Chapter 5

The first thing I notice when I wake is that even the air has been chained. It smells the same—sandalwood and some sweet floral oil that clings to the silk drapes—but there’s a weight to it now, as if the whole tower is holding its breath. When I try to roll onto my side, fire rips across my back and I choke on a gasp, fingers clawing at the sheets. Gold. Everywhere. The ceiling above me is painted with moons and suns, their edges picked out in leaf so bright it hurts my eyes. Beside...