Caleb sits on the bench again and stretches out his legs. “‘We will perform the incantation tonight. Poison her to ensure it goes smoothly.’”
Lilah smirks. “Ominous.”
“How can you take this so lightly?” he exclaims, glaring at her.
“The only reason you’re upset is because your sister is involved. And from the sounds of it, it looks like they’re separate from Alessandra.”
“How do you figure that?” He crosses his arms.
“Incantation?” Lilah raises an eyebrow. “Alessandra wants to kill me, not perform some kind of incantation. I mean, what’s that all about?”
“I don’t know.” He groans, shaking his head. “What is she doing?” His face contorts as if it physically pains him to consider his sister’s involvement.
Maybe it does. Lilah lowers her gaze to her hands and rubs the signa that binds them together. He wouldn’t be caught between protecting his sister or protecting me if I hadn’t done this. I’m the one causing him pain. “I shouldn’t have agreed to let you swear an oath to me,” she mutters. When she looks back to him, his eyes are wide and searching.
“Growing a conscience?” He smiles. She narrows her eyes, regretting having said anything. “I agreed. We share the blame.”
Shaking her head slightly, Lilah exhales slowly. He didn’t understand. Standing, she crosses her arms. “We need a plan.” What does this Aequum want with me? What incantation? Who is this ‘Watcher’?
His façade falters, and his lower lip quivers. “Lilah, she’s my sister.”
“I didn’t say I’d kill her.”
He quiets, his eyebrows furrowing. “I’m afraid for her. I’m afraid for us.”
Lilah stiffens. Us? The word resonates in her, and the force creates a cacophony of sounds in that deep, secret place. She closes her eyes. I’ve already told him too much. She stands and faces her back toward him as a blush warms her cheeks. “Okay then, should we begin my lessons again, Mr. Addison?”
Lilah rests on the ground, out of breath after another failed attempt at controlling her anima. She gazes up at the gray sky. She’s getting nowhere, even after spending all morning trying Caleb’s technique of picturing a happy memory, but those only exist with Verna and thinking of Verna leads to sadness and then anger shifts her thoughts to revenge.
Caleb carries two glasses of water from the kitchen. Enchanted, the water slips down her throat ice cold. She props herself on an elbow, wiping her forehead of sweat with her sleeve. “Maybe we should just confront her.”
“We can’t force her to tell the truth.”
Lilah smirks. “There are—”
“No.” He glowers at her.
Lilah blinks and swallows. “Let’s say her plan works and I’m poisoned. What will you do in the meantime?” Lilah muses.
Caleb sits beside her and leans back onto his forearms. “I’d rather avoid you being unconscious for only Aura knows how long.”
“You’ll have to play along with whatever they want. Act like you want to be a part of it,” Lilah contemplates.
“Why? Why not avoid it altogether?”
“I’m done running, Caleb.” She doesn’t turn to see his face; she knows the look of concern she will find there, hidden in his furrowed brows and grimace.
Caleb stirs to a sitting position. He wrings his hands, perhaps considering what Dalia is truly capable. “If I can convince her to let me join in, maybe she’ll reveal the rest of the plan to me.”
Lilah winces and rubs her temple. “We don’t have time to worry about it. If Alessandra comes tonight, we have to use the chaos to our advantage.”
“I don’t understand why you’re so set on doing this. We could—”
“What? Run? Where to? Who else do I have to endanger? She’s coming after me. I’m going to—”
“She’s your mother,” he whispers. “How can you be capable of that?”
Lilah doesn’t hesitate when she says, “She’s never been my mother. She gave that up a long time ago.”
After a stiff moment of silence, Caleb says, “If you kill her, you’ll become the thing you fear.”
Lilah stares at him in shock, and her stomach twists. How can he know that? She glances down and sees the circle signa. “I don’t care what happens to me, so long as I kill Alessandra.”
He bows his head, then stands and strides away from her, his shoulders stiff, and disappears into the house. His reaction, those words—Lilah can’t breathe. All she hears is the whack of her heart against her ribs and the rattling—like bones tied to strings—of the trees in the turbulent breeze.
