by Bec McMaster
“And yet?”
A dark heated knowledge fills his amber eyes. “There’s one line of the prophecy that has always stayed with me: A queen will Awaken, and the dragons will fall. Until the line of Igrainne breathes its last, no peace will be found.” He bares his teeth. “Calliope wasn’t a queen. She was just… some poor wretch who didn’t understand her powers. But if she gets her hands on that cauldron, she could become something even I’m not able to thwart.”
Keir eases out a slow breath, lacing his fingers through mine. “I need to find the cauldron.” His voice is rough gravel, thick with emotion. “Before Calliope does. I need to take both it and the horn and hide them away from this world. Calliope…. If she’s still out there…. If she—or her mother—manages to get her hands on that cauldron…. Or if a fae king somehow discovers how to use its powers….” His face hardens. “This is my burden because I failed the first time. I am the guardian of the cauldron. I have to be. I have to end this.”
The power of the cauldron is the only thing remaining in play with the strength to break the curse laid upon my people.
Without it, we’ll wither and die.
And if I don’t bring it home to my father, then he will….
Let’s just say drowning will be the least of my worries.
I clasp a hand to my throat. All that power. My father will never stop with a broken curse. It will be war and no matter what I think of the fae I’ve never truly wished for war. “What if we could destroy the horn?”
Keir looks at me sharply. “What?”
“We find the horn, and we destroy it.” I push to my knees as the idea starts to gain hold within me. “No one can use it to find the cauldron.”
Keir shakes his head. “The horn cannot be destroyed. It’s protected by the goddess.”
“Then maybe we can sink it in the deepest part of the ocean so no one ever finds it,” I growl.
Keir brushes his knuckles against my lips, his eyes sleepy-lidded and satisfied.
“Why are you smiling?” He’s just told me a story of horrific consequences.
“You said ‘we,’” Keir says as he kisses me.
19
I Sift inside Belladonna’s rooms the next morning and reform, stalking toward her bed with the intent of whipping the blankets off her. “Wake up, Sleeping Beauty. You want me to kill your groom? Then you have to—”
The blankets burst upwards, and two startled heads appeared.
My hand jerks back.
“What in the Cauldron’s name are you doing in here?” Belladonna hisses, as Anissa ducks back beneath the covers with a yelp.
I slam to a halt. A great many things suddenly make sense in hindsight. Letters. Oh. Those kinds of letters. “Well. Aren’t I a fool?” Mistmark’s imminent execution suddenly makes a great deal of sense. I circle the bed. “This is why you want your groom dead, isn’t it?”
Belladonna slips from the bed, icily cool even as she draws a silk robe on. The expression on her face would be a threat if her hair didn’t look like she’d spent hours with her face between her lover’s thighs last night. “What in the Shadow Lands are you doing in here? How dare you? If you think this gives you any leverage, think again. My cousin is well aware of my proclivities.”
She curls her fingers into claws, gathering her magic, and I Sift out of reach, wagging a finger at her. “Relax, my lady. I have no intention of telling anyone what I saw here.” I glance toward the bed. Anissa still hasn’t made a reappearance. “None of this is my business. I was merely hoping to gain your assistance with a small task.”
Her eyes narrow.
We stare at each other like two cats entering each other’s territories.
Finally, Belladonna turns toward a bowl of water set out for her morning ablutions. She cups her hands within it and wipes them down her face. “You think I’m fool enough to fall in with your little scheme and name myself conspirator? Think again. I told you what you need to do—”
I pluck an apple from her breakfast tray and toss it in the air. “Killing Mistmark’s a little more difficult than originally intended. He’s protected far too well. Besides”—the bed appears to be moving; Anissa is clearly curious about this turn of events—“it’s not Mistmark you have a problem with. Don’t you want to throw this mistake in your cousin’s face? Don’t you want to see Malechus humbled before his entire court? He’s forcing you to marry, isn’t he? He took your letters, made some sort of threat against you…. Or no, Anissa, wasn’t it? He threatened Anissa.”
