Chapter 15
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
ASTER
V erdantis’ red regalia enlightened the rage in Morgana’s glare like a match to dry wood.
She sat across from me in the carriage, hands tucked in her lap as if she were still confined by the handcuffs. Her gaze was strung across my hold on her handkerchief, the wickedest scowl painting her features. A dagger was holstered beneath her jacket. Just enough danger to keep me on my toes, just enough to protect herself should things go wrong.
“What sort of sick things have you done with my handkerchief?”
I grinned, ear to ear. “Calm down, little dove. I am nothing if not a gentleman.” Even so, I lifted the silken fabric to my nose, inhaling deeply. Morgana recoiled and twisted her focus to the curtained windows. Lilacs and lemons, with the subtlest hint of ash. I folded it, politely resting it over my knee. “Is it common for you to bathe in your clothes?”
Her cheeks were the color of blood, and when she twisted her wide-eyed glare to me, her jaw was wide. “You’re a murderer, a kidnapper, and a pervert? What else am I missing, Prince Aster?”
“Nothing that I can envision. Your judgment of me is spotless.” I paused, letting her anger dwindle to a calm sizzle before continuing. “We are paying a visit to the DeBurne memorial service, nestled on the outskirts of town in the countryside. It seems our invite was lost in the post.”
“Lost, surely,” Morgana muttered and pulled back the sheer curtain.
I followed her gaze, capturing the warmest hues of orange and purple lilies. Kissing the horizon, though, were infinite voids of midnight and starlight. Eventually, even the brightest star would be suffocated. My chest burned at the thought.
“I thought you’d instructed me to take care of the DeBurne family myself,” she said after a moment of uncomfortable silence. I turned my chin toward her, surprised to see her scrutinizing stare firmly placed on me. I almost wanted to shift under the heat of her anger, but the larger part was invigorated by such malice.
I leaned forward, bracing my forearms on my knees. “Now, why would I let the only other shadow-wielding mastermind out of my sight without a bit of fun, hmm? That would be unwise. Imagine the chaos you’d unleash at the most minor inconvenience.” I sighed, dramatically, and leaned back in my seat to avert my attention to her hands—still interwoven together in her lap, knuckles white. “We both saw the bloodlust in your eyes when I had my back turned to you.”
“I saw nothing,” she hissed. “I only felt.”
“Well, feeling, my dear, is just as dangerous a game as murder.”
She finally let go of her hands and crossed her arms. We journeyed in silence, her glare burning a hole into the side of my face, but I kept my gaze fixated on Vespera on the horizon. It was beautiful, dangerous, tempting—the allure of such power still waking greed inside me that I feared would one day win.
Without my cure, I knew my mind would be the first to go. I spent most of my growing years away from my father, but each time I returned, he was a different man. Crueler as the weeks turned to years, as the anger turned to rage. Now he was vegetative.
Finally, he was dying.
If only I felt remorse. Instead, anticipation of the worst degree ate at my heart. It prodded me when the comforts of a mundane life tempted me, reminding me that no matter where I ran, no matter what I changed, there was only one thing changing the trajectory of my life.
My cure.
Without it, I’d age as if I were human. Without it, my legacy would be short-lived. I’d rather die with the tip of a dagger pierced through my flesh in an uprising following a centuries-long reign. Not bedridden with rot poisoning my blood.
When the meadows turned to aged farmland, dry cornfields and half-rotten pastures occupying the horizon, I cleared my throat. “Once we step out of this carriage and venture down the path, I will shroud us in darkness.”
“You will—you will do what ?”
I flicked my gaze to hers and smirked, though the frustration gnawed at me. “Are we not speaking the same language, little dove?”
She flinched, anger coloring her pink, but she shook her head in spite. I leaned forward again, the divine tongue slipping beyond my lips with the confidence of two strangers dancing in darkness, away from prying eyes. “Jevāis nelle tenebre ? troveremo son ledr?.” Her eyes widened, as did my grin. “I will shroud us in darkness, and we will find his ledger.”
She stilled. For a while, I wasn’t sure if she was questioning my honesty or if she was looking for a way to get revenge for all I’d done thus far. Perhaps a way out.
Two of those invigorated me. One meant a fight, the other meant a chase. The first—well, the first was just smart, even if I knew in my heart how honest I was with such an unwilling, unworthy stranger.
“What language was that?”
“The very language that dripped off the tongue of those who smote us centuries ago and bestowed my family with our curse.”
“And, all of this… murdering Francis DeBurne, kidnapping me and forcing me to do your dirty work, it’s for a-a book ?”
“Ledger.”
Her rage pierced through me as I shook my head. Something in her snapped. Her face contorted into disgust, and she lunged at me and the metal of her dagger whistled against the air. I snatched her wrist just as she slammed my back against the cushioned seat. The hand holding her blade shook, but every attempt to break free, to force that dagger’s tip closer to my eye, only tightened my grip. Darkness clouded the periphery of my vision, and within seconds our carriage was engulfed in my magic. It was not mine to wield. No. This was all my little dove.
Despite this, her focus was soldered to mine.
“What did I tell you about violence, Morgana?” I said with a deathly cold bite in my tone. “Drop the dagger and we can see about forgetting this act of poor judgment.”
The wheels creaked as the horses slowed to a stop. Her brown eyes jumped between mine like she was warring with herself on which side of me fed the rage that brewed in her chest. Tendrils of raven ink spiraled around her arm. Again, she did not yield.
She was murderous.
With a groan, she dropped the dagger and flung herself backward. I used my magic to shield it from clattering onto the ground and stabbing one of our toes. I straightened the wrinkled shirt beneath my jacket, rolled my wrist, and reached for the door. A gust of chilly air breezed through the opening after I pushed on it. The gravel crunched beneath my boots, but my ears perked at the distant sound of a melodic violin. Surely incoherent to the likes of Morgana, but I’d spent my growing years training just about everything that could make me a threat.
After all, what good was the Verdantium crown prince if he was not a menace.
I turned my body back to the carriage and reached out my gloved hand, the lingering magic shrouding her features as she glared through it. Rather than a lost dove, she resembled that of an owl in the dead of night. Her gaze shifted to my hand for a brief moment before grabbing hold of the doorframe, planting her foot on the footrest, and hopping out of the coach without my aid. I wanted to inquire whether she knew that such darkness bled from her pores and not mine, but I remained quiet on the topic.
Indifference would earn her trust. Questions would come later.
I grinned, letting my hand fall and tuck behind my back. “Oh, Morgana. I think I am going to have fun with you.”
She moved beyond me, and I waited. My gaze followed after her, without caution or haste, and terrible glee swelled in my chest as her jaw dropped. The squeakiest gasp filtering past her teeth. At the front of the carriage, the coachman—who’d once had the curliest ginger hair and freckled skin—faded into nothing. Flecks of shadows flitted away into the air like darkened embers. Then the horses did the same.
Back to their home…
In the void of Vespera, an omen of lost souls and destruction.