“Sorry, Princess,” Blake said. “That was me. I’ve been in your dream every time. I blocked you from seeing that stake.”
What? “Why?”
Blake’s shattered eyes bore into mine. Even though his expression was as smooth and stony as ever, his eyes betrayed pain he’d buried deep, rising to the surface for the first time in his life. He didn’t know how to handle it.
He looked away, closing his long fingers around the curled arm of the sofa. “Because I knew who was on it. And I didn’t want you to see. Daigh had already hurt you enough.”
“Damnit, Blake!” I yelled. “If I’d seen Kelly on that stake I would’ve known Daigh was lying. I would never have deactivated the charms.” Corbin might not’ve died.
“You should have known that anyway,” Blake shot back. His head whipped around and his eyes flared with darkness – a simmering rage that forced back the pain. “He’s lied this whole time. That’s what he does.”
“Don’t blame Maeve for this,” Arthur boomed. “You’re the one who’s been keeping secrets. You never told the truth about who you are, and you’ve been double-dealing with your fae friend and sneaking around with Flynn. For all we know, you’re still loyal to the fae king—”
“After all this time, you still don’t trust me.” Blake’s lips curled back into a smirk that bore no resemblance to jocularity.
“You shouldn’t have kept that from her, Blake,” Flynn said.
“You mean, like all the things you kept from her?” Blake’s fierce eyes darted between Flynn and Arthur. Arthur’s hand flew to his sword, and Flynn crossed his arms across his chest, his features completely devoid of mirth. Blake’s posture remained relaxed, but his nails tore the upholstery. Tension crackled between them, rising off them like a hurricane, dragging out their darkest fears and battering them against each other in a clash of wills.
This isn’t what I want. I was pissed at Blake, sure. I was pissed at them all. But that was just because I loved them so much. We needed each other more than ever. If their friendships fell apart because of Corbin’s death, we would lose everything.
“Guys, don’t do this,” I pleaded.
“This is his fault,” Arthur growled, drawing his blade out and pointing the tip toward Blake’s chest. “You should have just stayed in the fae realm. We should never have let you into the coven.”
No.
I wanted to reach across and slap the words off Arthur’s lips, but it was too late. He’d loosed them into the maelstrom. They whirled through the air like rotor blades and slammed into Blake’s face. His head snapped back, slapping against the sofa. His chiseled features crumpled completely as his mask fell away, revealing hurt so deep and so fathomless my stomach plunged into my toes.
Right there in front of me was Blake Beckett, stripped of all the ego and fortitude that Daigh’s tutelage had bestowed upon him. All that was left was the human boy, the vulnerable child who’d been taken from his parents and forced into a life where he didn’t fit. The lost soul who had risked everything to join us and now had all the evidence he needed that he didn’t fit here either. He didn’t fit anywhere.
“Arthur, how could you?” I cried.
“Mother Mary, Arthur,” Flynn breathed. “That was ratshite, mate.”
Arthur’s piercing glare didn’t leave Blake’s face. He didn’t speak, and he didn’t lower his sword.
Blake stood up, brushing a strand of his long black hair behind his ear. “Thanks for your honesty, Arnold.”
I grabbed Blake’s arm, trying to force him to look at me. He didn’t react at all. His eyes fixed on some position on the wall behind me. A lump rose in my throat. “He didn’t mean it, Blake. He didn’t—”
“He did, Princess. That’s his way. At least he did me the honor of honesty, which was not something I could give you.” Blake’s shattered eyes darted back to Arthur, as if they hoped he might lower the sword and extend a hand instead. I glared at Arthur, but if he noticed, he didn’t react.
“Old Aragorn doesn’t speak for all of us,” Flynn piped up. “You’re my brother, mate. We’ve all made mistakes. Arthur’s making a stupid one right now.”
Blake slid his arm from mine and stepped toward the door. I grabbed him around the chest. Tears stung the corners of my eyes. I blinked them back. Once they started, I’d never get them to stop. “Don’t go. Please. I can’t lose another person I love. Corbin wanted you here and I… I need you.”
