Chapter 21
Twenty-One
E verinne changed out of her costume after her performance and pulled on a pair of black leggings that slung low across her hips and a snug, cropped red top with sheer sleeves. She’d just finished lacing up her boots when Reine breezed into the dressing room, a demure smile on her face.
“Another standing ovation tonight, Everinne.” Reine folded her arms across her chest, her amber eyes sparking with appreciation.
Her pin-straight, sleek brown hair was pushed back from her face with a band of jeweled fabric, showcasing her rich umber cheekbones that were dusted with gold.
“The crowd seems quite pleased with you.”
“Thank you.” Everinne grabbed her coat from off the rack of clothing. “There’s definitely something freeing about dancing on the hoops. I really love it.”
“How wonderful of you to say so.” Reine moved forward, her silken skirts swishing around her like a river of magenta. She slid a bronze dagger from her pocket, it was skinny enough to be a letter opener, but sharp enough to pierce flesh.
Everinne lurched backward, and Reine laughed, full and sensual.
“There’s nothing to fear, milazk.” She flicked the small blade between her fingers. “I only need to collect a simple drop of blood.”
“Blood,” Everinne repeated, yanking on her coat, her gaze focused on the tip of the dagger. She clenched her hands into tight fists. Her mind reeled, snippets of her earlier conversation with Atlas flooded her thoughts, his warning prickling along the back of her neck. “What for?”
Blood magic was archaic, fabled for being dangerous, and those who used it, whether for good or ill will, were not to be trusted.
“It’ll be imbued into the runes carved into the entrance of the Mystic Obscura.” Reine spoke with such nonchalance, as though she was well-accustomed to asking those in her employ for their blood. “Once it’s imbued, you’ll be able to come and go as you please.”
Everinne lifted her chin, refusing to believe such utter nonsense. “I can already enter any time I wish.”
Reine tilted her head and arched a single brow. Her face remained impassive, her eyes empty and lacking their usual subdued warmth. “Can you though?”
“Yes, I—” Everinne fell silent, her argument leaving her tongue papery and dry.
No. Reine was right, not once had she entered the Mystic Obscura of her own accord.
The first time, Jarek had been the one to open the door.
Then Atlas. And tonight, Everinne had arrived early enough after shopping with Veros that she’d caught another performer walking in just ahead of her.
The brown-eyed female had held open the door for her.
“It’s common practice, you see, for all our performers and staff. An added measure of safety. Of precaution, if you will. We can’t have just anyone walking into the menagerie.” Reine studied her for a moment, then sighed, an air of disappointment surrounding her. “Of course, you can always say no.”
Everinne opened her mouth to speak but Reine smoothly interrupted her. “But if that’s the case, you shouldn’t expect to return. I’ll gladly pay you your wages and let you be on your way.”
Uncertainty warred within her. She’d already promised Atlas and Veros she’d start looking for employment elsewhere, which she did plan to do…
eventually. But she loved dancing in the air, she loved the way the music seemed to hum through her veins.
She lived for the roaring applause, the hushed gasps, and the startling cries of shock whenever she performed some gravity-defying feat.
For those few sacred moments, the world was hers alone.
It was only a drop of blood.
Harmless, really.
Besides, Atlas had done it as well. Not to mention the hundreds of other patrons currently milling about the menagerie upstairs.
Everinne hesitated, chewing on her bottom lip as tiny beads of sweat gathered in her palms. “Just a drop?”
Reine’s crimson lips curved into a comforting smile. “A mere prick of the finger and nothing more.”
Swallowing the knot of trepidation lodged in the back of her throat, Everinne held out her hand.
Reine was gentle, carefully holding Everinne’s hand steady while the sharp point pierced her skin. Everinne winced against the sting. A tiny drop of crimson welled on the tip of her finger and Reine removed the dagger, angling it to collect the drop on the flat edge of the blade.
“There,” she crooned, blowing lightly on the wound to ease some of the pain. “All done.”
The small cut was already closing as the fae magic coursed through her, healing her quickly so there was only a tiny white scar left behind.
Everinne shoved her hands into the pockets of her coat, balling them into tight fists.
Reine glided toward the door of the dressing room, then paused, glancing back over her shoulder. “I’ll see you tomorrow, yes?”
