety.’
‘Then what is it – bloody public opinion again?’ I scoffed. ‘Because I’ve thought about it for a bit, and I’ve decided the public can go walk into the sea with their opinions. I can’t please all of them anyway.’
‘Not the point either,’ he said, pinching the bridge of his nose with agitated fingers. ‘I’m just trying to understand … Hell, what in the world are your plans with him, Em? Beyond this war, I mean? Is this just some … some temporary fling? Or are you hoping for more than that in gods-know-how-many years down the road?’
I bit back several impolite answers welling up in me, settling for an icy, ‘I don’t see how that is anyone’s concern but mine, to tell you the truth.’
He muttered a curse under his breath.
‘Agenor—’
‘Listen,’ he interrupted, sounding as if he’d like to grab me by the shoulders and shake me until I obeyed that exasperated command. ‘I know he can be charming, alright? I know he’s perfectly able to choose the right words to get what he wants to get and achieve what he wants to achieve, and gods know you wouldn’t be the first to fall for pretty promises. If you’reexpecting more from him, there’s absolutely nothing to blame you for.’
I slapped my mouth shut, forcing the least genuine laugh I’d uttered in weeks. ‘What exactly is your point?’
‘What I’m trying to say …’ He paused, fingers fidgeting purposelessly. ‘You should realise Creon wasn’t born for peace and contentment, Em. The war is in his blood and bones. He’s not going to settle down and take up gardening for the rest of his life, no matter how peaceful the world around him, and I don’t want you to expect some grand romance, only for him to break your heart in a couple of months when he runs off for fresh blood to shed.’
I was beyond the impolite answers now.
Through the deafening rush of blood in my ears, I could only stare at him – at the tired lines around his mouth and the cramped twitches of his fingers and those green-gold eyes, so full of worry, looking so very much like mine. All those good intentions. All that honest concern. And then these were the words born from those commendable feelings, all rot and poison – enough to make the godsworn magic itch under my skin in hungry ways I did not want to think too long about.
Pretty promises.
The fucking gall.
‘I know you mean well,’ I heard myself say, my voice strangely level against the anger thumping through my veins. ‘So I’ll be polite about it just once, alright?’
He narrowed his eyes. ‘What do you—’
‘Here’s the thing,’ I interrupted, every muscle in my body so tense it felt like I might snap in two. ‘Until five minutes ago, you apparently weren’t aware he drinks tea. Is that correct? While I can assure you he does – buckets of it. Preference for mint tea, with a slice of lemon if he can get it. I presume that’s news to you, too.’
Agenor frowned, gold-flecked fingers rubbing the silk cuffs of his shirt. His voice was stiff as he said, ‘I fail to see what his lemon tea has to do with the matter of—’
‘What I’m trying to say, you log-headed idiot, is that you don’t have the faintest idea ofwho he is.’ My voice was rising again. So much for the attempt at politeness. ‘You can proudly wave around the fact that you’ve known him since the day he was born, and I’d like to counter that apparently, in three centuries and a bit, you’ve never managed to realise there evenisa person you don’t know behind the façade he’s always shown you at the court. Do you have any idea what he thinks about when you’re not around? Do you know what makes him smile? Do you have the faintest fucking clue of what he does in his spare time, when he isn’t torturing himself to death or scheming against the Mother?’
Judging by the slightly hollow expression on Agenor’s face, the concept of spare time in relation to Creon had never occurred to him in the first place. ‘I … I don’t think—’
‘No!’ I snapped. ‘Exactly! Much easier to assume he delights only in the sensation of fresh blood on his hands and has no hobbies but the seduction of poor, innocent virgins than to actuallythinkabout what you know of him, isn’t it?’
Agenor huffed a befuddled breath. ‘But—’
‘He likes astronomy,’ I said, biting out the words like arrows aimed at vulnerable flesh. ‘Did you have any idea? He’ll spend whole days puzzling over star charts if you let him – something to do with triangulation and oscillating stars, whatever the hell any of that means. I’ve never seen anyone get that excited about the connection between ellipses and gravity. You should ask him about his theories on Kothro’s brightness someday – you won’t be able to leave for the next thirty minutes, but I guarantee youwilllearn something new from the experience.’
Had I described the Mother as a gentle, humble lady with a particular interest in flower arrangements, my father could not have gaped at me any more bewilderedly.
‘He likes to cook.’ I counted the points on my fingers. ‘He likes to read books by philosophers who argue endlessly about the true meaning of the wordmeanwhile. He likes flying at night, and in storms. He likes cats. I don’t suppose any of that rings a bell?’
‘I … Good gods, Em.’ His deep voice was cracking, as close to thinness as it could ever be. ‘He’s never—’
‘Exactly. So my point is’ – I underscored the words with the theatrical gesture of an illusionist about to reveal his grandest trick – ‘that maybe you’re not entirely in a position to tell me about his hopes and dreams and future intentions, you see? Which is the polite way of putting it. Please don’t make me start a family feud by telling me I’m wrong.’
Agenor blinked at me. Then blinked at the floor and blinked up at me again, thoughts visibly spinning red-hot behind his eyes – making frantic attempts, doubtlessly, to match the words I was speaking to the Creon Hytherion he had known for three and a half centuries, ruthless and violent and hungry for nothing but blood and pleasure.
To his credit, he did not tell me I was wrong.
‘I see.’ The tone of his voice said the opposite. ‘More or less.’
I slouched on the edge of the bed, heartbeat slowly coming down a smidge for the first time in this conversation. ‘Good.’
