by TARA GALLINA
He lifts a shoulder. “We weren’t sure.”
We? His mother didn’t know? Instead of asking him, I file the questions away for later.
I stay close behind Daceian as we creep through drafty, dim corridors. Tapestries and portraits hang on the stone walls. Lavender and thyme perfume the air. Silence greets us at every turn and my breathing grows too loud for my comfort. Every shadow draws my gaze, and my muscles clench with fear that we’ll be caught.
No one has ever broken into the castle during the Council’s reign, but it hasn’t stopped them from making a rule. Breaking into any building or business, including the castle, results in a year in the dungeons. Since Daceian is invisible to the village folk, I’d be the only one caught and sentenced. I’d be the only one to suffer. At least my family could remain free, although I doubt the Washer Woman would give me up before I finished my duty to her. Even then, the Council would be able to punish only me, if I survived.
We stick to the shadows and make it to the great library. Large wooden doors mark the entrance. Daceian inserts the key.
The rustling of fabric draws my gaze to the arched windows across the way. Moonlight shimmers through multiple glass panes that stretch from floor to ceiling. None of the drapes are moving. Could I have imagined the sound?
A quick glance at Daceian tells me I didn’t. His shadowed head is turned toward the windows.
“Did you hear that noise?” I whisper.
He nods then bends to my ear, murmuring, “I don’t see anyone, and I don’t hear it now. It could have been the wind outside. Let’s keep going.” He takes my hand.
We enter the great library. The room is huge with rows of chairs facing a stage and podium. Long tables fill the middle area for reading and studying. Bookshelves enclose them and stretch to the far end where stained-glass decorates an oversized window with the image of the village.
Daceian closes the door and locks us inside.
“Now what?” I ask.
“We find the book. It should be in a case in the back of the room.” He heads in that direction.
I’m right behind him, stealing nervous glances at the dark spaces between the rows of bookcases we pass. Daceian veers to the right, where a small chamber houses a pedestal with a glass case. Inside, a leather-bound book rests on crushed velvet. An iron gate blocks the entrance. He uses the key to get us into the small, dark room and again to unlock the case.
Creaking sounds from the bookshelves nearby.
I glance over my shoulder and stare into the library. “Someone’s out there. I think we’re being watched.”
“You’re just scared. We’re fine. The guards wouldn’t hide from us, they’d make it clear we’re under arrest. Don’t worry. We’re almost done.” His focus stays on the book he’s holding, while his fingers flip through pages.
“Do you know what you’re looking for?” My head swings back and forth between the book and the dark library. Despite Daceian’s confidence, I know what I heard.
“I found it,” Daceian says. Tearing sounds.
I glance at the book. He’s ripping out the page. “What are you doing?”
“We need it.” He returns the book and locks the case.
“What if they find out it’s missing? What if they search the village for the thief? What if they assume it was me and attack my family?” I struggle to speak through the tightness in my throat.
Daceian shifts closer and puts his hand on my shoulder. “Calm down. They won’t find out, and they’d never tie this to you. You’re a prisoner of the Washer Woman, remember?”
His words penetrate my ears, but my focus is caught on his face—his mist-free face—now brightened by moonlight from a small window.
I lose my breath.
CHAPTER 14
He’s not scarred or deformed. He’s beautiful. Smooth dark skin reveals chiseled cheek bones, a regal nose, pink full lips, and silvery blue eyes defined by long black lashes.
“What’s wrong?” His dark brows narrow.
“I can see you, Daceian. All of you.”
Outside he’s cloaked. Inside he’s not. He must have forgotten or didn’t think it would be an issue in the castle. Before it had been too dark for me to notice
In what seems like fear, he twists away.
“Don’t.” I clutch his sleeves. “I’m not afraid. How could I be? You’re . . . you’re beautiful, Daceian. More beautiful than I ever could have imagined.”
He remains stiff. “Is that all you see?”
