Chapter Thirty-Six

Sixty-one . . . sixty-two . . .

Asterin pushed the air out of her lungs as she pulled herself up, her grip slipping slightly around the brass curtain rod. She released one hand at a time and wiped them on her trousers before resuming her chin-ups. In the corner, Eadric was doing push-ups, clapping his chest on every rep and grunting his counts under his breath. Exercising with him always forced her to push herself further, harder, and she craved the competition.

The chiffon curtains whisked around her, the same white as the lofty lace-spun clouds outside, carried by an invigorating sea breeze that cooled the sweat on her brow. Every time she dipped down from a rep, she watched the ocean toss and foam through the window. Seabirds with bright-orange hooked beaks and yellow Mohawks wheeled above the frothing cerulean expanse on speckled wings, their melodic warbles just as unfamiliar to her as their appearances. Every now and then, great blue fins crested above the waves, and sometimes she caught the massive shadow of a shy, elusive beast swimming far beneath the crystalline depths.

The Eradorian palace hovered on the coast of the Nord Sea atop a formation of metamorphic rock that glittered with ribs of obsidian and ivory in the sunlight. Freshwater springs deep beneath the earth welled up through the rock and cascaded into natural pools scattered in and around the palace, which only made perfect sense since the kingdom of Eradore was the domain of Lord Tidus, the God of Water.

“One hundred,” Asterin hissed to herself, muscles straining. She liked to play a game with herself, where she set a goal, a number of reps she had to reach. Except, when she reached it, she added a few extra reps, and then when she finished those, she added a few more, pushing her boundaries a little further each time. Soon enough, she had reached one hundred and fifty.

Sounds less like a game than a masochistic streak, Orion used to say. Immortals, how she missed him.

A knock came at her door, causing Eadric to pause and glance up.

“I’ll get it,” said Asterin, dropping to the floor and rolling her shoulders as she approached the entrance to her guest chambers. They consisted of three separate rooms—her bedchamber, with its gradient blue walls inlaid with shells and mother-of-pearl, a spacious bathing chamber with nothing short of a pool for a bathtub, and a tearoom in place of a sitting parlor with padded floor cushions instead of chaises.

Asterin opened the door to find Quinlan holding a large box in his hands with a silk ribbon tied around it. “Oh,” she said. About time. “It’s you.”

Quinlan bit his lip. “Yeah, it’s me. Sorry.”

Eadric picked himself up and stalked over to Asterin’s side, bracing one arm against the door frame and leaning out. “Holloway.”

“Captain.” Quinlan took one glance at Eadric’s glistening biceps and quickly averted his eyes elsewhere. “Is this a bad time?”

Eadric snorted and shouldered past Quinlan, though not without shooting him a final glower. “I won’t do my queen the disservice of threatening you on her behalf, since she is more than capable of kicking your ass herself, but—”

“Thank you, Eadric,” said Asterin, shooing the captain away. After he finally strode off, muttering unsavory things under his breath all the while, she turned back to Quinlan. “You were saying?”

“I’m sorry.” He shuffled his feet. “For the other day.”

“When you ran away from me, you mean?”

Quinlan winced. “Not from you. But . . . yes.”

She tipped her chin at the box. “What’s that?”

He wiggled his eyebrows. “Don’t you want to let me inside and find out?”

Asterin scoffed. “Who do you take me for, to be so easily bribed?”

“It’s cake.”

That made her pause. “Fine, I guess you can come in.”

He shot her a smile that she couldn’t help but grudgingly return as they went over to the tearoom table. Quinlan placed the box in the center and then hurried outside again. Asterin briefly wondered if he was deserting her for the second time, but a moment later a tea cart came into view. Quinlan wheeled it through the door and steered it beside the table. While she watched on, he arranged the tea set before her. Then he passed her a plate painted with intricate gold swirls and a tiny fork surely meant for a doll.

“Bold of you to assume I would eat cake with a fork this small,” she muttered as he poured out two cups of tea, the sweet, slightly citrusy aroma wafting up in curls of steam.

Quinlan raised his eyebrows. “Hmm? Ah, I thought you might say that, so I brought larger forks, too. As for the plate, we could just eat out of the box, if you’d like.”

She grinned. “Well, only if you insist.” Her fingers tapped the table. She leaned over the box like an impatient child waiting to open presents on Vürstivale. “Can I open it?”

Quinlan smiled so softly that her stomach flipped. “Of course.”

Asterin tugged on one tail of the ribbon until it came loose and the flaps of the box fell open like a lotus flower. She gasped in delight at the blush-pink cake nestled within, heaped with fresh strawberries and raspberry meringues with white chocolate drizzling down the edges. Real fuchsia roses and cherry blossoms dotted the buttercream-frosted sides, their satiny petals dusted with flakes of edible gold.