Time is unforgiving. Ascension will begin tonight, on the second of December, Lilah’s eighteenth birthday.
Lilah uses the time alone to reconsider her anima and the best approach to try and control it. Her palms sweat. If this is how it is now, what will it be like after she ascends? What Caleb taught her didn’t work. Using her memories of Verna when they’re still dampened with grief, only causes anger to control her fire. Her anima consumed her again and again.
She fortifies her mind, hardening the edges and solidifying any loose thoughts. Her side burns, and she inhales, stoking the flame. The heat jumps through her body, leaping into all her limbs, each toe and finger. Lilah sees the flame in her mind, glowing like the light of a candle. When she opens her eyes, she inhales again, and the flame wavers, then grows.
Instead of focusing on a memory, she focuses on the flame. She acknowledges the flame, so volatile, so wicked. She acknowledges the torrid pain it produces throughout her body, acknowledges the heinous acts it could commit, that it has committed. The beastly, faceless form of it, endless in its movements, in its mysteries. She accepts that this is who she is, the destruction, the blood, and the pain—all of it. She breathes even, deliberate.
A smile comes unbidden to her lips. She calls to the fire, but it does not consume her. “You belong to me now.”
Lilah idles in the garden with a plucked white bloom in her palm. She has control over her anima. The signa no longer burns, though her back still pings dully. Lilah breathes easy knowing she won’t have any surprise pains in her torso—at least until she ascends. She sits on the stone bench, her eyes closed, and her head tilts toward the sun. The light against her eyelids comforts her. Her arms stretch to the end of the small bench and grip the edge, while her legs cross in front of her. She exhales through an open mouth. Am I prepared to die if Alessandra overwhelms me? She’s lost the gravitational pull that holds her feet steady to the ground. She has already leapt off the edge and struggles to keep her head above water, absentmindedly wondering if it might be easier to stop, to let her muscle relax and let the water wash over her—to sink. This must be madness. The same as . . .
Lilah has been told so much about her mother, but what does she know? Why didn’t she kill me at the Ludi? Lilah stirs at the uncomfortable thought. It doesn’t make any sense. Standing, she brushes a hand over the blooms, plucking another and bringing it close to examine. Alessandra killed Verna. Lilah will never forgive her. She squeezes the bloom in a closed fist and empties the crumpled petals on the ground in an attempt to ameliorate the intense feeling that cripples her. She feels the fire ignite within her, but she uses her newfound control to put it to ash.
How changed are her worries from barely two weeks ago! Lilah laughs and startles herself. The sound rattles through the garden and as Lilah hears it again, she can’t help but draw a comparison to her mother’s own laugh. She blinks, and in the darkness, Alessandra stands poised, dark hair and dark eyes. Lilah lets the word mother wander into her forethoughts. She says it aloud several times, pronouncing every syllable with the greatest of care. Still, Lilah finds herself pulling back her lips, as if having tasted a particularly bitter fruit. It is the truth; the word sits idly with the image. No. She will never be my mother. My mother is dead.
She refuses to live the rest of her life running, paranoid and scared. If the Six intervene, they might be able to hol
d Alessandra, but for how long? Lilah unconsciously touches below her collarbone, where a scar has been borne. The true damage of the wound lies unseen, hidden deep within her tissue, within her bone. As she sits, the fire burns up her torso and to the spot where Lilah’s hand rests.
“I must kill Alessandra. This is who I am.”
Chapter Eighteen
Caleb strides into the house with loud, heavy steps. Why is she so convinced that killing Alessandra is the only option? Why is she so stubborn? He can see a battle waging in her, a precipice close by, and he worries that this will be the choice that pushes her into darkness. The deep fear rooted in her very being seems unknown to her, yet so clear as it streams through the bind to him. Can’t she feel it, or is it she won’t let herself feel it?
He is so lost in his thoughts, he knocks straight into Dalia, coming in from the kitchen side door. They stand and stare at each other, fully aware that the other should say something, but won’t—or can’t. I will not let her go this time.