I don’t understand. “I see your features and hair.”
The shiny black strands fall in soft waves around his face.
“Is that all you see?” he repeats, confusing me until I glimpse the painting on the wall behind the encased book.
Queen Alys sits on the royal throne with Princess Bretta standing by her side. The princess’s deep olive skin, raven hair, and silvery blue eyes steal my breath. I glance from Daceian to her in the picture.
My stomach pitches as realization hits me like a gust of wind. Dizzy, I stagger back a step. My knees buckle. “How?”
Daceian catches me. “Don’t fight me. Please. Once we’re out of here, I’ll explain everything. I promise.”
I don’t resist when he helps me to stand and assists me out the same way we came in. Before we enter the hallway that will lead us out of the castle, I glimpse a shadow from the corner of my eye. Is it the person I heard, and if so, why aren’t they calling the guards? We broke into the castle after visiting hours and stole from the library. The Council doesn’t tolerate thievery of any kind.
Maybe Daceian is right, and my fear is causing me to hear and see things that aren’t there.
Outside, the moon is full and high. I inhale several deep breaths, feeling better.
Daceian says, “It’s safer if we stay hidden in the trees. Can you run?”
I nod and we race toward the woods surrounding the castle. Mist no longer swirls around his body.
“We’re outside, and you’re not cloaked,” I say.
“Yes, well, you’ve seen my face. The mist has no reason to disguise me from you.”
“The mist is in control of your disguise, or is the curse?”
“The curse.” He jogs beside me, his hair tossing around his face. “It’s all connected. The mist, the cottage, my mother.”
“Is the Washer Woman Princess Bretta?” I pant around the words and slow my pace.
He nods and keeps his gaze forward as if he’s ashamed.
“Is that why I can’t look at her face? I would recognize her?”
“No. That was just me, but for that same reason. My mother’s face isn’t what it once was.”
“But she is the late princess?”
Another nod.
“And you’re … you’re a prince. The Prince of Isca.” Confusion and fatigue scramble my brain. “I don’t understand. How is she the Washer Woman? How is she alive? And you, there has never been talk of a son or that she was pregnant. It was over a hundred years ago. She’s supposed to be dead.”
I don’t realize I’ve stopped walking until Daceian loops back to me. “Can we do this at the cottage?”
“Why? I thought we were safe out here. Can we still be caught?” I tense and stare behind me into the dark woods.
“The possibility is always there.” He pats his vest pocket where the torn page peaks from the top. “I want to get this to a safe place, as well. We’ve only three days left to end this. Are you still with me?”
Sweat beads on the skin above his lip. Seeing it on Daceian makes him more human. That’s what he is, human and cursed. The same as all of us.
“Of course, I’m still with you. I want the curse to end as much as you do.”
I take in his silvery blue eyes and the sadness dancing within them. “Is that what you want? To end your mother?”
“It is the only way.” He ambles forward, his shoulders hunched.
“That doesn’t make it any easier. She’s still your m
other.” I stay close to his side as he moves through the woods as if following an invisible path.
When he doesn’t respond, I add, “You can tell me anything, Daceian. I am to be your wife, and I plan to be a good one.”
He freezes. “You still want to marry me, knowing who I am?”
I face him and take his hands, grateful to see all of him, to know his expressions, even if it is currently a frown. “You’re my mate. It is written so. And you are the only person I’ve ever cared about in this way. You said together we are strong. I’m not going anywhere without you.”
The most beautiful thing happens next. He smiles, and I’m able to appreciate it, to awe at the way his chiseled face lights up, even with the hint of sadness in his eyes.
“I like when you smile,” I say, returning the favor.
His gaze flits about my face. “I love it when you do. When you did under the wisteria that day in the woods, I thought a second sun emerged from the sky.”
Flutters erupt inside me like a hundred butterflies flapping their wings. “Is it wrong to be happy at a time like this?”
