“Lots of Albians believe in them. And they can drive you totally mad. So I think I’d be better in your room. And don’t you ever feel lonely?”
His brow furrowed. “No.”
“I’m not sure I believe you.” Strangely, that was the truth.
He slid away from me. “You could fulfill an important role at some point, Zahra. So perhaps I want to personally keep a close eye on you. You will stay in my room from now on.”
Permanently?
He turned away from me, disappearing into the shadows. “Come with me, then.”
24
Lila
I was completely soaked by the time we reached the Ivory Hall—the grand corridor just before his room, that I’d glimpsed through a crack in the wall. As we crossed into it, I looked up at the ceiling, gasping. At some point, probably long ago, masons had carved the pale stone to look like spindly flower petals fanning out from sharp-vaulted peaks. And the stone itself was ivory like bone. The effect was beautiful, but thorny and sinister, like we were inside the skeleton of an ancient beast.
Staring at the ceiling, I nearly missed the rest of the hall—the narrow, multi-paned windows that stretched up the ceiling, and the wooden doors beneath each of them. I wanted to know where each one of those doors led. Beneath my feet, the flagstones had words written on them, like graves. Maybe they were.
I felt magic tingling over my skin, and I was sure this was a place of ancient power. Like a hall built for the Blessed Raven King.
Samael was leading me to the enormous oak door at the far end of the hall, up a set of stairs. And when he opened the door, we stepped into a library fit for a king. His living quarters were the size of a cathedral, and full from top to bottom with books, the colorful spines faded with age.
Two floors of books lined every wall, with ladders and brassy spiral staircases connecting them. The ceiling curved high above us, painted a deep blue and adorned with paintings of snakes and ravens and stars. Magic.
Knowledge was power. And Samael, the greedy fucker, was hoarding it all for himself.
At the far end of the room, stone arches and columns separated another space that looked like a smaller bedroom within the library.
He stalked through the arches, and I followed.
As I stood in the doorway to his bedroom, directly across from me was a hearth, flanked by two velvet armchairs, and a sofa to the right. An ornately carved mantel had nothing on it but a copper kettle. Further to the right, through stone arches, I spotted a small bathroom with a round, copper tub.
To my left, a large bed was nestled between bookshelves, with more shelves arching over it.
God, this place was amazing. Apart from the murderous angel who also inhabited it, I never wanted to leave.
Samael pulled a book from a shelf and dropped into a chair by the fireplace. I had the feeling that he did that every night, and it suddenly felt strangely domestic in here. He even had two little ceramic mugs on a bedside table, as if he were a normal person and not a murdering death god.
He didn’t look at me. “You didn’t sleep much. Sleep on the sofa.”
Oddly … considerate. Was he trying to beguile me?
Well he would find the tables turned, because I would be seducing him. Making him vulnerable.
All I knew was I'd have to be quick on my feet, and I'd have to be subtle.
As I peered at the books by his bed, I paused. It was my magpie instinct again, and something caught my eye. A glimmer of gold behind the dusty books.
I crawled over his bed. Curiosity compelled me to take a closer look, and I realized it was the frame of a painting. At the edge of the canvas, I caught a glimpse of vibrant red curls, and a dress with the puffed sleeves of antiquity, a hint of an ornate collar.
"Why have you got a painting hidden behind your books?” I asked.
To no one's surprise, he simply responded, "That's not something you need to know. Will you go to sleep, or will I be listening to you inspect everything in here?”
“Just curious.”
“Curiosity can be dangerous,” he murmured.
“Why do you always wear that cloak?”
“It’s almost like you didn’t hear what I just said.”
But he pulled down his cowl anyway. Even though I’d seen his face before, his beauty was as shocking and stark as the carvings in