“A pendant,” I correct, at the same time as Blaise and Heron.
“It was earned, not bought,” Blaise says. “And it meant something, not just decoration. It was an honor, not a fashion trend.”
“It was a symbol of the gods’ favor,” Heron adds, more force in his voice than I’ve heard from him. “If there was ever any doubt about the Kalovaxians being denied an Afterlife…” He trails off, the gems of the earring clinking lightly as he turns it over in his hands.
Artemisia snorts. “If the gods cared about any of this—or exist at all, for that matter—surely they would have stepped in by now.”
The casual disdain in her words takes me by surprise, and from the stunned silence that follows her words, I know I’m not alone in that.
“You’re a Guardian,” I point out finally. “Surely you believe in the gods.”
She’s quiet for a long moment. “I believe in surviving,” she says, but there is a sharpness in her voice that keeps me from asking more. “That’s been hard enough.”
“But you were blessed,” Blaise says. “We all were. We were given power.”
“I don’t know if I’ve ever felt blessed,” she admits. “I was given power, I can’t deny that, but I have a hard time imagining it was given by gods. I figured it was something more chemical. Something in my blood—and yours—made us better receptors for the magic in the mines than other people.”
“You believe it was just chance?” Heron asks, bewildered. “We were chosen more or less at random and others weren’t?”
I hear her shift behind her wall. “It’s better than the alternative, in my view,” she says brusquely. “Why would the gods choose to bless me over everyone else in that mine? There were children there who went mine-mad. I can’t believe there are gods who would spare me and kill them, and if they do exist, I want nothing to do with them.” Her voice is all hard edges, but there’s an undercurrent of pain there.
I might not know Artemisia well, but I know if I asked her about it, she’d stab me with that hairpin before I could finish the question.
Through the wall, I can almost feel Blaise’s thoughts running the same path as mine. Throughout the past decade, the idea of the After has been all that’s kept me going, and I don’t have to ask Blaise to know that a part of him yearns for it as well. I’ve imagined my mother there, waiting for me. I’ve dreamt about her arms wrapping around me once again, the smell of flowers and earth still clinging to her, the way it did when she was alive.
It’s one of the things I think of to stave off the temptation to use a Fire Gem. Tempting as that power may be, using a gem without the proper training—without being chosen by the gods—is sacrilege, and sacrilegious souls aren’t allowed into the After. They’re doomed to wander the earth as shades for the rest of eternity.
But I can’t deny that Artemisia’s words have lodged deep in my gut. There’s a measure of truth in them that I can’t deny—why would the gods allow us to suffer like we have for the last decade? Why wouldn’t they have struck the Kalovaxians down as soon as they set foot on Astrean soil? Why didn’t they protect us?
I don’t like that I’m asking these questions. I don’t like that I have no answers. Blaise and Heron must be similarly at a loss, because we lapse into silence.
When it gets to be too much, I clear my throat. “Well, I’m sure you’re glad to know your labor in the mines was for such a pretty cause,” I say, changing the subject. It must be close to teatime now, which means Hoa will be in soon with a tray of tea and snacks for me, since I don’t have any other plans for the afternoon. “All of you turn away, I need to get out of this hideous thing.”
I tug at the dress. It’ll be difficult to get off without assistance, but the neck and sleeves are so tight it’s difficult to breathe, and the heavy velvet itches. Hoa might only be a few more minutes, but I’m not sure I want to wait even that long.
“I wouldn’t change into anything too comfortable,” Blaise says, his voice muffled, hopefully because his face is turned away from me. “I have a feeling the Prinz will be paying you a visit later tonight.”
My hands freeze at the buttons at the base of my neck. “What do you mean?”
“After lunch, he pulled me aside and asked me if there were any other entrances to your room,” Blaise says.
“He pulled you aside?” I ask, alarmed.
“My hood was drawn—he didn’t see my face,” Blaise assures me.
I pause. “Are there other entrances to my room?” I ask, glancing around.
“One,” Blaise says. “Ampelio told me about it. He was planning to use it to rescue you as soon as he could figure out a way to get past the harbor without notice.”
“Oh.” I feel a pang of longing. How different would my life have been if he’d found a way in? “Why would S?ren want to sneak into my room?” I ask before I can dwell too long on that thought.
Heron laughs, a sound so deep it practically shakes the walls. “He’s leaving tomorrow for who knows how long, and the two of you barely had a chance to speak at lunch. He had more to say to you, and I doubt he’s the sort to wait weeks or even months to say it.”
“Good,” I say, managing to undo the buttons at my neck. With the collar loose, I should be able to breathe again, but the prospect of seeing S?ren tonight makes it just as difficult as the dress had. Somehow I doubt he’ll only want to talk, but the idea of doing anything more ties my stomach in knots. I clear my throat and try to hide my discomfort. “I have more to say to him as well if I’m going to turn him against his father.”
I’m playing the game, I remind myself, and if a small part of me believes the lie, that only makes it more effective. So long as the larger part of me remembers what’s real. I’ll gather information. I’ll turn him against his father. And when the time is right, I’ll slit his throat and start a civil war. The idea makes me queasy, even if it was mine to begin with, but I hope the more I think it, the easier it will become.
“Hopefully, you’ll be doing more than just talking, of course,” Artemisia drawls, each word dripping in condescension. “You’re meant to be making him fall in love with you, and that takes more than just words.”
“I know that,” I say, keeping my voice carefully detached. She’s trying to rile me, and I’m not about to let her see how riled I am. I search through my wardrobe for something more appropriate. Something that looks casual enough, like I’m not expecting company, but still pretty. I settle for a simple chiton of turquoise blue tied at the waist with a wide gold sash. I undo the rest of the buttons on Cress’s dress and let it fall to the floor before pulling the chiton over my head and tying it into place. “You can look now.”
“I suppose Art’s right,” Blaise says, though he sounds uncomfortable. I hear him shifting behind the wall, the tap of his feet on the stone floor. “That is the goal, isn’t it?”
It takes me a moment to realize he’s asking a genuine question, but before I can respond, Heron jumps in.
“Kissing him shouldn’t be too much of a challenge. He’s handsome enough, for a Kalovaxian,” he adds.
I shake my head. “It isn’t that. I’ll do what I have to. It’s just…” I’m embarrassed to say it out loud. “I suppose I don’t know what I’m doing.”
“Whatever you’re doing seems to be working just fine,” Blaise answers.
“That’s words, though. That’s running and trusting that he’s going to give chase. I’ve never really thought about what to do when he catches me,” I admit.
Silence follows my confession, broken finally by Artemisia.
“Have you ever kissed a boy before?” she asks.
The question takes me off guard and makes my cheeks heat up.