“Moments like this are rare for me. I didn’t know if they were possible, but with you, Preya, I believe all things are possible.” He kisses my knuckles. “We need to get back to the cottage.”
“Yes.”
The woods grow colder the deeper we travel. Before long, we’re at the cottage. It’s in pleasant shape, which makes me think the cottage is happy, too. It could be reflecting our feelings, but I prefer to think the joy is its own.
The door opens for us. Inside, Daceian puts his hand on a leaf of the plant. He closes his eyes and breathes in as if he’s listening, though I can’t hear a thing.
With a nod, Daceian opens his eyes. “Thank you,” he says to the plant. He turns to me and gestures to the chair and ottoman. “Sit. You must be exhausted.”
“What about you? You must be tired, too.”
Two cups appear on the dinette table.
“I’m fine.” He brings me a cup.
We both drink. Delicious apple cider cools my dry throat.
A thought comes to mind. “If things work out the way we hope, what will happen to your powers? Will you always have magic?”
He sets down his drink. “I suspect not, though I’m not sure what will happen to me. I hope I will be able to live a normal life.”
“A life you’ve never known.” I sit in the chair by the fireplace and put my cup on the small table near the book.
He quiets, and I’m drawn to his face. His silvery blue eyes cast to the side, and he blinks with a thoughtful expression.
It’s a lovely sight, one I’m grateful to experience. “How did you end up here?” I ask in awe of him. “How did your mother? History says she took her own life.”
He glances at the plant, which looks asleep. Then his gaze shifts to the bedroom door. He nods in its direction.
I follow him into the room and sit on the edge of the bed.
He drops down beside me. “The stories aren’t that off. Princess Bretta did seek a Mystic in the dark realm to curse her sister. She did die as a result and in a way by her own hand. When the Mystic cursed the village, he turned my mother into the Hag, so she would suffer most of all, given it was her idea to betray everyone. Princess Bretta died that day, and the Washer Woman was born. No one knew she was pregnant, but the Mystic sensed me inside her. She begged for him to keep me a human and set me free once I was born, to which he countered, I could remain human after my birth but would be forever bound to her as a servant of the curse, to remind her of her selfish greed.”
“Daceian?” I cover his hand with mine, my heart breaking for him. He’s as much a prisoner as I am. “I’m so sorry.”
He smiles but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “It used to bother me until I learned to harden myself against all emotions. I became the servant, the Keeper I was destined to be, detaching myself from everything and everyone. It’s how I survived.” He turns his head, capturing me in his silvery blue gaze. “Until you. You have changed everything. The thought of losing you, these feelings, this hope … that might be too much to bear.”
I curl my fingers around his in reassurance. “We have three days. We’ll find a way.”
With that, he takes the page from his pocket, and we read the poem in its entirety. The words chill me to the bone.
The maiden with eyes of the grass and the sky will break the curse before she dies.
Her butterfly spirit will set us free when she presents it to her mate to be.
Together they’ll unlock the secrets of the past, defeat the darkness in the House, and slay the Hag at last.
The light is the virgin, the graphite the blade. When plunged into darkness, we all will be saved.
Fair well, divine maiden, and aim for the heart. If you miss, history will repeat from the start.
Allied with your mate, you will conquer the gloom. Be free and unbound once she’s sent to her doom.
“Does this mean what I think it means?” I clutch the material of my dress.
Daceian’s Adam’s apple bobs with a deep swallow. “That you have to kill her by stabbing her in the heart? Yes.”
I spring off the bed. “I can’t do it. I can’t stab her … your mother. I know I said I’d do whatever I must to save the village and my sisters but stabbing her in the heart …” Bile threatens to rise up my throat. “I can’t. You can’t want this, either. There has to be another way.”
I pace the room, my mind reeling.
Daceian moves in front of me and places calming hands on my biceps. He bends his head so we’re eye level. “You’re scared. I am, too. It’s a lot to take in, and it’s late. You need to sleep. We both do. Tomorrow is a new day. We can discuss it when our minds have rested.”