Blake curled his long fingers around mine and pried himself from my grip. “You don’t. You never did. It’ll be easier if I’m not here now. It was never meant to be. Maybe I’ll go back to my people,” he shrugged. “I’ve heard they’re in need of a new king.”
“Do that!” Arthur growled.
Flynn threw his arms around Blake and I, mashing our bodies together and trapping Blake between us. Another heavy body fitted in behind mine, and Rowan’s familiar thyme and flour scent crawled up my nostrils.
Ryan leapt at Arthur, his hand clamping on his arm and forming an enormous fox paw. Arthur yelped in surprise and relaxed his grip on the hilt enough that Ryan could knock it from his hand. The tip stuck into the wooden floor, burying the blade so it remained upright, quivering.
Arthur spun on his heel and slammed his fist into Ryan’s face, sending the artist sprawling backwards. “Fuck,” he growled, gripping his bleeding nose. Andrew leapt off his chair, grabbing Arthur from behind and trying to tackle him to the ground. Arthur slammed Andrew’s back into the bookshelf, sending a shower of books down on top of them. Andrew pushed Arthur’s head into the carpet and Arthur raised his fist and shot a fireball over his shoulder.
“Arthur!” I yelled. Andrew jerked his head to the side just as the fireball exploded against the bookcase.
“Jesus!” Flynn shot a jet of water at the bookcase, putting out the flames and drenching the rows of books.
Ryan leapt at them, transforming mid-air into an enormous fox. Kelly screamed. I choked back my own cry and Ryan scrambled up Arthur’s back and sank his teeth into his shoulder.
“Yeeeow!” Arthur swung around, sending another fireball across the room. Clara flattened herself against the rug it sailed over her head. Gwen reached up and hit it with a wall of water, extinguishing it in midair.
“Fun!” Smithers broke away from Aline’s grip and darted into the fray. He pressed his hand to the floorboards, which sprouted with a series of vines that curled across the floor. Arthur kicked one of the vines, and it responded by flaring up like a snake and wrapping around his ankle. Between the two guys, the fox, and the vines, Arthur’s heavy bulk crashed on the floor.
“Get off me!” he howled, struggling against his captors as he tried to reach his sword.
“Guys, please stop!” Kelly cried.
“Apologize to Blake!” Flynn yelled as he forced Arthur’s shoulder into the carpet. Blood dripped from between Ryan’s teeth.
“Flynn, it’s fine,” Blake said. “I’ll go.”
“You’re not going anywhere. If anyone’s to blame, it’s that bitch over there,” Flynn jabbed a finger at Isadora. “She was the one who gave Daigh everything he needed to feck up Maeve’s life. I say we—”
“What about Corbin?” Rowan yelled.
The room fell silent.
Everyone turned to stare at Rowan, who didn’t even flinch under the scrutiny. Flynn and Andrew slid off Arthur. Corbin’s name floated in the air between us, dissipating Arthur’s cruel words and all the chaos they had wrought. It was the exact effect Corbin would have had if he was here.
Rowan stood rigid, his face bent up and lips pressed together. He screwed his eyes tight, so he didn’t even have anything to count to keep himself calm. “What about Corbin?” he said again, louder this time, his voice deeper and harder than I’d ever heard before.
“Corbin’s gone, mate,” Arthur said, his voice suddenly gentle. Flynn and Andrew loosened their grip on him and he crawled onto his knees, wiping a strand of dirty-blond hair off his s
weat-streaked forehead. Something in Rowan’s voice had released the tension in his shoulders, and his whole body slumped in defeat. “Trust me on that. The coroner has his body now. We’ll get it back after they’ve finished their investigation and then we’ll have a memorial—”
“We can’t do that.” Rowan’s lips quivered. He gripped the back of the sofa, his knuckles pale.
“Why not?” Ryan said. He sounded tired.
Rowan sucked in a breath. His eyes flew open, deep pools of hope and longing. “Maeve had a dream this morning.”
“Rowan, don’t,” I warned.
“Corbin spoke to her. He says he’s in the underworld, and that if we work together with him we can stop Daigh forever.” Rowan jerked my shoulder. “He said we could bring him back.”
Bring him back.
