The Cogsmith's Daughter (Desertera #1)(22)
Aya nodded and turned on her heels. She tried to keep a steady pace down the corridor. If she encountered servants or wandering nobles, she wanted to look confident in her destination but not rushed enough to look suspicious. One way she tried to temper her pace was by memorizing the different doorways and corridors. However, after the twentieth door, she gave up and settled for simply admiring the ship’s craftsmanship.
Even though the palace held so many bad memories for her, she still found it beautiful. The iron arches holding up the ceiling, with their big round rivets and patchy oxidation, were breathtaking. She adored the marble floors and the high ceilings. She would have loved to live in a world where she could have helped build such a vessel.
Eventually, Aya reached a point where the corridor began to narrow. It grew thinner and thinner, until finally, it was about the width of three men standing side by side. After a few feet, it opened abruptly into the rounded room that Lord Varick described, and Aya found herself face to face with the first clock she had ever seen. At nearly eight feet tall, it towered over Aya, and she became mesmerized by its circular white face. She counted the numbers, each written in a thick swirled script, and the little tick marks between them. The body of the clock was made of dark wood, but its belly consisted of glass, with two golden rods hanging down, presumably attached to its face in some way. Aya longed to crack it open and peer inside its brain.
“Admiring my clock, Miss Wellman?”
Aya jumped at the sound of King Archon’s gravelly voice. She turned around slowly, making sure to flick her curly hair over her shoulder.
“Is that what it is, Your Majesty?” Aya placed a single finger on her bottom lip. “I have never seen such a contraption before. What does it do?”
“Nothing, I am afraid.” King Archon held his hands behind his back. “It has been broken since the Queen Hildegard landed in Desertera.”
“What a pity.” Aya ran her finger from her lips to her collarbone. “Why not throw it out?”
“It is an heirloom.” King Archon crossed the room to stand next to her. “My ancestors felt it necessary to safeguard the broken thing, perhaps as an emblem of the world before. Whatever the reason, I am bound by blood and honor to let it rest outside my chambers.”
“How noble,” Aya whispered, letting her hand slide into her hair. She twirled a curl around her forefinger.
“Now that I have educated you about the clock, Miss Wellman, I am afraid I must ask. What are you doing so near my personal chambers?”
“Oh!” Aya let her curl fall and clasped her hands together in front of her chest. “I had no idea these were your chambers. Lord Varick encouraged me to explore the palace. I had no intention of intruding on my king’s privacy.”
King Archon’s cold eyes appraised her. Aya saw them beginning to harden with suspicion, so she tried a slightly different tactic. She sat down on the fainting couch that Lord Varick had mentioned. Trying to emulate the way Dellwyn sat to greet clients, Aya crossed her legs so her ankles showed and arched her back to accentuate her breasts and hips.
“But since I am already here,” Aya began, rubbing her fingertips along the red velvet cushion of the couch, “perhaps I could attain a private audience with His Majesty?”
“Miss Wellman, what could you and I possibly have to discuss?” King Archon raised his eyebrows and crossed his arms. Aya couldn’t tell whether he was being coy or growing irritated. Why did he always have to look so cross?
Aya lingered on the couch for a few more moments. When King Archon held his ground, she stood and walked over to him. She placed her fingers and thumb on either side of his chin and traced his beard down to its point. “We are intelligent people. Surely we can think of a few topics of conversation.”
King Archon took a step back. “Miss Wellman, I do not understand your intentions here, but I assure you we have nothing to talk about.”
“But, Your Majesty, I—” Aya reached for the king, only to let her hand fall to her side when he began to snarl.
“No. Whatever your request is, I deny it. If you are unsatisfied with the marquess and want another guardian, or if you want me to secure a noble husband, or feed your family in Sternville; whatever it is, I will not fulfill it.”
“But I thought—” Aya didn’t know what she thought. She had no idea what to say. All she knew was that she could not reveal her true purpose, and she needed to get out of here quickly, before he figured her out. Assuming, of course, that he hadn’t already.
“You thought what, Miss Wellman?” King Archon asked, pointing a ringed finger at her. “That I seemed like a nice man, that we had such a lovely rapport at the ceremony? Well, I assure you, you are not special. I speak to every one of my subjects in the same manner. Whatever favor you thought you had gleaned, it does not exist.”
Aya knew that King Archon expected her to apologize and flee. But she couldn’t do that. She would not apologize to this man, not for anything. Even though he couldn’t know it and wouldn’t think it if he did, he should be the one apologizing to her.
“My mistake.” Aya turned away with a soft smile, as if kings chastised her all the time. She felt his eyes on her as she walked away, but she willed herself not to look back. She didn’t know what she’d see—surprise, distrust, the same malice that had slain her father? It didn’t matter. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of taking even a morsel more of her dignity.