At that moment, a yawn escapes me. “It has been a long day.”
“Yes, it has.” He keeps his face close to mine, and I love that I can see it clearly. “I’ll leave you to rest.” He kisses my cheek and straightens.
I catch his wrist. “Don’t go. I don’t want to be alone. Stay and sleep with me on the bed. There’s plenty of room.”
He draws in a loud breath, his chest rising and falling with the motion. He used to do it when he was covered with mist. Now I get to see the expression that matches the action. His features are calm and thoughtful, his gaze on me, as I’d suspected—felt—back when he was cloaked.
I move to the bed and lie down, never breaking eye contact with him. With my hands folded over my stomach, I wait. He blinks softly, once, twice, three times. Then he walks to the other side of the bed and joins me.
He crosses his feet at the ankles and tucks one hand behind his head, leaving the other on the mattress in between us. “Good night, sweet Preya. Sleep well.”
I’ll never tire of the way my name sounds in his voice.
My eyelids grow heavy. Before sleep takes me, I inch my fingers over and cover his free hand with mine. “Good night, Daceian.”
He entwines our fingers, and I drift to sleep.
CHAPTER 15
I wake to a thumping sound. My head rests on Daceian’s chest, my ear by his heart, and his arms are warm around my body.
“Good morning,” he murmurs, surprising me.
“You’re awake?”
“Yes. How did you sleep?” He strokes my hair and my back.
“Better than I’ve slept in a long while.” Since before my mother died and my life forever changed.
“It’s my magic touch,” he says.
I glance up to see his lips twisted with a smirk. “You’re teasing?”
“Yes.” He treats me to a smile so bright my heart melts.
“How can something good come from something so bad?” I ask, the words just tumbling out. “I’m terrified and yet I’m happy. There’s comfort in knowing someone is yours and that you truly like that someone.”
I’ve never had this before.
“Just like?” he asks, seeming offended but also
amused.
“Like very much,” I add with a soft smile.
“I suppose it’s a start.” He gives me a soft squeeze, hugging me to him.
I fold into his body and snuggle my cheek against his chest, even as emotions war within me. “I hate that I feel guilty right now, but I do.”
He strokes my hair and my back again. “I know. I feel guilty, too. How can I care so deeply for the girl destined to kill my mother? It’s not that I don’t want to be free. I want nothing more, but the cost of her life is difficult to accept.”
“Is your mother kind to you?”
“As kind as she can be considering her own guilt. It weighs heavily on her.”
“She feels guilty?” If I were standing, his words would have knocked me off my feet.
“She hates herself for what she’s caused.”
I’ve thought of her only as a heartless creature. To know she feels remorse and was a kind mother to Daceian confounds me. Losing my mother broke my heart and my family in an irreversible way. I’d never wish that kind of pain on anyone, especially someone I care about.
“Is there any way we can break the curse and save everyone? Any way at all?”
His hand stills on my back. “Have you learned nothing of death? It always comes. Not everyone can live.”
“Does that mean we can choose who dies and still break the curse?”
He pins me with a look. “Why are you asking?”
My stomach quivers with fear. “I don’t know. I can’t imagine one of my sisters in this situation. If I could save them by offering myself…” My voice trails off at the wild look in Daceian’s eyes—a mix of anger and fear.
“That’s bold of you to offer and reckless. Even if self-sacrifice were possible, I’d never allow it to be you. I’d offer myself.”
“How do you know it’s not possible?”
He glances away, again looking shamed. “I’ve tried.”
A new kind of anger forms inside me. “What do you mean tried?”
“Before I accepted my place in the curse, I tried to kill myself. It broke my mother’s heart. I got the idea from her. For years, she tried to free me by killing herself to no avail. It would appear we are immortal.” Pain and sadness show on his beautiful face.
