The Ashen Raven's Treason

Chapter 17

I sense Gustus walking down the hall before he raises his fist to knock, and when he does, I open the door from across the room. I taste the metallic knob on my tongue, the inner workings of the mechanism that unlatches against the turn of a hand around the carved edges. Instead of manually standing, I maintain a balled-up position on the sofa with a book on my lap.

The pages I spent hours flipping through haven't offered the slightest distraction from worrying about Cloak or my future. What if he's losing himself to his panic at this very moment, and won't allow me to help? After pacing around in my chambers with nothing to do other than crawl back into bed and hope to sleep for another few hours, I read one of the many books Gustus has gifted me. Even that feels wrong.

He stands frozen in the doorway, his knuckles raised to rasp. A moment later, his head peeks in and he scans the space next to the door, then finds me across the room with my temple propped onto my fist, my elbow resting into the back of the sofa's cushion. Winter seeps in through the cracked window, but the wool blanket wrapped tightly around my legs wards away all shivers.

A breathy laugh loosens from his chest and he rubs his hands together, stepping into the room like he's walking into an icy tomb. "I see you're already putting your magic to use," he observes.

"Everyone knows the truth. Why should I hide it?" I pretend to focus on the book in my lap and the words scribbled over the page, but I absorb nothing.

"They don't hate you; you know. They know what you did to protect them."

I force myself to look at him and ignore the desire to pick through everything he did wrong on that battlefield. Since I saw him last, he has bathed and changed into a clean shirt with bishop sleeves and a ruffled collar. One of Theo's. A flicker of a memory stains my rage—the night Theo barked at his husband for stealing his clothes. I bet that's the least of his worries now.

"Cloak hates me, Gustus. I don't care if everyone else in this palace hates me or loves me or thanks me for what I did. Your brother told me I am not to come around anymore." I slam the book shut to feign off tears.

Even if I don't wish him to, Gustus steps further into the room. To grant us privacy from the scurrying servants in the hall, passing bandages, towels, and spare clothes from one room to the next, I wave my hand and shut the door. A brisk wind slams into the back, rattling the wood, and the painting hanging on the side wall jangles.

"I'll speak to him, Marie," Gustus blurts. He continues to wring his hands together like they're wet with guilt. "I'll tell him I gave you no other option."

"Is that the truth?" I question.

He tries to look away, only to be drawn back in by my icy stare. I don't hate him, Gustus is one of the last people in the palace I can trust with my safety and Castiel's, but he deserves to feel remorse for what he did. If he didn't ask, I would have done it anyway. But to think he was fine with watching me lose my life over something as simple as throwing the task of exposure on another sickens me to my core. My stomach drops every time I think of the possibility that Gustus might not care for me as much as I do him.

After a moment, his face hardens. "That is the truth. And I came here to apologize for what I did. I had no right to force that on you; you're young and you have every right to live a full life as I have. There is nothing I could give you, nothing I could say that'll make this better." I spot the hint of tears in his eyes, clinging to his blond lashes.

"In that moment, you had come to terms with the fact that I wouldn't survive the night," I say, picking at the book's leather spine. "I will not ask you to explain yourself, but I must warn you that I think less of our friendship now. If anything, my faith in you has lessened. For that, I apologize."