Page 21 of The Kings Game

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“Ladies, please take your seats. You will note that on your schedules, once a day, you will have two hours with me to learn more about history. As Essos mentioned initially, you will be attending this ball and attempting to impress the citizens of Solarem with your knowledge of history, the arts and philosophy. Many of these gods lived it, and they love nothing more than to talk about their glory days. Your success depends on being able to impress these people, so take these lessons to heart.”

“Solarem?” I ask, impatient. They might cover this later, but I think context is important.

“The realm of the gods. Currently, we are in one small part of that realm, however, the main city of Solarem, where most reside, is above us, in the clouds.” Their eyes search my face, and as if they realize that I’m not going to let it go, pushes on. “Solarem has its own separate ruler, which we will address later. In an effort to be closer to those he rules, Essos established his home here, closer to the Underworld. Think of Solarem as a three-tiered cake—the top layer is the city, situated in the clouds, and below that is Earth. There is a veil between Solarem and this home and the mortal realm. If someone pulled back that veil, mortals would see a floating city. The final layer is the Underworld, where Essos rules.

“I have heard some of you call him the God of Death or Lord of the Underworld. One of those titles is correct. He is a god, but not of death—he is God or King of the Underworld. He prefers Lord, but will—how do you say it these days? Flex?—he will flex before others and insist he is given his rightful respect as king. All the people we are to discuss are gods or goddesses, major or minor. Remember to show them their rightful respect.”

I flip open the notebook and start scribbling furiously, trying to keep track as best I can. The information flies at us faster than we can keep up. I glance over and see that Cat is writing in the shorthand she’s been using forever.

Sybil stresses the importance of knowing the difference between Helen of Troy and someone named Helene, and to speak deferentially to the people who will be at the ball. Before I know it, the lesson is over.

Sybil explains that the lessons will get more and more detailed. More than anything else, it sounds like we have to learn the gossip of old. In the Sybil-us that they provided, I see we’re going to cover the rise and fall of the Romans and the Greeks. I avoided philosophy in college, but I am going to be learning a lot of it now.Much of our first lesson was a setting of the stage before we learn who the key players are. Sybil promises us that, all in due time, they will teach us about the various gods and goddesses, including Essos’s family tree, but we need to learn the boring bits before we can get to the good stuff.

After the lesson, we’re led down the hallway toward Essos’s office, stopping at each painting in the hall. Sybil confirms that the one I admired is indeed one of Monet’sWater Liliesseries, hanging beside an original Picasso. Each name they list as we walk down the hallway brings me back to my freshman Art History seminar.

“This is Essos’s pride and joy,” Sybil says as they continue down the hall then stop at a set of double doors across from Essos’s office. They push open the doors and lead us into a full gallery. I don’t remember seeing these doors when I had my one on one.

“I know that you received a lot of information this morning, so you have the rest of the day to yourselves. Take your time in here, or do what you please.” They take up a post in one corner of the room.

Almost everyone wanders around for a few minutes before leaving to sit outside in the sun. I catch sight of Cat pouring over her notebook as she walks out. I opt to stay behind and look at what is before us. Knowing that Essos already has priceless treasures in his hallway, I want to know what he keeps formally in his gallery. I’ll admit that my attention during Art History 101 was sporadic at best, but some of the images before me are familiar.

I lose track of time, but I get at least a half hour alone to forget my circumstances, which I need. Everything is a touch overwhelming. I stop when I come uponTheStarry Nightby van Gogh, easily my favorite work of art. Surrounded by some of the most famous pieces of art in the world, I don’t understand how they’re here, but at the moment, I don’t care.

“Beautiful.” A voice barely breathes the word. I’ve grown familiar with that voice, and I’m not surprised when I look up to see Essos standing beside me, watching my expression. A small part of me wants to think he’s talking about me and not the painting, but he kills that hope when he gestures at the art. “Isn’t it?”

“Breathtaking,” I say, nodding. He smiles, gesturing farther down toBirth of Venusby Boticelli, and I walk with him.

“I love to see the art admired. Too many mortals stop for a picture to say they’ve seen it without really enjoying the piece.”

“I never went to many art galleries, but I can see that being frustrating—that people don’t take a moment to enjoy the beauty.” I pause as we move to another piece. “I didn’t peg you for an art collector.”

