Page 135 of A Game of Veils

Raul moves to the front of our procession. After a brief pause by the hidden doorway, he nods. “There’s no one else inside. She’s lying on the bed. I can’t tell if she’s asleep.” His forehead furrows. “Something about the room feels… strange.”

My pulse stutters. “Is she all right?”

Bastien nudges us forward with renewed urgency. “We’re here now. Let’s see for ourselves.”

The moment Raul eases open the hinged panel in the wall, a current of cooler air wafts into the stillness of the passage. Cooler and tainted with an odd sour smell like food that’s gone off.

My nose wrinkles reflexively. Raul steps into the room with a mutter under his breath. “What the fuck…”

The curtains have been left open, letting in the faint glow of the outer lanterns and the night breeze. It isn’t enough to wash away the fetid odor that seems to linger in the space.

In the dimness, my eyes pick out splotches on the floorboards and the rug where Aurelia and I came together so passionately this morning. Stains? And farther across the room, near her wardrobe?—

Raul flicks a hasty glance toward Aurelia’s form tucked beneath the covers. When she doesn’t stir at our arrival, he strides over to the heaps of ragged cloth on the floor.

Bastien and I trail behind him. I notice more blotchy stains everywhere I look.

Raul bends over the heap and sucks in a sharp breath. He holds up the skirt of what’s obviously a gown—or used to be. It’s sliced and ripped into tatters—and mashed with shreds of muck that give off more of the putrid stink.

Bastien’s face tightens. “What happened here?” he asks in a harsh whisper.

Raul sounds as if he’s struggling to keep his voice low. “All her dresses.” He paws through the heap. “Totally ruined.” He glances up at us with narrowed eyes. “Didn’t Fausta tear one of her gowns before?”

I swallow hard. “None of this mess was here this morning.”

Sometime between now and then, a destructive force swept through Aurelia’s chamber, through her things. When? Was she already grappling with this new assault when we found her in the other room? When she had to dance to the tune Tarquin ordered me to play?

I drift back toward the bed, seeking out Aurelia’s shape. The bedspread looks unmarred—but it’s a different color than the one we lay on this morning, isn’t it? Blue rather than green.

It’s a huge bed, befitting her station, and she’s curled tight beneath the covers—knees drawn up, head ducked low so only her forehead and the splay of her hair across the pillow show. She isn’t a small woman, but right now, in the middle of the expanse of the mattress, she looks outright tiny.

My stomach twists. Every day, she endures more trials than even we know about. She takes them on her shoulders without complaint.

Because she’s so completely alone in this place that she doesn’t feel she can turn to anyone.

Maybe she would have reached out to me if I hadn’t stormed off on her this evening. We should have been here offering her comfort from the start, not skulking around stewing in wounded emotions.

How selfish would it be for me to resent her taking whatever joy she can find with my foster brothers as well as with me? Did I really think that with all the menaces she’s faced in the place, I could be a sanctuary for her all on my own?

A pang in my heart draws me closer. Without thinking, simply propelled by the need to be there for her, I peel back the covers enough to slide under them and tuck myself carefully around her huddled body.

Despite my gentleness, Aurelia stirs. Her initial flinch sends a jab of guilt through my chest, but she relaxes a second later, turning her head toward me. Her voice sounds far too thin. “Lorenzo?”

“I’m sorry.” The apology spills out of my mind in a rush. I hug her deeper into my embrace, bowing my head next to hers. “I’m sorry I got angry. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I should have told you… We should have talked about it first.”

“This whole situation is a mess. None of us knows what we’re doing. But I’m glad—I’m glad you have more than just me. You should have all the adoration you can get from people who see how wonderful you are.”

I’ve let the illusion project far enough that my foster brothers will hear it too. They’ve come around the other side of the bed.

Bastien perches on the mattress and reaches over to stroke his fingers over Aurelia’s hair. He bows his head. “I have to apologize too. For making the accusations at all—for getting jealous when I had no justification. I keep getting things wrong with you. We’ve had to be so wary for so long…”

“I know,” she says softly.

Raul shifts his weight from one foot to the other, looking as if he’s afraid to get any closer. His hands have clenched at his sides. “None of this is right. None of what they’ve done to you—to Lady Rochelle—what happened to your room— If I’ve pushed at you too much in any direction, I’m sorry. I promised you better than that.”

Aurelia shifts around in my arms. She clasps Bastien’s hand and peers at Raul through the darkness. “I could have stopped things sooner if I’d wanted to. It’s not all on you.”

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