Belladonna stills. I have to admire both her restraint and her posture. Her shoulders are so square she makes even the effort of drying her face with a linen look arrogant. Tricking her is going to require the kind of play that makes my fingers itch.
But everyone has their weakness.
And Malechus is hers.
“What did you have in mind?” she finally asks.
Perfect. She’s on the hook. I snap my fingers, and as if she was waiting for this moment, Soraya shoves both panels of the bedchamber doors open and stalks inside with her shoulders squared. An enormous train of dark green velvet rasps over the floor behind her, and her sleek brown hair has been swept back with waxed hands, so that it falls in a straight line down her back. Her sharpened nails are painted scarlet, and the gown brings out the malicious emerald glint in her eyes.
Belladonna gasps, which draws Anissa out from beneath the blankets.
“What do you think?” I ask Anissa, because she would know best, after all.
Her jaw drops open, and her head jerks between Belladonna and Soraya as if even she can’t tell the difference.
“Who. Is. This?” Belladonna demands, facing her exact replica.
I sink into a chair and kick my heels up on the small table in front of me, taking a bite out of the apple. “I think we’re going to have to work on your delivery,” I tell Soraya.
“Get your filthy boots off my table,” my sister tells me in an almost perfect rendition of Belladonna’s tone as she stalks toward me. “How was that?” Then she gives a little twirl before giving Belladonna a nasty grin. “You may remember me…. I had weeks to learn your mannerisms.”
The glamor bleeds off her until Anissa is scrambling from the bed, wrapping herself in the sheets as she cowers beside her lover. “Violet? What are you doing here?”
I exchange a knowing look with Soraya. “Violet? Really? I meant to take you to task for that. Isn’t it getting a little old?”
She shrugs. “I retired Rose, and Iris was getting a little too well-known in the eastern courts.”
With every role she plays, she takes on an alias, and for some reason she likes flowers.
“Pretty. Potent. And sometimes deadly,” she once told me.
“I presume this has a point.” Belladonna’s voice drips ice.
I grin at the reluctant bride as her eyebrows hit her hairline. “This is what we call bait and switch.”
“You want to exchange me with my maid?”
“Technically—” Soraya gives her a little smile. “—I’m an assassin. Not a maid.”
Both she and Anissa grow pale, but Soraya saunters toward me, resting on the arm of my chair. “Oh, relax,” she says. “I was never here for you. You were just an easy way to get into the court, once I realized your previous maid was bundled away to the country. Not that you’d know anything about that.”
I feel like I’m missing a vital piece of information.
“The previous maid was working for Malechus.” Soraya reads me well. “So Belladonna removed her. She’s currently convalescing in the country.”
“Convalescing.” It’s an interesting word.
“I’m not the only one with a gift for poisons,” Soraya murmurs. Her eyes lock with Belladonna’s. “Although her ladyship’s a little less refined with them. You nearly killed her.”
Belladonna’s finger twitches as though she’d almost like to curse Soraya.
“Careful with that finger, my lady,”
Soraya purrs. “You’re still recovering from what you did to Zemira. I’m very well aware of the extent of your powers, and you’re days away from recovering the strength to commit a second curse. But just in case, my knife will be in your throat before you can even twitch it again.”
She definitely hasn’t told me everything.
Belladonna’s eyes narrow, and she takes a long time before she sinks into the chair opposite me, crossing one smooth leg over the other. “I assume there’s more to this lovely little get-together than a chance to exchange threats.” She drags Anissa down beside her, somewhat protectively. “You have my interest. Proceed.” And then she smiles. “Give me one good reason not to detonate the curse twined around your heart.”
“Simple.” I toss the half-eaten apple back on the plate and lean forward. “Two words: Malechus. Dead.”
“In a way that cannot lead back to you,” Soraya adds.
“I’m listening,” Belladonna purrs.
