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Aurelius bit his bottom lip and placed a fingertip on Calix’s furry chest—the heat radiating off him. He trailed the finger down to his rock-hard stomach, over the ridges and grooves, and down toward his loincloth. “Are you sure about that, Mr. Satyr? Will you not tell me where you locked yourself away last night, so I can come and visit next time?”
Calix snatched his wrist, so hard it felt like the skin had been punctured. His eyes were pure carnage.
“Don’t!” he growled.
And it was a growl. A wolf threatening a lamb.
Aurelius looked up in shock. “I just thought...”
Calix’s fingernails dug deeper. Aurelius gasped as blood dripped down his forearm.
“You want to know what I am, Aurelius? You want to know what I can do? With these wonderful powers, I can ruin lives. I can take the people I love the most, who trust me the most, and I can force them to act like animals. I can build the zeal inside them until they think they might explode. And then, at the peak of their passions, I can drain it all away! Hollow them out! Leaving them as broken, joyless husks!”
“I didn’t...” said Aurelius, trying to step back.
Calix pulled him closer. “Don’t you get it? I am a beast! I am a monster! And if I ever allow myself to lose control, I know that I can kill.”
“I was just...”
Calix’s face was beyond fury. “None of this is a game, Aurelius! None of this is fun! I do everything I can to lock this thirst away. I do everything I can to lock these powers away. And I will never, ever use them again!”
55
TEIGRA
Ms. Securia drew the bronze-tipped comb through Teigra’s hair, making it, if not necessarily neat, at least closer to straight than usual.
Though only a few doors down from her own, she’d never been inside Ms. Securia’s bedroom. It was sparser than she’d expected—little more than a bed and the dresser that Teigra sat at.
Through the window, dusk washed the surrounding roofs, confirming what she already knew: the hours were fast slipping away.
She thumbed her pendant as the comb rasped through knots. This morning it’d seemed the perfect way to punish Aurelius. And though it shamed her to admit it, it had felt good to see his shock. Not just for personal revenge, but also that he might learn a lesson about the hurt he inflicted on others.
But as the hours passed, that smugness had faded. Now, the situation had become mortifyingly real.
She was going to be the guest of honor at the palace. Around every member of Ardora’s nobility.
The first blow came when she’d visited the baths for a particularly good scrub, with women she’d never met pointing and whispering and peering around corners. Next had been the awful, brittle smile that Jaspar had given her when wishing her luck “on her date.”
And now there was this, being sat in terrifying silence before Ms. Securia’s polished bronze mirror, waiting for the dreadful hour to come.
Across Dynosia, bronze was reserved for the holiest of objects. In Mestibes, that meant scroll handles and statue plinths and the like. In Ardora, that meant things like mirrors and combs.
But no amount of holiness could hide the vision of discomfort staring back at her from the pool of glowing orange.
I don’t belong at the palace! I’ll just embarrass myself again! In front of everyone. In front of all the people who are already laughing at me!
“Quite a turn of events,” said Ms. Securia, without pausing the combing. “Me asking you to stick close to the herald, and you doing the opposite.”
“Please, Ms. Securia,” she said, relieved the silence had been broken, “I can explain! Aurelius forced me into that situation. He shoved me into the princess and—”
“He forced the wine down your throat? He forced the kiss you placed on the future king of this land?”
Her mouth gaped.
“Exactly. We must take responsibility for our actions, Teigra. That is what Mesti expects of us.”
“And I do! But just... please know that I didn’t do it to help Aurelius. I promise. I know the punishment for that.”
