Chapter 79 Avoiding
Seven days.
It had been exactly seven days since I last saw Klaus. Seven days since the heavy iron door of my quarters had opened to reveal his tall, imposing silhouette. The sharp, clean scent of ozone and winter salve that always preceded him had completely faded from the room, replaced by the sterile, dusty smell of dry stone and old velvet.
I sat on the edge of the large four-poster bed, staring at the cold hearth. Sulla, the mute maid, had come and gone twice today, leaving a tray of roasted gull and pale, boiled root vegetables on the sideboard. The food was cold now, congealing in a layer of white fat. I hadn't touched it. My stomach felt like it was tied into a tight, hard knot, rejecting even the thought of eating.
I rubbed my bare arms. The fire had died hours ago, but the chill sinking into my bones had nothing to do with the draft coming through the high arrow loops. It was a deep, internal freezing.
He was avoiding me.
At first, I had convinced myself he was simply occupied. The Emperor’s court was a snake pit, and the Grand Admiral had a fleet to repair, borders to secure, and lies to maintain. I had paced the length of the rug, telling myself that the moment the sun dipped below the smog, the iron latch would click, and he would step inside. I had waited for the flash of his sapphire eyes, the heavy thud of his boots, the warmth of his freezing hands.
But the latch never clicked.
By the fourth day, I had asked the guards stationed outside my door. They had simply crossed their halberds, their red eyes staring blankly over my head. "The Grand Admiral is unavailable, Arch-Duchess."
The title tasted like ash in my mouth. Arch-Duchess. Voice of the Empire. It was a gilded collar, and the man holding the leash had dropped it and walked away.
I couldn't stay in the room another second. The walls were pressing in, the air growing thick and unbreathable. I stood up, smoothing the dark, heavy fabric of my skirts. I didn't bother with the black pearl veil. Let them look. Let them see the ghost he had left behind.
I pushed the heavy oak doors open. The guards tensed, but I didn't give them a command. I just walked straight through the center of their crossed weapons, daring them to stop me. They hesitated, the sharp steel of the halberds parting just enough for me to slip through. They didn't stop me, but they fell into step behind me, the rhythmic clanking of their armor a constant, grating reminder that I was still a prisoner.
I walked down the spiraling stone staircase and out into the Grand Atrium of the Citadel.
The light here was a sickly, jaundiced yellow, fighting its way through the stained glass of the domed ceiling. The vast hall was crowded with the elite of the vampire court. They stood in clusters of dark silk and glittering jewels, sipping thick red liquid from crystal flutes. The air was suffocating, thick with the smell of crushed orchids, copper, and the musky scent of predatory boredom.
The moment my heels clicked against the black marble floor, the noise in the atrium shifted.
It wasn't a sudden, terrified silence. It was worse. The conversations dropped to a collective, buzzing whisper. Heads turned just enough to catch me in their peripheral vision. Eyes the color of fresh blood tracked my movements.
I kept my chin high, forcing my legs to move in a slow, measured glide. I focused on the massive bronze doors at the far end of the hall. I just needed to reach the library. I just needed a place to hide.
As I passed a group of young lords leaning against a marble pillar, a voice drifted over to me, sharp and entirely intentional.
"...seen him in the lower training yards all week. Hasn't set foot near the West Wing."
"Can you blame him?" another voice replied, dripping with amusement. "A novelty wears off. Even a singing fish loses its charm when it's kept in a bowl too long."
I bit the inside of my cheek until I tasted the sharp, hot tang of my own blood. I didn't slow down. I didn't look at them.
"Nerissa! Darling!"
The voice cut through the whispers like a silver knife.
I stopped. My spine went rigid.
Sitting on a circular velvet settee in the center of the atrium was Lady Vespera. She was surrounded by a half-dozen courtiers who hovered around her like flies on a fresh kill. She wore a gown of crushed sapphire velvet—a deliberate, mocking choice of color. She looked fully recovered from the humiliation of the ballroom. In fact, she looked radiant. Vicious and triumphant.
She patted the empty space on the settee next to her. "Come, sit with us. You look absolutely dreadful. Are you not sleeping well?"
I turned slowly to face her. The smell of her heavy floral perfume hit the back of my throat, making me want to gag.
"I am perfectly well, Vespera," I said, my voice flat, devoid of the resonance that could force her to her knees. I wouldn't use my gift for a parlor trick. Not here. Not now.
Vespera smiled, her lips parting just enough to show the razor-sharp tips of her fangs. "Oh, bravery. How quaint. But there is no need to put on a brave face for us, sweet girl. We all know."
"Know what?" I asked, refusing to break eye contact.
Vespera took a delicate sip from her crystal flute. She let the silence stretch, savoring the attention of the surrounding vampires who had quieted down to listen to the slaughter.
"That the Grand Admiral has grown bored of his little pet," she purred. The words were coated in sugar, but they carried the weight of a hammer. "It is the talk of the High Council. He actually requested a new suite of rooms in the East Wing yesterday. Did he not tell you? He said the air in the West Tower was becoming... stagnant."