Page 48 of In the Ravenous Dark
He’s scrutinizing me. “You’re up to some mischief. I can see it in your eyes.”
“No, I’m not. I’m upset. Tormenting other people, including you, makes my own torment less tedious.”
“That’s not like you.”
“You don’t know me very well at all, do you?”
“I—” Before my guardian can finish, another voice cuts him off.
“Rovan!” It’s Lydea, hurrying between the marble columnsafter me, Japha on her heels. “Japha and I were hoping you might join us for a glass of wine in my apartments. You know, unwind after our class.”
I have places to be and secrets to discover… but I’ve never been one to say no to a full cup. Besides, this little gathering might be about more than just wine.
And perhaps I’m finding it harder and harder to say no to Lydea.
16
Sometime later that evening, I lie on a couch in the princess’s parlor. The ceiling overhead is midnight black marble inset with silver stars and a glorious full moon at the center that actually glows. The couch underneath me is more of a bed, wide enough to stretch out in either direction, upholstered in silver and white silk patterned like billowing clouds and strewn with black and blue pillows. Wine cups are now scattered across the low surrounding tables carved in red wood to look like poppy blossoms. Japha’s legs are tangled in mine—we’ve been trying something called “leg wrestling” that I lost at miserably and that ended in a fit of laughing—and my head rests on Lydea’s stomach.
She feelssogood. She’s lazily running her fingers through my blue-tinted hair, while Japha rearranges the rings on their fingers and holds their hands up to admire them against the dark, starry ceiling.
A few weeks ago, I could never have pictured myself lounging in a place like this, entwined with people like this. And for once, it isn’t horrifying to find myself here in the palace withroyals.
Because they’re not just that. They’re… my friends.
And maybe more, in Lydea’s case, though my stomach ties itself in nervous knots to think about the possibilities—and not all of them pleasant, if the princess isn’t trustworthy.
“What about you, Rovan?” Lydea asks. She’s been expounding on why she prefers women after we all soundly lamented our respective betrothals, as well as complained about Marklos, theking, our guardians, and pretty much anyone else on two legs who isn’t us or someone we currently find attractive.
We’ve all carefully avoided mention of my father.
It hasn’t all been idle chatter. They’ve warned me repeatedly about Kineas, even if none of us knows exactly how I’m going to avoid him. And, despite receiving reminders in no uncertain terms that access is restricted—that not even Lydea and Japha have been allowed inside—I’ve managed to find out exactly where in the palace the royal gallery is located, with the excuse that I want to see who among them is attractive or not. The silliness of my reasoning has hopefully allayed suspicion from anyone listening. But now I’ve had rather a lot of wine and the direction of my conversation has grown less focused.
“I go wherever beauty takes me,” I say with a grand sweep of my arm, “whether that’s to the lips of a man or woman.” I grin and jostle Japha with a leg. “Or neither.”
I try not to think about one particular man I find beautiful. A dead man. The beautifulwomanrunning her fingers through my hair is once again enough to distract me.
“At least you’re not entirely hopeless. Ugh, men.” Lydea shudders underneath me. “Most of them are too hairy and not nearly pretty enough to even tolerate kissing, let alone…ugh,” she repeats. “Alldan is a green-haired…man.”
“He looked quite handsome,” I admit. “If a bit unusual.” My father looked “unusual,” too, so I don’t actually find Alldan’s appearance all that strange. But I don’t want to talk about my father.
“That’s not the problem, I suppose. My mother had white hair as iridescent as an opal and silver eyes, as does Delphia…” Lydea trails off, no doubt trying not to think of her motherorher sister.
“Did you know, those features originally came from magic?” Japha asks in a light tone. “Rumor has it, Skylleans began altering themselves centuries ago, just for fun. The colors come naturallynow.” They gesture at my hair. “I guess they just stuck, over the generations. It makes sense. They’ve wielded blood magic and bloodlines longer than anyone.”
At my surprised expression, they say, “Yes, I know that bloodlines weren’t the first king Athanatos’s grand innovation. My father’s people kept their own histories.” Japha’s look grows distant as they stare up at the black ceiling. “This city was once a glorified cult of death worshippers. Here, they all say the first king—the first to conquer nigh everyone in the region and bring them all under the rule of Thanopolis—was the first to introduce blood magic into the fabric of his society. But really, it was his wife, a Skyllean. She brought with her knowledge of bloodlines and sigils, things that had once been seen as heretical witchcraft in the polis. Suspicious, is it not, that no one celebrates her as the ‘first queen’? There are historical sources, now lost along with the once-great libraries of my father’s once-great kingdom, that say the reason isn’t just because no one trusted her. It’s because she didn’t share her knowledge willingly.”
Everything that King Tyros did to Cylla, then, is an echo of what the first king did tohiswife. I don’t want to mention that in case the topic is too painful for Lydea… or if she doesn’t know the full truth of her mother’s past. Still, this all begs the question:Whyhas Skyllea come to make peace through Alldan and Lydea’s betrothal? One would think they could never trust Athanatos’s royal line after being twice betrayed.
Japha carries on in a casual tone, as if this isn’t a risky topic all around. “The first king, like his people, despised blood magic, despised Skyllea, but not from fear. It was jealousy of their power. And you know what they say about keeping your friends close but your enemies closer…”
Something itches in my mind. Maybe Skyllea has the same idea now. I almost don’t dare hope that they can still shelter me, maybeevenhelpme. And I certainly can’t share the thought out loud, even if my friends wouldn’t blame me for it.
Besides, the Skyllean delegation didn’t help my father at the ball. They disavowed him. Left him to Thanopolis’s vultures.
“We’re still doing that to this day”—Lydea sighs as if this is a dull and dreary conversation—“bringing the most powerful bloodlines into the family like priceless works of art to add to the royal collection. My mother. Rovan’s father.” She says it quietly, but she doesn’t shy away from it. For some reason, I appreciate that—the acknowledgment without dwelling. She taps me on the nose. “Theluckycommoner here and there.”
“Some of us royals aren’t thrilled, either,” Japha grumbles. “We get the long bloodlines, but the short end of the stick. The shortlife.”
