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Lunch was a hurried,haphazard affair: half of the family had already eaten by the time we arrived at the table, and we were kept company only by Hallthor, who spent most of the meal furiously scribbling a new sword design, and Beyla, who was similarly busy marking locations on maps. Both of them made visible attempts to be civil to Creon, at least. Still, I was glad to get away from the table as soon as I’d swallowed my last spoonful of soup; mere feet away from the spot where Creon had collapsed with an arrow in his back an hour ago, it was a struggle not to feel the urgency of all we had left to do.
Last night, the atmosphere haunting the Underground had been one of tense anticipation. The mood that now hung over the same buried corridors was almost the polar opposite – nowaiting but acting, a feverish activity in every nook and corner we passed. Alves were fading back and forth wherever we looked, dragging luggage and food around. In the council hall at the heart of the city, a small host of nymphs was chalking a giant map of the archipelago on the dark floor, placing wooden blocks on the outlines of islands to represent the armed forces of our opponents. Others were sparring, writing letters, sharpening blades. As if the Alliance had been a waiting arrow all these weeks, its string pulled tighter and tighter as the days ticked by … until the Mother had finally made her move against the Golden Court and sent us all hurtling towards our final battle.
I couldn’t help but wonder, remembering the stark white hills Tared had shown me, how many final battles I would be fighting in the years to come.
No one stopped us as we made our way to Inika’s quarter, where the newly arrived fae forces were taking up residence in what had originally been phoenix homes. But the eyes and ears were there at every corner we turned, and the whispers rose in a steady stream behind our backs. At first, I thought it was because of Edored’s utter lack of secrecy, every single soul in the Underground suddenly aware of the truth between us …
And then I heardwhatthey were whispering.
‘… say she walked straight through their magic …’
‘… not a scratch! Not a single scratch!’
‘… even more powerful than him …’
I glanced at Creon beside me, whose face could have been hewn from stone, fathomless eyes gazing into the distance with a blatant disinterest that suggested the opposite below the surface. Those pointy ears tended to be more perceptive than mine. IfIhad heard that last sentence, hissed by one busty vampire to another, he most certainly had.
His expression didn’t even twitch in response, scarred eyebrow a fraction higher than the other, unbreakable faint smile around his lips. And yet …
There was a sense of melancholy about him that even that meticulous shield couldn’t hide, a darkness far more pressing than the careless cruelty he hid behind.
‘You’re alright?’ I muttered as we rounded the next corner, leaving the two vampires and their shameless ogling behind.
He lifted one shoulder without glancing my way, a gesture too indifferent to even qualify as a shrug. ‘I’m not the one this is new for.’
True, of course. How often had he sauntered through the marble halls of the Crimson Court in much the same way, courtiers whispering with fearful admiration about his latest ruthless feat, forgetting there might still be a heart hidden behind those layers of bravura?
It might not be anything new plaguing him. Gods knew there were plenty of old things left to haunt his every step.
We passed another flutter of saucer-eyed nymphs, pupils in every colour of the rainbow following us down the corridor. The worst part of it, I realised, was not the judgement that might hide behind those unfaltering gazes. It was the way it made me see myself through the eyes of others again: some unknowable creature on a pedestal, like the heroine in a grand and epic ballad, more power than person, more symbol than soul.
‘So how do you get used to it?’ I said quietly, throwing a quick look over my shoulder to make sure no one was close enough to hear me. ‘This feeling that you’re just a little too much for the place you’re in?’
Creon sent me a side glance, eyebrow quirking up. ‘It’s too small, you mean.’
‘What?’
‘Watch out who you’re blaming,’ he clarified, lips tight. ‘You’re not too much. The place is too small. Very different problem, very different solution.’
I blinked, waiting until a giddy couple of nymphs with laundry baskets had hurried past. Just like that, he effortlessly understood me again – as if that unravelling conversation on his bed had never even taken place. ‘You know the feeling, then.’
‘I know the feeling.’ He sounded grimly amused. ‘Why do you think I grew quietly obsessed with you the moment you started calling me an idiot?’
There’s nothing small about you.Hadhebeen the one feeling small, those days, for what might have been the first time in centuries?
I hadn't been able to understand so well before. Just a few minutes out here, in this nosey, admiring, intimidated company, and already I was aching for someone to just slap me on the shoulder, invite me for a drink, and call me some unflattering nicknames for no reason but the fun of it.
‘Right,’ I said sheepishly.
There was a sadness in his brief smile – regret as much as understanding. ‘Don’t worry too much about it. You’ll handle it.’
I scoffed. ‘You always say that.’
‘Have I ever been wrong?’ he countered, then laughed when I found myself unable to produce a more sensible answer than a heartfelt, wordless grumble. Of course he was rarely wrong, damn it. It was just that I couldn’t even begin to imagine how I would ever turn this gawking audience into friends again, into people who were at least aware of the very fallible heart beating in my chest.
I would handle it, presumably.
And on the bright side, the opinions of people who were little more than familiar acquaintances were not even close to the first of my worries these days.