Corbin’s earnest face flashed in my vision – the dream as clear in my mind as if it was a real memory. But it wasn’t. Corbin wasn’t coming back, and the more Rowan wanted to believe it, the more certain I was it wasn’t true.
“Maeve, why didn’t you say something.” Aline stood up. “If Corbin spoke to you in a vision, then—”
“It wasn’t a vision. It was a dream,” I said. “I just lost someone special to me. Of course he’s going to show up in my dreams. I relived my parents’ accident again and again in my dreams after they died. It doesn’t mean they were trying to speak to me from the underworld.”
“That you know of,” Isadora said with a smirk.
“Don’t speak to me,” I growled at her.
“Can you tell us about this dream?” Aline said. “Entertain your mother and her belief in prophecy, just the once. Maybe there’s something to it.”
Spirit magic sparked against my palms. I wanted to press them to Rowan’s cheeks and show him how painful it was to see Corbin in his dreams. The flood of anger that rose inside me and was directed at this beautiful guy I cared about so much terrified me. I stepped back and shook my head, not trusting myself to speak.
“Come on, Einstein,” Flynn cooed. “Is it such a stretch to believe that he could reach you in your dreams? You are our resident dreamwalker.”
“We don’t even know what dreamwalking means!” I yelled. “Dreams are just our brains processing information while we sleep. I might be able to give other people my dreams and pull their own nightmares out of their heads, but that doesn’t mean I can process information I’m not supposed to know yet. Magic is still a natural force – it can’t break the laws of causality. If you don’t believe me, then look at the evidence. The stakes and the radiated earth in my dreams didn’t come to pass. Daigh had the dream first and gave it to me and then used the stakes because he knew it would scare us. Science was right – retrocausality can’t work on a macroscopic level, precognition is impossible, and chaos prevails.”
“Or maybe Corbin figured out how—”
“He didn’t,” I growled. “I really want to stop talking about this. Take me to Daigh.”
Rowan’s face fell. “But what about the dream—”
I balled my hands into fists. “This discussion is over. I’m the High Priestess, and I’m seeing Daigh. Now.”
8
MAEVE
This begins and ends with Daigh.
My supposed father. The King of the Unseelie. Blake’s kidnapper and torturer. The murderer of my parents and Corbin. Every word out of his mouth so far had been a lie. He was right here in the same building as me, stripped of his magic and completely under my power.
And I had a motherfucking score to settle.
“Are you sure that’s a good idea—” Clara began, but as her eyes met mine, the words died on her lips. She nodded.
“I’m going with you,” Blake piped up.
Arthur opened his mouth to say something, but Flynn glared at him and he shut his mouth.
“We’re coming, too.” Aline squeezed Smithers’ hand.
Whatever. I didn’t care. I needed to get out of this room. I needed them all to stop attacking each other and talking about Corbin as if there was some possibility he was still alive. Rage had forced out the numbness, and I needed to do something with it before its fire consumed me from within. As much as I wanted to throttle every witch and human and fox in the room, this rage wasn’t for them. I needed to give it to the person who deserved it.
Ryan glanced from me to Blake to Aline, and then back to me again. He looked like he was going to protest, but then thought better of it. He shrugged. “Fine. Follow me.”
Ryan led us down another drab hall, through a thick glass and steel door into a temperature-controlled vaulted gallery filled with majestic paintings. Bright colors leered out of the walls, assailing my eyes with woodland scenes and bold abstracts that suggested the world was richer and more beautiful than I knew it to be. I balled my hands into fists, resisting the urge to tear down an image of a young girl carrying a heart-shaped balloon and smash it over Ryan’s head.
Down another short hall, the walls lined with stacks of large, flat boxes I guessed contained more artwork, we came to a large metal door. Ryan rapped on the door with his knuckles, resulting in a dull thud of solid steel. “I had this safe installed a few years ago to store my art collection when I rotated the displays. It’s the most secure place in the house. It’s also ventilated to prevent condensation damaging the paint.”
“The perfect prison,” Blake said in his usual easy tone. I glanced up at him. He had his mask on again – the still expression and cocky smirk that always enchanted me. But his eyes… the darkness.
