Page 62 of A House of Gold
“What happened?”
“Croesus showed me his collection.” I sink into the chair across from him. “And then he tried to... I don’t know. Seduce me? Test me? Figure out if I want him?”
“And do you?”
“No.” It comes out too fast, too defensive.
Nat raises an eyebrow. “Remember, I see lies.”
“Fine. Maybe. I don’t know.” I run my hands through my hair, frustrated. “He touched me. Asked when I last wanted something. Told me I’m the first thing he’s wanted in centuries that he can’t have. And part of me, a stupid, traitorous part, wanted to let him keep touching me.”
“That’s normal.”
“It’s not normal. He’s an angel. A monster. He has hundreds of souls locked in a vault. He’s holding my sister’s safety hostage. I shouldn’t want anything to do with him.”
“But you do.” Nat’s voice is gentle. “Because he’s not just a monster. He’s also a prisoner. And you see that. You see his pain and his curse. And the sin eater part of you wants to ease that.”
“I can’t ease it. No one can. That’s the whole point of him. Isn’t this some kind of divine punishment? Isn’t he supposed to be suffering?”
“Maybe.” Nat leans back, studying me again. I should hate it. I should stop it, but he said he can’t control his gift. “Or maybe you’re the first person who could. Because you’re not trying to give him what he wants. You’re just...being honest. Being real. Being someone who can’t be bought or claimed or added to his collection. And that’s what he actually needs.”
“I’m not here to save him from himself.”
“No. But you might anyway.” He opens his book again. “Just, be careful. Angels like Croesus don’t fall in love. They obsess. They possess. They consume. If he decides he wants you, really wants you, not as a curiosity but as something essential...” He looks up. “It won’t be gentle. And it won’t let you go.”
I think about Croesus’s hand over my heart. His thumb tracing circles. His voice in my ear: but you’d also kiss me back.
“Yeah,” I say quietly. “I’m starting to figure that out.”
15
The message arrives on black parchment sealed with silver wax.
I’m in the library when Nat brings it to me, his expression unreadable as he sets it on the table where I’ve been researching contracts from the 1800s. The seal shows broken chains, the symbol of the House of Ruin.
“That’s not good,” Nat says quietly.
“What is it?”
“Seraph.” He doesn’t elaborate. Doesn’t need to. I remember the name from Barnes’ contract, from the pride I absorbed and purged, and from my own letter. The angel Croesus stole from with Barnes’ broken contract. “You should probably read it before Croesus finds you. Not sure why the house gave it to me and not him first. I assumed it wanted me to bring it to you.”
I break the seal. The handwriting inside is perfect, not just elegant, but flawless. Each letter perfectly formed, each line absolutely straight without a ruler. Handwriting that makes you conscious of your own messiness just by looking at it.
Croesus,
You have something that belongs to me. I want it back.
Bring your little sin eater to the House of Ruin tonight at sunset. We have much to discuss about theft, consequences, and the price of ambition.
Come alone. Both of you.
Seraph
First of Hubris
Lord of the House of Ruin
“Shit,”I breathe.
