Incendiary (Hollow Crown #1)(55)
The page nods and begins to head to the door, and I stand, ready to follow him. Dazed not just from the day’s events or the wound that throbs slightly, but from hope.
A heavy weight descends on my shoulder. Méndez’s hand squeezes once, and his voice takes on a familial tone. “I’m glad you’re back, Renata. It’ll be as if you never left.”
And as I follow the servant down the cavernous hall, that’s exactly what I fear.
But I am wrong. Some things—like the sprawling mosaic of griffins on the floor—are the same, but not everything. The halls appear smaller. When you spend nearly a decade sleeping under the sky, or in the wide-open spaces of the Moria stronghold in ángeles, a place like this is bound to stifle. It’s like wearing an old article of clothing and finding it no longer fits. The gold-painted molding and halls filled with sculptures, panels of glass from the best artisans in the town of Jaspe. King Fernando takes pride in surrounding himself with the riches of Puerto Leones. All he allows to be imported are silks and a violet dye only found in the kingdom of Dauphinique, and the bananas that flourish best in Empirio Luzou across the sea.
I’m led through halls decorated with vases, tapestries in vivid greens and blues. We ascend stone stairs that smell strongly of incense, and step into a sky bridge with arched columns glittering with tiles in the old Zaharian style. When the boy turns down a long corridor, I get the dizzying sensation of remembrance. I’m most struck by a simple wooden door. The skin of my arms turns to gooseflesh as I slow down. Rusted hinges and a keyhole filled with dust speak of a forgotten place.
But I could never forget this door.
I know exactly what’s behind it.
I remember it so well I can almost taste the dust of its books, feel the softness of the plush velvet chairs that line the small library. I grab for the doorknob, but it’s locked.
“We have to keep going, miss,” the page boy says, his voice climbing an octave, and I realize I’ve been staring at the closed library door for who knows how long. Releasing a pent-up breath, I keep walking.
As soon as we get to the end of the hall the boy bows a fraction, then scurries back the way we came. I step inside. The stone walls keep the room cool. The apartments I’m to stay in give me the sensation of walking in someone else’s skin, like I’m not even here. I wonder if this is what people feel when I take a memory.
Lamps decorate the dressers and table. Everything is the color of summer blush wine with powder-white accents. The silk brocade drapes hide the night sky, and sheer white cloth hangs around a four-poster bed bigger than any I’ve ever slept in.
I find the three attendants Justice Méndez spoke of already waiting for me in the washroom, standing next to a full porcelain bathtub with rose petals drifting on the water’s steaming surface. My bandaged hand is practically useless. I allow the attendants to undress me before I dismiss them.
“Our orders are to clean you up,” one of them says.
“Or try,” another mutters.
No one wants to be near a naked Robári, even one wearing a glove on one hand and a bandage around the other. Too dangerous. How long has it been since they’ve seen one? And what happened to the one I’m now meant to replace?
“Get out,” I snap, narrowing my eyes at them.
One of them squeals as if I’ve advanced on her, but they leave all the same, and even though it’s what I wanted, I can’t say it doesn’t hurt.
When they’re gone, I sink into the water until it reaches the top of my breasts, and warmth hugs my body. A moment of sheer bliss. And then I hear the click of a lock from the outside of the apartments. Locked in. Did I expect anything else?
My arms tremble, and I sink deeper into the tub. It’s been so long since I’ve had a proper bath. The last time was in one of the hot springs in Tresoros five months ago. Hot water is a luxury. Everything is a luxury when you’re on the run. And yet, I sink into it, allowing the warm water to envelop me the same way vengeance hugs my heart. Words and images jumble in my mind.
Castian’s cold blue eyes. Lucia’s magics, carved out of her. The cure. Castian. Dez. Lozar’s brittle bones snapping. A little boy standing amid smoke. A set of dice and children laughing. Fire.
Fire.
Fire.
Always fire.
I sit up so quickly that water sloshes out of the tub and onto the floor. The fire in my mind burns bright, in full vivid color.
I try a technique Illan taught me to clear my thoughts. It’s easy for a Ventári to be able to think of nothing when they possess the gift to peer into the minds of others. Less easy for one haunted by a thousand stolen pasts. No matter how many herbs he gave me, how many solitary walks, even a quest for a magical spring, nothing could completely crack open the Gray inside my head.
But truth be told, I never wanted those memories to come out. Every Hollow I created felt like a living voice inside me. If I multiplied that innumerable times—I wouldn’t be able to think. Terrible headaches plagued me until I could barely wake. For memory thieves, the past demands to be seen, even if it means swallowing memories of your own. That’s what Illan believes created the Gray. My own mind constructed such a thing and my own life got swept up with it, leaving gaps in my story. Being in this place is rattling something loose. My temples stab with pain, giving in to the pressure of these wretched days and nights.