Seduction (Curse of the Gods #3)(42)
“I’m aware that’s physically impossible,” I told the bather, since the water chose that exact moment to stop trickling and it seemed like a sign. “I didn’t mean at the same time.”
The bather didn’t respond, which was hardly surprising, and then I was back to my original conundrum.
How to get the dress off.
I started pacing by the side of the bather, but then stopped to try and concentrate, placing my hands against the dress.
“Chaos,” I whispered. Nothing. “Fire Chaos?” This time it was a question, but still, nothing happened. “Gods-dammit.”
I closed my eyes and thought back to what Leden had said about Chaos being in the intention, instead of the word.
“I intend to set my dress on fire,” I muttered, and then I visualised flames crawling over the tight material for good measure.
The tickle of warmth was the only indication that I had succeeded, and I opened my eyes to the image of material flaking away from my body in smouldering pieces. My mouth dropped open as I watched the little embers float around the room. It was strangely beautiful, and not at all what I would categorise as chaotic … until one of the embers landed on a stack of fluffy-looking white towels, and then suddenly there was a real fire.
“Shit.”
I rushed over to a fancy pearl-toned bowl that was sitting on a little side table—it didn’t seem to serve any purpose other than decoration—and quickly knelt down by the side of the bather. I filled it and leapt toward the towels, dumping water onto the flames. Once the small crisis was averted, I returned to the bather and slipped into the water, luxuriating in my small victory. I was so busy luxuriating that it came as a jarring surprise to me when I stepped out half a rotation later and realised that I had nothing to wear.
I also had no towels.
The flames hadn’t caught onto all of them, but the pile was a soot-smudged, sopping mess. I walked to the door and opened it a crack.
“Rome?” I called.
He appeared a moment later, his brows lowering in suspicion. “Why are you showing me a single eyeball right now?”
“I was just wondering if I could borrow your shirt.”
“Why?” His expression grew dark, his huge arms folding across his chest. He actually looked like he would refuse me on principle. I wasn’t sure what the principle would be.
“Did you see that dress?” I faked a light tone. “It was ridiculous.”
His mouth twitched. Just a little bit. “Siret likes to abuse his power.”
“You all do. You’re all regular power-abusers.”
The dark expression was back. “There’s nothing regular about us.”
“Okay yes you’re very special. Can I please have your shirt now. Your special shirt.”
He reached back over his shoulder, grabbed a handful of material and pulled it up and off, holding it out to me. I tried not to stare at all of the bare, golden skin that he had just put on display.
“I don’t appreciate the tone.” He pointed a finger at my face as I took the shirt. “But it is a special shirt, so try not to burn it.”
“Liar.” My voice was muffled because I had already pulled the shirt through the opening and was tugging it over my head. “You don’t think it’s special at all, you just don’t want to see me naked again.”
“Not the words I would have chosen,” he mumbled.
I shook out the shirt so that it fell comfortably around my legs, and then I pulled the door fully open, leaning against the door jamb and folding my arms over my chest. Rome’s eyes slipped from my face, taking in the sight of his shirt falling to my knees, and then he pulled me from the opening. One hand was planted on my shoulder, steering me back toward the main room. Yael was standing in front of a low table that had two armchairs on either side of it, arranged before the fireplace. The entire surface of the table had been covered in food, and I was too hungry to even question where it had all come from. I rushed over, fell to my knees, and started stuffing grapes into my mouth. There was a lot of fruit on the table … and wine. I paused, pulling back a little as I finished chewing the grapes. There was some sort of cooked bird on a platter, decorated with spikey herbs.
“This is the most stereotypical meal of the gods that I’ve ever seen,” I stated blandly.
“Didn’t know you dwellers had theories on what we eat.” Yael was loading a plate and pouring wine at the same time, his eyes focussed on the task.
“The gods are pretty much the only thing that the dwellers talk about,” I informed him, accepting the plate that he handed me. “They think about what you’re eating while they have hard bread for the seventieth life-cycle in a row. They think about where you’re sleeping while they curl up on the floor. They think about what you’re wearing while they scrape for enough tokens to mend a shirt.”
I started to load my plate up while Rome sat silently in one of the chairs, his eyes flicking between me and Yael. Yael had stopped everything, and was now just kneeling there beside the table, staring at me. Eventually, he reached for the goblet that he had been pouring into, and took a long swig.
“That’s depressing as fuck,” he finally noted.
“You wouldn’t know.” I shrugged, sitting back on the floor and attempting to speak between bites of food. “The gods only watch the sols—and the dwellers around the sols. Nobody watches the dwellers in the outer rings; nobody cares about them. They’re just a living server-farm for Staviti.”