Ryan tapped a code into the keypad, and the door swung inward. I leaned in to squint at the darkness.
A shadow launched itself at the door, knocking Ryan across the hall. Daigh’s fingers raked at Ryan’s throat, raising red scratches. Red fur poked through Ryan’s skin, and he yelped as he struggled against Daigh’s attack and his uncontrollable shift.
Blake lunged forward but I got there first. “Get back,” I growled, grabbing Daigh’s head and funneling all my pent up pain and grief into my palms.
Daigh’s skin crackled under my touch. Flashes of memory that felt familiar but that didn’t belong to me burned through my mind – blood running under a dark sky, dancing with entrails strung around my body like streamers, gorging myself on drink and food and misery, rage, pain, jealousy… and love. Love so fierce and twisted it became an ugly hate. Love that wasted the body and poisoned the mind.
Love for Aline. Love for… me.
I drew all that love to the surface and threw it back at Daigh. I poured his own twisted dreams back at him. Joy filled me as he sank to the floor, his body convulsing as he lived every dark moment of his life all at once.
This is what you deserve. You destroyed my life. You killed everyone I love.
I drove the memories hard and fast into him until they became a blur of fire and hate. Daigh crumpled into a ball, clutching his head in his hands. Inhuman wails issued from his lips, becoming one with the screams inside my head. A faint smell of roasting meat tainted the air.
“Maeve, stop!” Hands pulled me back. I cried out as my mind was torn from Daigh. The memories evaporated, replaced by Blake – his statuesque face frozen in concern.
“Why did you stop me?” I growled. “He tortured you, remember? He should suffer for what he’s done to us.”
“Oh, I enjoyed that very much, Princess. Cut his fingers off one by one and make him eat them if that’s what makes you happy. It would make me happy.”
“Let’s go, then.”
Blake’s fingers gripped my shoulders. “Only if you won’t regret it. Your sister may be wiser than you give her credit for. I don’t want you to do anything you regret.”
I glanced down at Daigh. He’d curled up into the fetal position, his knees hugging his chest as he rocked his head in his hands. Red spiderwebs crisscrossed the skin on his face and ran down his arms. A wave of revulsion coursed through me.
I did that to him.
I cursed. Blake was r
ight. As quickly as it came, the rage eased. A different memory flashed in front of my eyes – me as an eight-year-old crying in my room because a bully at school had stuck the fire hose through my locker and destroyed all my science books. Louise Crawford gathered me in my arms and listened to all my revenge plans and recited from Scripture about how Jesus turned the other cheek.
That was what Kelly wanted me to do, to be like Jesus. And she was right. I felt it in my bones. I had to do the right thing even though the right thing was hard and I was hurting and I wanted Daigh to suffer.
Goddammit, why couldn’t I have been adopted by a Jewish family? From what I remember of the Bible, they’re nuts for revenge.
I stepped back from Daigh and collapsed into Blake’s arms. “What did you do to him, Princess?” Blake whistled through his teeth as we watched Daigh writhe on the floor.
“Nothing he didn’t deserve,” I replied, my body trembling.
A noise behind us startled me from my thoughts. I whirled around. At the far end of the hallway, Robert Smithers was on the ground, too, his head in his hands. He murmured nonsense. Aline cupped his shoulders, tears streaming down her face as she tried to coax him back to reality.
“I don’t know if it’s in his head or if he really feels Daigh’s pain, but there’s still a connection between them,” she cried, her eyes pleading me.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt Rob.” I burrowed my head deeper into Blake’s shoulder. His sleek black hair fell over my face like a waterfall.
“Let’s get him back inside,” Ryan said. Blake reluctantly slid out from my grip, and he and Ryan lifted Daigh’s arms and dragged him into the safe. I followed them, leaning my back against the cold wall and sucking in deep breaths.
What have I done?
I hated this man (and he was just a man now) with every fiber of my being. But when I saw the red welts across his sweat-soaked face from my magic, a sick feeling twisted in my gut. I wanted to inflict pain – as much pain as he’d given me. He was our prisoner and I wanted to torture him and take pleasure in his screams.
The Castle of Spirit and Sorrow Page 7