The plan is simple.
Belladonna conceded Mistmark isn’t her true target—merely a means to sidestep this marriage, since her cousin insists she must go through with it—but she’s not interested in lifting the curse or allowing me to avoid the terms of it unless it’s done.
Mistmark must die before she’ll remove the curse.
She will not marry him.
Someone has trust issues, though I daresay I can’t blame her after spending over a week in the Court of Blood. The only hint of softness the lady reveals is when she looks at Anissa, and she absolutely refuses to allow even the slightest chance this marriage will take place.
Which means we’re back to the beginning—but then, I never expected otherwise.
With Falion hovering attentively over Mistmark like a mother duck clucking over its ducklings, Mistmark is out of reach. If Soraya can’t see a way to do it, then it doesn’t exist.
But there’s one person who can get close to him.
One person who is expected to get close to him.
Besides, sometimes I can be a little theatrical.
Soraya and I sit in the rafters overlooking the grotto where the wedding will take place. The servants are hauling in boughs of mistletoe and bloodstar. Snow dusts the grotto floor, hiding any lingering remnants of lechery.
“Exits.” Soraya points. “One to the right, one to the left, and there’s the antechamber Malechus likes to use for his more private entertainments.”
I rub my hands together. The snow started last night, followed by a light rain. It was enough to wash away the snow in the garden above, but here in the grotto the protective overhang of rock shields certain corners of the room, and the overall effect is a little chilly.
It’s pretty though.
Especially against the backdrop of scarlet leaves and berries.
“Think you can go through with this?” I mutter. “If you mistime it, then Mistmark is dead.”
“Oh, I know I can.” Soraya doesn’t move, her hawkish eyes surveying the room. “And if he dies, then I can tell father I succeeded in my task.”
She doesn’t even flinch. But I learned long ago that my sister can lock away her heart as easily as breathing. It doesn’t mean it doesn’t occasionally bother her.
“I know you won’t kill him.”
“What?” She cuts me a look.
I blow into my cupped hands. “He got to you. Somehow. And you got to him.”
Color blooms in her cheekbones. “What do you mean by that?”
“You haven’t said a word about the fact Malechus used you to blackmail Mistmark into marriage.” My voice softens. “If he didn’t care, then he would have told Malechus to toss you off a cliff.”
Soraya stares across the grotto for such a long time I’m starting to think she’s not going to answer. And then her lashes lower over her eyes. “Then he’s a fool,” she says, but her voice lacks the chilliness I think she’s striving for. “You can’t fall in love with a weapon. And that’s all I am. That’s all I can ever be.”
“Soraya—”
“And what about Keir?” Her voice hardens. “Since we’re speaking of complications. Is Keir going to be a problem? Because I know your heart is softer than mine.”
The problem with knowing someone as well as this is that they know all your tells. “He’s unaware you’re in play. I can keep him distracted.”
Her eyebrow arches.
“I can,” I repeat. “And don’t give me that look.”
“You’re fucking him.”
I uncap the water flask I have at my belt, focusing on keeping all my emotions off my face. “Why wouldn’t I be? He’s gorgeous.” I aim for insouciance. “Good in bed too.”
“Good?” She reaches out and taps my throat. “You have bruises everywhere. I’m fairly certain they look like teeth marks.”
I slap her finger away. “Fine. Great in bed.”
She grumbles under her breath.
“What?” I demand. “Why not enjoy the moment? I’m never going to see him again once this is done.”
“Really?” The way she drawls the word makes me want to punch her. “You see, there’s just a little problem with that….”
“Oh?”
“Teeth marks, Z. Possessive, territorial marks. All over you. And you’re blushing like a maiden after her first tumble.”
I roll my eyes. “Ridiculously mind-blowing in bed. It’s just sex.”
She’s so still, sitting on the ledge of the grotto like some sort of gargoyle. Her gaze grows distant as she returns her focus to the altar. “I keep thinking about that last quest. About the way we both failed.”