“Where have you been all morning?” he says, the will of iron in his voice.
Dalia gives him a pointed glare, shuffles her feet, and then composes herself after exhaling slowly. “Just running some errands in town. Had to get more food if you two are planning on staying much longer.”
“Then where’s your basket?”
Her face blanches. “What?”
“Where is your basket? You know, the one you take to town to carry the groceries in?”
She chuckles. “Oh. Of course.” She turns and pulls a large basket from the landing outside the door. It is filled with a feast.
“Dalia,” his hands mold into fists, “you’re lying to me. You’ve been lying to me.”
She crosses her arms defensively. “No, I certainly have not been.”
Caleb closes his eyes and rubs his temple. His body shakes, and a quiet part of his mind wonders if this is how Lilah feels when she loses herself to her anima. “I found a letter. I know.”
At this proclamation, Dalia laughs, truly laughs with such joy that she wipes her eyes because of the few tears that spill. She smirks and says, “You know nothing.”
It’s pointless. His sister has betrayed him in the simplest way. Caleb sees the last of his trust unfolding like a ball of twine. Dalia sneaks around and can’t even tell him why? He knows what he must say to roll the ball of twine back into a perfect ball, to fulfill at least this part of his and Lilah’s plan.
“Dalia,” he says. She looks at him, her face twisted with rage. “Let me join you.”
“Lilah!” Dalia yells from the porch. “Dinner!”
Lilah stands and takes one last look around the garden, memorizing the petite beauty of the flowers before walking through the small gate and toward the house. She takes the three steps up the porch and walks over the threshold of the open door. The glorious meal Dalia has made overwhelms Lilah’s senses. She smiles. Her mouth waters even before she sees the spread on the table.
Turning to the left, she enters the dining room, where Dalia places pots of food on the formal dining table. It is a feast, for sure. She disappears through a swinging door; Lilah assumes she’s going to get more dishes.
“Lilah,” Caleb says, walking in behind her. He pulls her aside and leans in close. “I’m—”
Lilah reaches up and covers his mouth with her hand. “It’ll be okay.” The reassurance falls flat and the words leave a sour taste in her mouth. He gazes down at her, a defeated look in his cerulean-gold eyes.
“Come on, you two! The food will get cold!”
They walk in, one after the other. Lilah pulls the middle chair out and sits, letting her eyes slowly take it all the dishes in front of her. “Where’d you get all of this?” Lilah asks. Not even some of the academies she’s been to have this quality of meals.
Dalia smiles. “Don’t worry about it. Our parents left us with quite the fortune.” Lilah peers at Caleb, who sits with a look on his face that is more content than disbelieving, like the platters before them are a thing of normality for him. She closes her mouth, which was slightly ajar in surprise. “Please, dig in,” Dalia says, gesturing to her.
Lilah goes first for the warm bread loaf. Tearing off a slice, she takes her knife and dives it into the butter. It melts with ease as she spreads it across the warm slice. She knives a portion of the perfectly cooked duck too. Next, she spoons a mixture of green steaming vegetables on to her plate. Before she takes a bite of anything, she glances to Dalia and Caleb.
Dalia catches her eye and grins. “Ah, perhaps we should say a prayer to Aura Blightbane?”
Lilah laughs. Then, composed, she asks, “Why would you Lux pray to her?” She knows why from Verna, but she wants to hear Dalia’s explanation.
Dalia straightens her napkin on her lap and folds her hands together. “Let me see,” Dalia muses, her gray eyes surfing upward to the vaulted ceiling. “She united the originals, worked with the governments of different countries to try and bring peace to the world, established the first Consulship—”
“And when the night came Aura Moonbringer fell into step with the shadows of darkness, the ones she had fought away as a child, the ones that constantly called her name,” Lilah smirks, watching Dalia’s expression shift from joy to discomfort. “You know why we Nox invoke her, too, right?” Dalia stares at Lilah with an impression of a smile.
The wooden legs of Dalia’s chair screech with resistance against the floor. “I’ve lost my appetite.” She takes her plate of purposefully untouched food into the kitchen.
