Page 83 of The Cerulean Sister
"I am." His answer is stiff.
I have to walk faster than comfortable to keep his pace.
"Is Thea well?" I ask in a hushed tone.
"You should not be asking after High Priestess Thea. It could jeopardize her," he scolds, reminding me how serious he always is.
He cares for Thea and always has. Even if neither of them approves of my choices, she is my oldest friend, and the last thing I want is for her to be punished if someone found out she used the beacon. I can see he does not want that either, and I can't blame his hostility at that fact.
But it doesn't stop me from purposely slowing my pace. He can continue to run through the Estate without me if he likes.
When we get to Lord Hollis's door, Ben pushes it open for me to step inside the enormous chambers.
"Ah, High Priestess Ferren, blessed morning," Lord Hollis greets, walking in from his sitting room. The entry of his chambers is a large dining area, with an even larger fireplace mantel. Gold-leafed doors frame the room in the back, where his private quarters are, but thankfully, the table is set for breakfast, so Mother willing, we will stay in here.
The edges of the room house ornate furniture with bottles of drink and servers waiting to be called on. Ben and the other guards inside the chamber take their places by the exit, so still and blank-faced, like they are part of the decor.
"Sit! Sit, sit, sit, sit," Lord Hollis hisses.
"Blessed morning." I bow my head and slowly round the table toward the place settings for two. He expects me to eat with him, but I can barely stand to be in the same room.
"Grey does not suit you. Makes your complexion look . . . nauseated."
"Perhaps it is the company."
The back of his hand strikes across my face, making my neck kink the other direction from the force.
I hold my cheek, hot and stinging.
He grabs at my chin, squeezing my face to look at him. "There's a pretty flush. Now sit." He shoves me down forcefully into the seat.
The silverware clatters together as I adjust myself to fully sit in the tapestry-upholstered chair.
Lord Hollis seats himself at the head of the table with the grace of a man pretending to be someone important, then holds out a palm.
I stare at it, letting him wait for a moment, a crumb of control I intend to savor.
He takes my fingertips, inspecting the long scabs that have formed and the rosy edges of the older cuts now healing. The softer part of my hand and wrist are bruised in blotchy shades of berry where his aim strayed.
"These will heal. Show repentance to me and they will be the last." His thumb drags over my knuckles, and the empty sensation in my stomach begins as he once again neutralizes my divinity.
"Are you hungry?" he asks.
I nod.
The long table has enough food for at least twenty people, maybe more. There is fruit, bread, meats, cheeses of all kinds, and breakfast pastries shaped into a tall tower. The decorations woven through the glassware are as intricate as the type of dishes. It would not be unlike Lord Hollis to request such things to flaunt his position in the Estate, even down to the cooks and servers. Showing he can order anything and in any amount and only the emperor can stop him.
"Was the food to your liking?" he asks.
It's a strangely worded question until I realize he does not mean the items in front of me, but the ones sent down to my cold cell. Iknewhe was responsible for the overflowing pewter plates, sent so often I never grew hungry between them.
"Yes."
"Good . . . and what is your favorite?" His voice is too enthusiastic.
"My favorite?"
"To eat." He waves a hand at the spread.