“I’m fairly certain you succeeded.” I can’t help it if my voice grows a little rough. Like most of our relationship, it’s easier if we don’t pretend it’s built on a foundation of betrayal.
This is getting dangerously close to topics we really shouldn’t be discussing right before we try to pull off the heist of the century.
“Did I?” Soraya turns all of her focus upon me. “The Dragon’s Heart. A relic with enough alleged power to tear apart the curse upon our people, and yet, when I placed it in Father’s hands it barely had enough magic within it to light a candle. Someone got their information wrong.”
My heart skips a beat. “Fine. I fucked up.”
“I was locked in a sarcophagus for a long time, Z.” Her voice becomes silken. “I had a lot of time to think about where it all went wrong. And I know you. You know what my mind keeps tripping over? The fact I was about to drive my knife through Keir’s heart when you appeared. You threw me off him and the amulet hit the floor. But you didn’t go for it. You stepped between us. You were protecting him.”
There’s a chill in the center of my chest. I can’t let her guess the truth. “Maybe I was a little furious. You had your tongue down his throat.”
“What can I say? The best way to get a man’s mind off his defenses is to give him a taste of what he wants.” She eyes me, noticing the way I shift onto my toes. “Jealous, Z?”
“You know what would be fun?” I turn the conversation on its head and smile sweetly at her. “Asking Mistmark what happened between the two of you. I’m fairly certain that would be an interesting tale.”
A scowl darkens her face. “Nothing happened. And nice attempt to deflect. You’re right. You fucked up. But it has nothing to do with getting the location of the relic wrong.” She laughs under her breath. “Your soul was on the line, Z. You had a chance to get it back and break free of Father’s geas. You had a chance for freedom. But you chose him. You chose his life over yours. Does he even know that?”
“I’m sure you have a point to make.”
“You knew the amulet was a decoy. You knew it wasn’t the Dragon’s Heart. That’s why you didn’t even glance at the amulet.” She shakes her head. “It was right there in front of me the entire time. He’s the key to our freedom, but you were protecting him.”
I tense.
“He’s a dragon,” she says softly. “He has
the power to change an entire world—or to break our curse. His heart will power the entire spell by itself.”
Fuck. She knows. Indecision makes my hand hesitate, but she catches the way it hovers near my belt.
“Don’t,” she warns. “We both know who’s going to walk away from this if you draw that knife.”
“Maybe we did once, but I didn’t have anything to lose then.” I let my hand settle on the hilt. “You can’t say anything. If Father finds out—”
“Father underestimated the play,” she says coldly. “I underestimated the play. And I learned my lesson. I’ve also been doing a little bit of research since then.” Her expression sobers. “Everyone knows dragons were powerful, but all the books skirt around the fact there was no way to win that war against them. A single dragon king tore apart the combined forces of nearly all the Blessed courts. The only way they were defeated was to destroy them from within.” She shudders. “I’m not dipping my toe in that pool again, Z. I know when I’m outclassed. Whoever Keir is—whatever he is—I’m staying well and truly away. He can keep his heart. I can’t enjoy my soul if I’m dead.”
If there’s one thing I know about my sister, it’s that she weighs the risks of everything. It’s why she’s the best.
“You won’t tell Father?”
“If I tell Father where the real Dragon’s Heart is, he’s only going to send me after it. You may as well put me back in Malechus’s little stone box.”
The tension finally eases from my muscles. “Thank you.”
“You’re a fool, you know?” Her voice softens again. “He’s only going to get you dead. There is no escape for either of us. That’s another little reckoning I was forced to accept while I was contemplating life.”
I’m not going to give up. “What’s the point in surviving if you have nothing left to live for?”
The muscle in Soraya’s jaw twitches before the faintest of smiles escapes. “Stubborn bitch.”
I eye the grotto again. “Someone has to be. I’m going to beat him one day, Sora. Father’s not invincible. I just need my soul-trap—”
