“My scars are nothing to be ashamed of,” Evie said, her eyes burning. “You carry a burden, and so do I. I am strong enough to bear it.”
“There is another way.” The King's eyes were pushing into her.
“What?” Evie asked, wary. She could tell from the King’s expression that even he was not sure that she would want what he offered.
“Join us,” he said simply. “Become one of us. Share in our power, and in our burden.” He smiled regretfully. “Sadly, I cannot give you one without the other.”
“Is that even possible?” Evie gasped.
“It is,” the King said steadily. “You are an Echo. Our blood, though diluted, already runs in your veins. A full human could never join our ranks, but one who shares our blood. . .”
“But I have no power, no voice!” Evie protested. “Even among the Legacies, I was considered a weakling!”
“I assure you, it makes no difference.” The King said, taking a step toward her to close the distance between them. “You are of our blood, Evie. If you choose, you may become one of us fully. I do not offer this lightly. It has only been done a handful of times in our long history. But you have shown great strength, and what Roman told me was true: we have failed you. We should have protected you, and we did not. We owe you a debt. I cannot give you back what has been taken from you. But I can offer you a new life. You would be accepted and treasured among us. Your knowledge of the human world, of the Legacy and Echo households . . .” The King raised his hands expressively. “Here they would be considered rare gifts. There is a war coming. I have need of the things that you know. You need feel no loyalty to your parents, to the ones who raised you and then treated you as less than garbage. If you choose to stand with us, I can make you stronger and more powerful than you have ever been.”
“And if I refuse?”
The King looked at her sadly. “Then I will call my daughter,” he said gently. “And she will sing to you.”
“No,” Evie cried, the words rushing out almost instantly. “I’ll join you.” She felt not the slightest bit of hesitation. She clung to the King’s offer like a drowning man clutching at a raft.
The King nodded, but his expression didn’t change.
“You knew that, didn’t you?” she asked. “All this time that we’ve been talking, you knew what you would offer me, and how I would answer. That’s why you have told me all of these things.”
The King smiled faintly. Then he clapped his hands once.
The door to the throne room flew open. The female Siren with red hair, who had escorted Evie here, stood in the doorway, an ornate cup in her hands. It steamed and bubbled. She walked toward the King and handed the cup to him, and then glided backward swiftly, without so much as glancing at Evie’s face. The door swung shut silently behind her.
“That isn’t . . .” Evie gasped, staring at the cup. “The moonstone goblet?”
The King shook his head. “No,” he said, his face serious. “This is something else.”
“What is it?” Evie asked, but the King shook his head.
“Enough questions!” the King snapped, his expression hardening. “You must drink the contents of this cup. All of it.”
“And it will make me change?” Evie asked, trying to keep her voice from trembling.
“Not yet. This will prepare your body, and open your mind. It will give you a vision, one that we must share together. It is the only way for us to know if the path you have chosen is the way that your life is truly meant to be. Only after you have tasted the water, and seen what it has shown you . . . only then will you be ready to undergo the change.”
Without another word of explanation, the King raised the goblet to eye level. He looked at it steadily, whispering to himself inaudibly before bringing it to his lips. He took only the smallest of sips, barely concealing a grimace when he tasted it. He handed the steaming goblet to Evie, who hurried to tip it down her throat before she could stop to think of what she was doing.
It tasted like hot rot, and cinnamon.
Evie gagged as she swallowed, letting the cup fall from her fingers and clang against the floor when she was done.
She turned to the King, who was watching her expectantly. For one, long, thrilling moment, she met his eyes, full of defiance. Then it hit her, the pain like an expanding balloon swelling in her gut. Her heart pushed up and into the wall of her chest, beating frantically, like a bird breaking its wings against the bars of a cage. She sat down heavily on the floor, cross-legged, holding her head up with her hands. Colors popped in front of her eyes, lilacs and delicate blues. She gasped for breath, and it came slowly, unwillingly, pulling itself sluggishly down her throat to where her lungs were burning.
“What's happening to me?” she moaned.
The King squatted beside her, his hand on her shoulder, keeping her from tipping over.
“The worst will pass in a moment,” he said, his voice barely audible above the ringing in her ears; but he was right. In the same instant that he stopped speaking, the pain quieted, like some ravenous beast that froze mid-stride, muscles quivering. She knew it wasn't gone, knew it still crouched, deadly, inside her. But for the moment, she didn't care. The pain had stopped.
She looked down at her arms. It was only then that she realized she was holding a baby.
A tiny head. Soft brown downy hair, the color of coffee with cream, covered it thickly, sticking up in awkward places. A warm body, unbelievably tiny, and yet somehow so incredibly alive, squirming faintly against her. Eyelids that opened only a sliver before squeezing shut, allowing her the briefest glimpse of the cinnamon brown eyes beneath them. A pink perfection of minuscule lips, forming a tiny O as they nestled against her, bumping against her breast.
“What?” Evie tried to say, but the word was lost in a cry of delight.
“Your daughter,” the King said, though Evie had forgotten him. She had forgotten nearly everything. “Ariella.”