“Oh—” Lilah mutters. “Surprise.” Lilah starts to eat, delighting in the explosion of flavors that hit her tongue with each bit. She cuts another slice of bread and spreads a glob of butter over it.
“You don’t have to do this,” Caleb says quietly.
She swallows. “I might as well, no one else is going to eat it.”
He ignores her and whispers, “There is still time, we can leave. Think of Aura. She—”
“Kills herself, Caleb. She thrusts her dagger deep into her own heart. Don’t compare me to her.”
Caleb drops his knife and fork on the ceramic plate and the sound echoes in the large room. “I’ve lost my appetite, too.” She winks at him. He nods. Everything is going according to plan.
When Lilah feels suddenly faint and falls off her chair, her only fleeting thought is, I thought it would be painful, but I feel nothing.
Lilah wakes with a still heart. A blinding light in her eyes makes it impossible for her to see her surroundings, and a soft ringing inhibits her hearing. Her stomach convulses and she turns her head. Bile pours out of her mouth, burning her throat and staining her lips. A terrible dread fills her core. Goosebumps rise on her skin. She tries to move, but her arms and legs are fashioned in restraints. Where am I?
“Don’t fight,” a familiar voice warns, “it’ll hurt so much more if you struggle.”
Lilah screams.
Alessandra shoots up from the ground, screams reverberating through her core. The chilled night air brushes against her cheeks, causing her to shiver. In her gut, a weight appears; she knows the cause. Alessandra smiles, rueful. “Time for one world to end and another to begin.”
The breeze shifts and with it comes the smell of death. “Deirdre,” she mumbles, gazing at the woman standing before her. “About the matter we discussed . . .” The woman cocks her head and skips toward Alessandra, a wide grin across her thin lips. She has never felt at ease around Deirdre, the air is too unsettled.
Deirdre places a hand on Alessandra’s shoulder, then says, “You shouldn’t worry about that. Focus on Lilah.”
Alessandra tilts her chin up and pulls away from Deirdre’s grip. “Why aren’t you with her currently?”
Deirdre crosses her arms over her head and groans loudly. “You know why! I—” She drops her arms and glances behind them, her smile turns deranged. “It seems everyone wants to play tonight.”
Alessandra feels the pull of her lungs and pi
vots on her heel to narrowly avoid the small throwing knife Florence sends flying. She sighs. “You’ve never learned how to throw those correctly, even after I spent so much time teaching you.” She takes a step forward. “Or did you miss on purpose, little sister?”
Florence ignores the taunt. She glances to Deirdre, and a shiver rakes over her body. “You must be desperate if you’re willing to let Deirdre fight alongside you.” Before Florence has time to process the movement, Alessandra throws her to the ground. Her sight jars for a moment on impact, and she blinks before focusing on the form sitting on her torso, holding her down. Florence heaves while Alessandra tightens her grasp.
“Desperate? Come to your senses.” Alessandra slowly shakes her head back and forth, black hair streaming behind her. She tilts her head and closes her eyes. Alessandra tilts her gaze to Jarred, who Deirdre has under the point of both her empty hands. “You’ll see. The whole lot of you. I’ll make you believe.”
“What will murdering Lilah make us believe?” Florence tries to wrench free of Alessandra’s hold, but her muscles are weak. She stops struggling and glances up at Alessandra’s smiling face.
“Murder the girl?” Alessandra laughs.
“Why is it so hard for you to say daughter?” she spits.
A strange expression passes over Alessandra’s features. For a moment, Florence thinks she sees blue emerge around the pupil of her black eyes. “Yes,” Alessandra says softly, “she is my daughter.” Alessandra pushes a strand of hair from Florence’s cheek, pausing to caress her cheek. “If only you would see things from my perspective, if you could only accept that this is the way it must be. That this is for the good of all.”
Florence jerks away from her sister’s cold touch, then gathers her concentration and brings the dagger from beneath her sleeve. “I will never understand because nothing could ever justify what you’ve done or what you are trying to do! It’s unforgivable!”
Premonition Page 23
