Page 35 of King of Storms and Feathers

“Why? Are you trying to poison me?”

“Eat it or I’ll call him here to begin your punishment.”

Him.

I knew exactly which him she meant.

I stuck my tongue out, and as the gold melted on it, she watched me closely. I counted my heartbeats, waiting to feel its effects, my palms damp with fear. For a moment, I considered acting drugged, but I wasn’t sure what the symptoms of such a large dose were.

Ari’s impassive mask flickered, but she made no comment, only leaned over to inspect my bracelet and make sure its tiny teeth were still embedded in my skin correctly.

Gold was a highly addictive substance for humans, and eating it had the strongest effect. Grendal said that, at first, it made users feel powerful and gave them insightful visions. But after a time, those visions became self-indulgent fantasies that the gold eater believed and, worse, acted upon.

In my mind, I ran through a list of questions I could ask to divert the Sayeeda from thinking too hard about the reason why ingesting three sheets of gold seemed to have no effect on me. In truth, it was something I spent a lot of time pondering myself.

“Shouldn’t a lower-ranking servant serve my meals?”

Ignoring my question, she asked, “Do you feel well?”

There was no point lying to the Sayeeda. I was almost certain her sharp gaze penetrated through skin and bone to my soul, uncovering my every sneaky thought of escape. “Yes,” I said. “Perfectly fine, all things considered.”

“That is… unusual.” Ari rose and glided toward the stone walkway that led to the sitting room.

I scratched the side of my head. “Ari, is there any chance you can shave my hair?”

Frowning, she turned to face me. “You want it shaved off?”

“Not all of it. Only the shorter side.”

She froze, her expression unreadable. “I doubt I could get permission. Disobedient slaves cannot hope to indulge their vanity.”

Thinking it wasn’t a matter of vanity but comfort, I said nothing, disappointment heavy in my chest.

“Behave yourself until I return this evening,” Ari said, then turned on her heel and left.

To pass the afternoon, I exercised until my muscles shook, then sat on the edge of the pavilion and watched the fae move through the streets below. I meditated, trying to manifest visions of the forest to learn more about my home, but grew frustrated, only summoning images I had already seen before.

When night finally fell, the smell of garlic and spices rose from the street vendors, and Ari returned with my dinner. After I’d eaten, she accompanied me on a well-overdue visit to the bathroom.

Not long after she left, the city’s gongs struck, and the storm wielders filed into the sitting room to feed the auron kanara. Thunder shuddered across the pavilion’s roof and floor, the vibrations traveling up and down my spine and prickling over my skin.

I hugged my knees to my chest and watched the lightning zigzag across the sky then strike the three silhouetted fae. Smoke curled from their fingers as they willed the storm energy into the birds’ gaping beaks.

Half an hour passed, then the weavers left, and I was alone with the contented birds as they preened their feathers and settled down to sleep for the night.

Stargazing in the dark, I pictured my forest home and re-lived every word spoken in my dreams and visions, recalling the laugh lines on my parents’ faces, my brother’s wide grin.

When I finally began to feel drowsy, heavy footsteps sounded on the stairs below, each thud causing my heart to skip a beat.

The king was on his way.

Relax, I told myself, forcing my fists and teeth to unclench.

No matter what he does, just breathe and survive, I chanted to myself. Should be simple enough.

A dark shadow moved through the sitting room that my pavilion connected to. Strips of moonlight flashing between the arched windows illuminated Arrow’s fierce expression. Items of clothing made soft thuds and clangs as they hit the floor. And then he stalked along the walkway toward me, his feather breastplate shining darkly.

I scuttled to the far edge of the pavilion, wishing the night would swallow me whole and praying he’d turn around, retrace his steps, and stride all the way up to his bedchamber.

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