“Ariella! Yes, of course. I know. I know her!” Evie ran her fingers reverentially across the soft hair. She leaned down low and ran her nose against her daughter's arm, the soft baby skin warm against hers. She breathed deeply of her daughter's smell. She pressed her, tight but gentle, against her breast. She felt a stinging tingle in her nipples, and milk leaked from her, dribbling down her stomach, staining the front of her shirt.
Everything she had ever wanted, she now held in her arms.
Beauty. Innocence. Love effortlessly given and unquestioningly returned.
All the love Evie had but had not been able to give away, that she had stored up and locked away deep inside, till it turned toxic and poisoned her from within . . . all of it poured out of her now. It wrapped around that little child, latching onto her forever. Evie leaned down and buried her face in the soft perfection of her baby. She closed her eyes, and let the tears of joy run down her face.
The King sighed, the sound deep and full of pain. Evie opened her eyes and looked up at him wonderingly. He met her eyes, and she was shocked to see his perfect blue eyes lined with red. Unshed tears sparkled from his eyes.
She looked down. The child was gone.
“A vision of the future, Evie,” the King said quickly, his voice strangely strained. “A vision of the child that may yet come to be.”
“May?” The word was strangled with all the grief that crashed inside her heart.
“You have seen her. You know her name. Now you must be wary. Prophecy is a gift that comes with a heavy cost. Your knowledge of her is a threat to her ever coming into existence. She is fragile . . . her future is still uncertain. You must lock all that you know of her deep inside yourself. If you speak of her . . . if you say her name . . . if you try to bring the reality of her existence into the world before her time is right . . . you will shatter your vision, and it will never come to be. You must be very cautious. Do you understand?”
“Why show me, if it puts her in danger?” For the first time Evie was angry with the King; for the fi
rst time, she raised her voice to him.
“I do not control the vision, Evie. I merely shared it. Prophecy cannot be forced on anyone— you had to accept it willingly. If I had poured the potion down your throat, the vision would have flown from you. It had to happen this way.”
His words confused, and for some reason, frightened her. Or perhaps it was not his words, but the coldness that crept into them as he was speaking, the way he rose and turned his back to her before his words were done.
But whatever it was that unsettled her, Evie was distracted. A door swung open. She had not noticed it before. It was wooden, hidden in a shadowy back corner of the room.
“What . . .” she started to ask, but the King interrupted her, though he did not turn to look her in the face.
“For you,” he said coldly. “You must walk through.”
Evie looked at his back questioningly, but he did not speak again, and he did not turn. She pushed herself to her feet. He was right. She felt a need to walk through the door, felt it calling to her. There was something terrible, and inevitable, about it. She was across the room before she even realized that she had moved her feet, crossing the threshold and entering into a room full of sickly, yellow light. The door swung shut behind her.
“Hi, sweetheart,” Troy said. “I've been waiting for you.”
Evie
Every cold night of terror, every moment of panic she had ever had—this moment was worse than them all.
“You can't be here,” Evie said numbly.
“Of course I'm here, honey. We've been searching the whole fucking world for you, haven't they?” Troy smiled at her broadly.
She took a bewildered step back. The door was shut tight behind her back. The room was dimly lit, but she didn’t need bright lights to see Troy’s face clearly. He leered down at her every night in her nightmares.
“No,” she said, trying to sound sure. “No. Roman brought me here so that I could see the King.”
“That's what they wanted you to believe. You made it clear that you were more than willing to kill yourself to get away, so we had to be real careful. The Watchers had to keep you calm. Controlled. They had to tell you a story you could believe in, while they got the information that they wanted out of you. And I had to wait till they were through with you so that I could have my turn.” He stepped forward, and caught a lock of her hair in his fingers, pulling on it experimentally, as though testing its springiness between his fingers. Evie wanted to run, to scream. To kick and punch and fight to get away. But her whole body was locked down. A cold wave of shock ran through her. Her feet wouldn’t move.
“They knew I wouldn't want them to break you,” Troy went on. “Not when I've been looking forward to doing it myself for so very long. You're mine now. Did you think you could just run away like that? After the deal had been struck? After your idiot parents had taken my money?” He smiled. His voice dropped. “After I tasted you? I've owned you ever since that night.”
“No,” Evie gasped, the air burning her throat. “You’re wrong. You’re lying!” her voice climbed closer to a scream. “It doesn’t make any sense. The Sirens would never help you!”
“Are you kidding?” Troy gave a dry, mirthless chuckle. “You’ve been working with the Echoes. Helping them pry secrets they have no business knowing out of the past. You’re a threat to them.”
“I just wanted to stop you!” Evie moaned. Her heart pounded at breakneck speed, and she closed her eyes. She couldn’t let herself faint. God knows what he’d be doing to her when she woke up. “I haven't broken any rules.”
“Sure you have. You're a fucking criminal.” His voice rose, and his lips pulled back from his teeth. “You think you can just choose where you go?” he snarled. “You're a Legacy. You belong to us. It doesn't matter if you're a cripple. That doesn't get you a free pass. You've got the genes in you. You've got a goddamned fucking gold-mine right there between your legs! You don't get to run away . . . you've got to breed me a son.”