“Why not? Running the Underworld has its perks. The painting in the hall was a gift, a continuation by Monet for…uh…” he actually stumbles on his words “…me. It was a gift for me. My realm is surrounded by the most precious resources to mankind. That puts me in a unique position financially. All the world’s gemstones come from my realm, and my younger brother, who is in charge of everything else, can’t be bothered with such pedestrian problems as finances. It falls on my shoulders to see that precious gemstones and metals are produced for the mortal realms, and as a reward, I’m also in charge of the banking institutions for the citizens of Solarem. So, I acquire beautiful things to brighten my domain.” He smiles, clasping his hands behind his back.

I consider what he said about gemstones coming from his domain. All the sparkling gems in each of our rooms make sense. We continue to walk through his gallery, and every so often he pauses before a painting and tells me about it and what it means to him. As we go, I find myself admiring the animation in his face and tone almost more than the artwork.

Eventually, a thought occurs to me, and I take a stuttering step. “Aren’t we breaking the alone-time rule?” I ask. I don’t want him to stop talking, stop giving me these little nuggets of information I wouldn’t otherwise learn until much later, but I also don’t want to get kicked out. The thought of that happening nearly makes me stagger.

He pauses to gesture at Sybil, standing in their corner and watching us but trying to pretend they’re not. “No. Sybil brought you all to the gallery so I could give you a tour. My meeting ran later than expected, and so I was late. You’re the only one still here, and I believe we shouldn’t let a good museum outing go to waste. Would you like to see the interior of the Sistine Chapel?”

I nod, too shocked to say anything as he leads me through another doorway at the back of the gallery. The door does indeed lead to the Sistine Chapel, complete with pillars, the altar, and the glorious ceiling.

Essos lets me walk around and take in every bit of it, occasionally dropping an odd fact as he follows me. “Contrary to what many people say, Michelangelo was standing as he painted it, not lying on his back on scaffolding,” he says as I study the famous work.

“So, what you’re saying is that Spaceship Earth is wrong?” I ask, turning to face him. He’s studying me intently, and I feel my cheeks warm. I can imagine what I must have looked like with my head dropped back, gaping at the beauty above me.

“The mouse was wrong,” he admits grimly, meeting my eyes. I laugh, earning a smile, and my stomach stumbles for a different reason. Is this what it feels like to fall for someone at nearly first sight? I never thought it possible, but with each glance from him, I find myself flushing with the desire to be around him more. I wish that he would smile all the time, because when he does, it feels like the whole room is more illuminated, and his eyes are clear and bright.

“How is this all possible?” I ask, letting Essos lead me to a bench. His hand is on the small of my back as we sit to just look, and I want him to leave it there forever. I sit for only a moment before standing abruptly and then lying on the ground, so I can stare at the ceiling without straining my neck.

“We are in a different plane of existence. This house exists on earth—on your Earth—but where we are is neither here nor there. I am able to keep things from the mortal realm here without them ever moving there. The doorway to the Sistine Chapel is a portal of sorts to the real thing. It’s easier for me to do that than to actually visit the mortal realms.”

I nod as if this makes sense.

Essos gets off the bench and stands over me before lying on the floor beside me, our heads very close. I turn to look at him, and I’m close enough to see a freckle or two on his nose. When he turns to face me, our noses nearly brush, his eyes widening at just how close we are. It’s hard to miss from this distance how his eyes sweep to my lips then up again before his gaze travels back to the ceiling. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. “It’s quite a bit outside anyone's grasp. If this were not my own life, I’m not sure I would understand it myself.”

Taking his cue, I look back up, trying to see it through the eyes of someone who was there to watch it be built. I reach a hand toward his, unsure what to expect, and he twines his fingers with mine. His hand is smooth and warm as he rubs his thumb over mine.

“Have you always led alone?” I ask, turning to face him. Finn confirmed that there was someone before, but not in what role. I hope that, perhaps foolishly, Essos will open up to me a little about his life. I know there are limits, but surely telling us facts about himself isn’t one of them. He turns his head toward me, and all that light I saw just moments earlier dims. I’m sorry for inflicting that on him. I wish I could read his mind and know what’s going on as his blue eyes study my face.


Tags: Nicole Sanchez Fantasy