I turn my head to look and see where Midas is indicating. My tired eyes land on a spot on the marble, gilded veins now running throughout every polished tile.
With weighted steps, I pad across the room to the offensive spot that didn’t take. Beneath my bare feet, I will some of my gold to trickle through my heels and toes, but it’s sluggish, drying up, my arches aching like someone’s nails digging into the strained muscles.
As soon as I manage to gild the spot, I slump against the wall, limbs shaking with exhaustion. A layer of sweat pearls against my brow, and it takes all my willpower not to lie down right here in the middle of the throne room and pass out.
“It’s nearly dusk,” Midas says, as if I need the reminder.
He’s sitting on the throne with a ledger in his lap that he’s been going over for however many hours we’ve been in here. While he’s been reading and making notes on who-knows-what, I’ve been systematically gold-touching everything in the room. Just as I’ve been doing in other various rooms for the past four days. Turning a castle gold is more draining than I remember.
When I did this at Highbell, my powers were still new. My gold-touch came in spurts and depleted quickly. Yet over the years, my magic has become stronger. I’ve been able to do more at one time for longer, but four days of draining my power again and again has caught up with me. So much so that the impending dusk makes me want to sigh in relief.
The fact that my power only works during the day means I’m limited, but it can also be a blessing. As soon as the sun sets, I can relax. I don’t have to pay attention to every single movement, to be so aware of my skin and my touch. More importantly, I can have a break from Midas’s incessant requests.
All I’ve done is work myself down to the bone, using my power again and again and again to please him. He’s dangling Digby over me. Every time I want to tell him to shove it instead of turning another piece of clothing, plate, plant, or table gold, I’ve had to bite my tongue. I’ve had to fist my hands and do it anyway, because the threat of him hurting Digby looms over me like a dust storm ready to descend.
The only good thing about my constant work these past few days is that they’ve been enlightening. I’ve been able to see more of the main parts of the castle without having to sneak around, been able to make more of a map of everything around me. Now, I’m not just searching for ways out, but also trying to figure out where Digby might be held.
“I can’t do any more today,” I tell Midas honestly, shaking my head as I look down at my sticky hands. The liquid gold is claggy and clumped, half-drying against my palms like thickening paint. “I’m wiped out.”
With a furrowed brow, he closes his ledger and tucks it beneath his vest before getting up from the throne. A throne, which, thanks to me, is now solid gold just like the raised dais beneath it. Gold-touch is immediate with whatever comes into contact with my bare skin, but the more I use it, the more difficult and exhausting it is. I don’t know how many more days of this endless demand on my magic I can handle. Already, I feel like I’ve aged twenty years.
Midas walks toward me, gaze sweeping the throne room. He glances at the floors that now gleam, at the gilt window frames and the panes that are now tinged gold. I even managed to gild every inch of the walls, which took hours in this massive space since I had to do it in spurts so I didn’t drain myself too quickly.
But now I’m tired, I’m cranky, and I’ve reached my daily limit with tolerating Midas’s soft suggestions of what else needs to be gold-touched.
Midas’s eyes lift as he takes in the ceiling with a frown. I wasn’t able to get my power to stretch that far, so the ceiling and blue crystal chandeliers are untouched. Personally, I think the white and blue looks better.
The only other thing left in here is the viewing section to the left, the wooden banisters and benches intact. Although, considering the size of the room, I’ve done far more than I thought I could today.
“Shame about the chandeliers,” Midas muses as he stops in front of me, head tipped up.
I have to hold my tongue to keep from cursing him. I’ve worked tirelessly all damn day, and that’s what he has to say to me?
I can feel that earlier anger from the parapet wall peek its head up in the chasm of my spirit, an eye cracking open. I’ve tied my ribbons into simple bows at my back, but they tighten instinctively with my spark of temper.
While he’s looking around the room, I look at him. “Sorry to disappoint you,” I bite out.
“We’ll get it done tomorrow,” he says absently, not picking up on my tone.
Why he says we, as if he does anything other than sit there, is beyond me.
“Just in time too. I’ve received word from Third Kingdom. They were held up by their timberwings, but they’re back on course and will be arriving soon.” He looks at the gilded throne with pride, like he’s already envisioning sitting in it while his new admirers look upon him.
The monster that’s taken up residence in my chest trills out a warning, but I tamp her down.
Since I’ve been gold-touching every day, Midas has worked quietly, only offering a few words every so often, which means I’ve had plenty of time to think. I’m figuring out who I am outside of his control, but...I want to like who I become. I’m worried about what might happen if thi
s dark beast that’s taken root inside of me rears her ugly head.
Letting out a strangled breath, I suppress my temper once again, while my fingers come up to press against my aching temple. “I’d like to go lie down now.”
Midas looks at me for the first time, a frown curving down as his brassy eyes skate over me. “Are you tired?”
“Of course I’m tired,” I say snappishly.
Instead of the flash of anger or the pointed look that warns me to remember Digby, his frown only deepens. “You’re right. You’ve done a lot of work for the past few days, and I should’ve ensured that you didn’t tax yourself too much. Come, we’ll go out the back door and I’ll escort you to your rooms where you can rest.”
Rest. Sounds heavenly.