“No,” Evie said again. “The King told me. . .”
“The King and I have been real tight for a long time. Check and see, Evie. He locked the door behind you.”
It was true. Evie turned and tore at the knob, but it wouldn't open.
“No!” she shouted and pounded on it. “NO! Help me! PLEASE!”
She didn't see him come up behind her, but he grabbed her savagely by the hair and threw her to the floor. He rolled her onto her back, and she was bewildered by how much it hurt when he knelt on top of her. He knelt with his knees resting just above her elbows, his full weight pinning her arms to the ground. After just a minute, she could hardly feel her fingers anymore. She thrashed and struggled, kicking with her feet. She screamed and fought till sweat poured down her face and her screams had turned to sobs. He held her down, watching her. Enjoying her struggle. She could feel him, hard, pressing into her chest. She didn't see him reach behind and pull the knife from his belt, but she froze when he held it in front of her eyes.
“You might want to hold still now, Evie,” he said softly, pressing the knife against her cheek. “If you don’t, I might do more than just mark you.”
He pulled the knife across her skin, slow, his tongue sticking out beneath his teeth, his brows drawn, pulling the blade in a long line from the edge of her temple, all the way down her cheek.
Evie screamed and screamed. Troy didn’t even seem to notice.
She could feel the blood trickling, hot and thick, down her neck. It was the feel of it, that soft, wet drip, that made her lose control. A haze of panic descended. She could feel herself from a distance: the way her body spasmed, the curses that spilled, useless, from her lips.
Troy smiled, and slowly repeated the cut on the other side of her face.
“Something to remind you,” he murmured as he worked. “From now on. Every time you look in the mirror . . . you'll remember who owns you.” He leaned in close to her face, letting the stubble on his chin scrape her chin. “You've been mine since that night. Now you'll be mine completely. You'll never defy me again, Evie. Never. Tonight you'll learn that lesson. You'll pay the price for what you've done. Now. Tell me. What is the name you heard in your dream?”
“Wh . . . what?”
“The name. Say it.”
“I don't understand,” Evie had stopped crying. She stared at him. “But the King said . . .”
Troy slapped her, hard, across her bloody cheek.
“I know what he fucking said; I was listening the whole time!” Troy shouted. “I don't want a daughter! I want a son! Wasn't that the point of this whole fucking charade? Say the name, Evie. Kill the girl before she lives. She isn't what I bought you for. Say it. You know you have to.”
He pressed the blade against her throat.
Could it be true? Could that beautiful angel she saw in her dream really be this monster's spawn? Evie closed her eyes and felt the tears roll down the sides of her face, stinging in her wounds, pooling on the ground under her.
A child of rape.
Born of her slavery to this man she hated. Could it be? The image of her baby rose before her eyes, the soft head, the downy hair, the mouth that opened into a tiny pink O and turned toward her, needing her. Loving her.
And then Evie knew it didn't matter. It didn't matter where she came from. Evie's parents, the parents she had loved, and adored, and tried her whole life long to please . . . they were monsters, too. She loved that child. She needed to love her. Needed to finally, for once in her life, give love to someone who actually deserved to receive it. That love was the only thing that mattered to her in the world.
“No,” she said, opening her eyes. “I never will.”
“Sure you will,” Troy whispered. “You'll do any goddamned thing I tell you. And if you don't, I'll kill you right now.”
He pressed the blade, hard against her throat and leaned down over her, leering.
“If you kill me, I'll never give you any children,” Evie gasped.
Evie closed her eyes. She wouldn't let this man be the last thing she ever saw. She closed her eyes and remembered the dream of her daughter. The smell of her.
“No,” she whispered, and in her mind, she held her baby tight against her.
“Tell me!” Troy screamed, but it was as though he yelled at her from a great distance.
Evie didn't even bother to refuse. There was a silence inside her. It had grown slowly, over all those long months of walking through crowds where no one knew her name, through the years of hiding. She found it now and wrapped it like a shield around herself. She would not speak. She did not even open her eyes to see him raise the knife, did not know it was arcing toward her till she felt its bite against her skin. Her lips did not move, but in her heart, she cried out.
“Ariella!” she screamed, in the deepest, most secret part of her soul.
And then she woke.
The King's arms were tight around her shoulders, holding her up. She lay in a tight ball at the foot of the throne room steps. She was shaking and tear-stained. Her clothes were soaked with sweat and clung to her skin.
She was not hurt.
Her fingers flew to her neck, then to her face. No blood. Nothing but tears and shaking that would not stop.
“You're alright,” the King murmured. “It was only a vision.”
Evie pushed away his hands and turned her head to the side. She vomited clear water, and then crouched, hands flat against the cold stone, panting.
“You had to prove yourself before we could allow you to join us,” the King explained. “Before we could trust you to guard the power that we all hold. You had to show that you could control yourself. You had to prove that you had the silence within you. Not many do.”
Magic Cries Page 10