“Actually, I’m supposed to go to the ball tomorrow night.” Everinne ducked her head, hoping it wasn’t too late to ask for the night off. “I forgot to mention it to you earlier.”
“Ah, yes. The ball where Prince Atlas will choose his bride.” She shook her head, a tiny line crinkling across her smooth brow. “I couldn’t imagine being forced to wed someone against my will, could you?”
Everinne shifted her weight. She’d been trying not to think about Atlas marrying anyone at all.
Just like she’d been trying to shove every memory of him to the furthest corner of her mind, yet each time she blinked, she relived the images from last night over and over.
More specifically, the way he looked with that damn helmet on, his eyes glazed with lust, and one hand gripping the back of her neck while he all but begged her to keep sucking his dick.
Heat flared across her cheeks as the blush crept up her neck.
Everinne cleared her throat and pressed her lips together. “No, I suppose I couldn’t imagine that either. But how do you know he’s being forced?”
She knew Atlas had to take a wife, he’d told her as much. But she highly doubted that little slice of information was common knowledge.
Reine’s airy laughter filled the space once more.
“Oh, milazk . Everyone knows His Imperial Highness would never get married unless his hand was being forced. He’s the prince of pleasure.
Even if he does find a wife tomorrow night, his loyalty to her will not hold fast. His eyes will wander, and he’ll continue to slink from the beds of willing females. ”
She lifted one shoulder, her lips pursing. “After all, it’s in his blood.”
Reine sauntered out of the dressing room and as Everinne left the Mystic Obscura, Reine’s words continued to follow her.
It’s in his blood.
It seemed like such a careless and cruel thing to say, yet words always held a deeper meaning.
A more complex context. Reine had collected a drop of Atlas’s blood, and while she claimed it was strictly for the runes lining the entrance of the Mystic Obscura, that didn’t mean she hadn’t used it in some other manner.
Atlas was the Prince of Prava, and a drop of his blood could be manipulated for spells and charms, or worse, exploitation.
She’d heard rumors about the Marzena from Zoryana, a black market of sorts that once thrived in a network of long forgotten tunnels and passages beneath the Starysa’s streets.
Everinne imagined Atlas’s blood would fetch a high price if such a market still existed.
Shivering, Everinne tugged her coat around her, bundling herself into the fur-lined leather.
The walk home wasn’t far, but with the frigid wind barreling into her, each step was a fight.
Like walking through a strand of wet sand along the shore.
She looked up at the night sky, disappointed to find the moon wasn’t visible.
Instead there was just a thick layer of silvery clouds.
Tucking her chin to her chest, she gritted her teeth against the harsh slap of wind, until the noisy click of her boots against cobblestone was the only sound keeping her company.
A chill that had nothing to do with the cold slid its icy fingers down her spine.
She stilled, glancing around her.
Eerie swatches of darkness seemed to stare back at her.
It was oddly quiet. There was no thump of music, no warped conversations flowing out of open doors and cracked windows, enticing people inside.
Even the lanterns lining the cobblestone streets appeared to waver and fade, as though they would be snuffed out at any moment.
Wrong.
The word whispered to the forefront of her mind.
This was all wrong.
She hastened her pace, and even though there was no sound of footfalls echoing behind her, she couldn’t erase the feeling of being followed. Of being tracked. Of being hunted .
That tiny voice inside of her pitched with panic.
Run!
Everinne ran. Her legs pumped as she bolted around the next corner, hoping to find someone, anyone, who might be willing to help her.
But it was as though the whole of Starysa had been deserted.
The penetrating darkness gained on her, closing the distance between them until she could feel the cold kiss of death along the back of her neck.
Terror soared inside of her, awakening the callous magic that slithered through her veins as the threads of her control unraveled.
She opened her mouth to scream and was snatched by the hands of violence.
Her head slammed against a wall of hard stone, snapping back with such force, dizzying stars danced in front of her eyes and her vision blurred.
Pain speared from the base of her neck, all the way down her spine.
Gruff, muffled voices bounced off the dark alley, but she couldn’t focus on the indistinct shapes of her attackers.
Her arms were pinned over her head, and a knee had been shoved between her thighs, forcing them apart.
Someone yanked her hair and she yelped, tears springing at the corner of her eyes, but she blinked, refusing to let them fall.