“It’s almost too pretty to eat, don’t you think—” Quinlan began, but Asterin had already stabbed her fork right down the center.

She stiffened. Silently, their eyes met. And then they both burst into hysterical laughter.

He took his own fork and spaded the cake, reaching forward and offering it to her lips. “May I?”

For the sake of fairness, Asterin offered her forkful to him. They closed in and both let out twin exclamations of deliciousness. Tart berry jam and fresh whipped cream, soaked into three delicate layers of buttery sponge—a perfect balance of sweetness, exquisitely light. They maimed the cake bite by bite, laying the beautiful decorations to absolute ruin.

“So good,” Asterin crowed as she licked the crumbs off the tines of her fork. She popped a leftover meringue into her mouth and scooted around the table to take Quinlan’s face in her hands. She kissed him gently, savoring the hint of strawberries and sugar still lingering on his lips. “Thank you.”

He rested his hands on her waist, his thumbs tracing soothing circles into her skin. “You know I didn’t mean to abandon you so suddenly.”

Asterin’s eyes trailed over the anxious crease of his brow. “I know,” she replied quietly and leaned forward to kiss his forehead. “I just wish you would’ve told me why you had to leave.” She drew back to gaze at him. “So . . . why did you have to leave?”

Those indigo eyes averted. “I had to take care of something.”

Frustration coupled with disbelief reared within her. She caught him by the wrists and removed his hands from her waist. With a deep sigh of resignation, she got to her feet. “Come back when you trust me enough to talk about this, all right?”

Quinlan stared up at her, stricken. “I—I do trust you.”

“Clearly.” Asterin folded her arms over her chest and waited. “Well? I’m all ears.”

He didn’t speak for a long minute, but she was fine with waiting. For months she had already waited. And for centuries, for him, she would keep waiting. At last, he spoke, with his head hanging down and his voice a rasp. “Why did you save me, Asterin?”

Her brow scrunched. “What?”

Quinlan’s dark locks hid his expression as his chest convulsed with a rueful, bitter laugh. “Fairfest Eve. Priscilla. The battle. She made you choose. Between Luna . . . and me.”

The silence squeezed Asterin by the neck, just like the nooses of shadow Priscilla had used to choke the life out of her best friend and the prince she had fallen for. She had been so powerless against the darkness, too cursedly weak to save both of them.

“Does there have to be a reason?” Asterin finally asked.

He seemed taken aback by that. “Well, there must have been at the time.”

“I . . . I don’t know.” She shook her head. “I just let my heart choose for me.”

“But why didn’t your heart choose Luna? Why—”

“Stop asking me why!” Asterin exclaimed. “Why are you asking me these questions?” She stormed toward the door, and suddenly she was back in Axaris, a few days after the battle, when Luna came to tell her that she was leaving for Ibreseos—that she was leaving because she couldn’t stand to even live in the same kingdom as Asterin.

What do you want me to tell you, Luna? she had shouted then. What would you like me to say? That I regret protecting him?

“I’m asking if you ever wished you had chosen differently,” Quinlan whispered.

Time screeched to a halt. Shock crashed into Asterin like a tidal wave. “You mean, do I wish you were dead ?” She strode back over to him and grabbed him by the collar. “Listen to me. I already lost Luna over my choice. Don’t you dare play that card, too.” Her voice broke. “Quinlan, I love you.”

He blinked at her, his mouth opening and closing wordlessly.

“You told me you wouldn’t leave me,” she went on without waiting for a response. Desperation edged her voice. “You promised me that you would stay by my side, always. Don’t do this to me. Don’t push me away.”

If anything, though, Quinlan just looked more wrecked than before. “Asterin . . .” He trailed off, clenching his jaw before turning his face away from her. “I’m so sorry.”

She realized it wasn’t an apology for her distress. It was because he had decided to keep her in the dark.

The ugly thing in her chest stabbed its claws through her heart. “Fine,” she said, releasing him. And to think that I’m supposed to be the stubborn one. She spun on her heel, swiping a furious hand across her eyes to rid them of tears. “I have somewhere to be now, anyway.” She cast him a final glance on her way out and saw his reluctant, silent inquisition. “If you change your mind about talking, I’ll be in the library. With Taeron. Perhaps he’ll prove to be more gracious company.”

Shame filled her at the gratification she took in seeing the range of emotions flitting across Quinlan’s face—shock, jealousy, resentment, doubt.

Before he could speak another word, however, she slammed the door behind her and fled, trying in vain to banish the memory of the destroyed cake still on the table and the taste of strawberries.