Suddenly, all the energy went out of me. I collapsed into a chair by the long table and rested my head in my hands. “They’re all going to leave,” I moaned.
“Maybe,” Mal said, “but I doubt it.”
I buried my face in my arms. “Who am I kidding? I can’t do this. This is like some kind of bad joke.”
“I didn’t hear anyone laughing,” Mal said. “For someone who has no idea what she’s doing, I’d say you’re managing pretty well.”
I peered up at him. He was leaning against the table, arms crossed, the ghost of a smile playing over his lips.
“Mal, I put a hole in the ceiling.”
“A very dramatic hole.”
I let out a huff somewhere between a laugh and a sob. “What are we going to do when it rains?”
“What we always do,” he said. “Keep dry.”
A knock came at the door, and Tamar poked her head in. “One of the servants wants to know if you’ll be sleeping in the Darkling’s chambers.”
I knew I would have to. I just wasn’t looking forward to it. I rubbed my hands over my face and heaved myself out of the chair. Less than an hour at the Little Palace, and I was already exhausted. “Let’s go take a look.”
The Darkling’s quarters were just down the hall from the war room. A charcoal-clad servant led us into a large and rather formal common room furnished with a long table and a few uncomfortable-looking chairs. Each wall was set with a pair of double doors.
“These lead to a passage that will take you out of the Little Palace, moi soverenyi,” the servant said, gesturing to the right. She pointed to the doors on the left and said, “Those lead to the guards’ quarters.”
The doors directly across from us needed no explanation. They stretched from floor to ceiling, and their ebony wood was carved with the Darkling’s symbol, the sun in eclipse.
I didn’t feel quite ready to face that, so I ambled over to the guards’ quarters and peeked inside. Their common room was considerably cozier. It had a round table for playing cards, and several overstuffed chairs were set around a small tile oven for keeping warm in the winter. Through another door, I glimpsed rows of bunk beds.
“I guess the Darkling had more guards,” said Tamar.
“Lots more,” I replied.
“We could bring on some others.”
“I thought about it,” said Mal. “But I don’t know that it’s necessary, and I’m not sure who we can trust.”
I had to agree. I’d put a certain amount of faith in Tolya and Tamar, but the only person I really felt sure of was Mal.
“Maybe we should consider drawing from the pilgrims,” suggested Tamar. “Some of them are former military. There must be a few good fighters among them, and they’d certainly lay down their lives for you.”
“Not a chance,” I replied. “The King would hear one whispered ‘Sankta Alina’ and have my neck in a noose. Besides, I’m not sure I want to put my life in the hands of someone who thinks I can rise from the dead.”
“We’ll make do,” said Mal.
I nodded. “All right. And … can someone see about having the roof fixed?”
Matching grins broke out on Tolya’s and Tamar’s faces. “Can’t we leave it that way for just a few days?”
“No,” I laughed. “I don’t want the whole thing caving in on us. Talk to the Fabrikators. They should know what to do.” I ran my thumb over the raised ridge of flesh that ran the length of my palm. “But don’t let them make it too perfect,” I added. Scars made good reminders.
I returned to the main common room and addressed the servant hovering in the doorway. “We’ll eat here tonight,” I said. “Will you see about trays?”
The servant raised her brows, then bowed and scurried off. I winced. I was supposed to issue commands, not ask questions.
I left Mal and the twins discussing a schedule for the watch, and crossed to the ebony doors. The handles were two thin slivers of crescent moon made of what looked like bone. When I took hold of them and pulled, there was no creak or scrape of hinges. The doors slid open without a sound.
A servant had lit the lamps in the Darkling’s chamber. I surveyed the room and let out a long breath. What had I been expecting? A dungeon? A pit? That the Darkling slept suspended from the branches of a tree?
The chamber was hexagonal, its dark wood walls carved into the illusion of a forest crowded with slender trees. Above the huge canopied bed, the domed ceiling was wrought in smooth black obsidian and spangled with chips of mother-of-pearl laid out in constellations. It was an unusual room and certainly luxurious, but it was still just a bedroom.
The shelves were empty of books. The desk and dressing table were bare. All his possessions must have been taken away, probably burned or smashed to bits. I supposed I should have been glad the King hadn’t torn the entire Little Palace down.