Chapter Seventeen
My knees buckle. I slump forward, and Roze catches me against him as I teeter on the edge of unconsciousness. Saint Waffles barks, and I jolt back to reality, stumbling away from the Prince and falling back on my bed. I’m breathing heavily, staring up at his imposing figure.
He almost knocked me unconscious, using that curse on his skin against me. The bastard.
“Don’t do that,” I spit at him.
He blinks as though coming out of a dream himself. “I—” He bows his head.
I need to clear my mind. I need to think. And I know I can’t do that in this room with Roze. He’s a villain, and I am a fool.
I keep making this mistake, stumbling back into him like a moth drawn to candlelight before I remember that I can’t trust him, that he’s cruel and deadly. I come too close to him, mistaking this truce we have for safety. And then I get burned.
He killed the Queen.
He killed the Queen for you, my treacherous heart whispers.
But still. Things have gotten too complicated, the lines too blurred. I need to sort things out, and I can still feel the blood pounding in my ears after that … almost-kiss.
It’s all completely overwhelming.
“If the Queen is dead,” I say, sitting up and scooting far away from Roze. “Then … our temporary alliance is done, right? No more danger. No need to keep up the ruse.” I pull the Roquelart ring off my finger and look at it a moment before extending it to Roze, something tugging in my gut as I do.
My chin is tilted up, my expression cold. Roze eyes the ring. Then his gaze rises to mine, piercing and captivating.
He lifts a hand, and for a moment, I think he’s going to take the ring back.
Instead, he unbuttons the cuff links on his left wrist. The silver roses fall to the floor with a dull clunk, and he rolls his sleeve up his forearm. He really has fantastic forearms—lean and long with prominent veins. It’s a shame he keeps them shrouded beneath black clothing at all times.
He turns his forearm up, and I can feel both our hearts stop. There is the rose tattoo—its thorns sharp and sinister as ever.
“I—I don’t understand,” I whisper. “The Queen is dead. It should have disappeared, right? The countdown should have stopped.”
Roze is staring down at his arm. He shakes his head, blinks, and wets his lips. “I—I thought it would.”
My next breath is painfully long. “The guard,” I say, “the one we killed. He … showed up at the fete after you killed her.”
Roze nods.
“But that was her … that was her power.”
“It was.” He licks his lips. “Perhaps—I’ve underestimated my mother’s power.”
I lean back on the headboard to steady myself. For what feels like an eternity, I stare mindlessly at the wall while Roze gazes at the floor.
“What now?” I whisper finally.
He swallows. “What she really wants is my father’s killer. If we can find that, maybe it will be enough.”
I don’t believe him, and I don’t think he does either.
The Queen killed all the meigas in Aragoa after the war while Alexandre was still by her side.
She’ll want me dead whether I deliver her husband’s killer or not, especially now.
But we have to find a reason to keep going, to keep fighting.
We have to find a reason to not give up yet.
“We’ll think of something,” he whispers into the dark.
I don’t respond.
He crosses the room to me, his black shoes all I can see until my chin is in his gloved hand and he’s directing my gaze to his. Silver eyes bore into mine. “Sinclair, we’ll think of something. I promise.”
I choke on my fear. Because I’m sure he has already thought of something—his one sure way out of this.
In the end, no matter what fragile truce we’ve come to, no matter what has passed between us in these short few days, he will sacrifice me to save himself.
I’m not certain of much at the moment, but that I’m sure of.
I nod. “All right.”
Ed looks like he’s had quite a night. His hair and clothing have seen better days, and he smells like champagne and sex.
“What did you get yourself into?” I ask slyly as he stands in my doorway. Or slumps, I should say. He’s still quite drunk.
“You mean who,” he says with a smirk.
“Gross.”
“I’ll have you know I’ve ruined my reputation as a gentleman and left a lovely lady in bed alone tonight to see you initiated into the Grimmstones. You’re welcome.”
“I’m certain your reputation as a gentleman was already ruined.”
He holds a hand to his chest as though shot, but then stumbles and falls flat on his ass on my floor, chuckling to himself.
“Am I going to have to carry you there?” I ask.
“Calm down. I’m fine.”
Roze left a short while ago, and I let him believe I was going to bed.
And then, as planned, Ed showed up to bring me to the Grimmstones’ meeting in disguise.
If everything goes according to plan, I’ll be through the initiation before Roze realizes what’s happened and can stop it, and once I’m in, I’m in—forever.
I still don’t know what this initiation will entail, and Ed is being ominously tight-lipped about it.
After he sorts himself out, he hands me a cloak and mask and tells me to follow him and to be quiet.
He leads me to the library, to a dark alcove in a seldom-visited section, one story beneath the main floor.
Here it is even darker than the rest of the school, windowless, and cold.
I think we must be below the surface of the lake—there’s a humid, earthy aroma to the air.
A few simple gas lamps hang from hooks at the ends of shelves like watchmen, and at the end of the aisle, there’s a small sculpture resting on a pedestal.
It looks like a girl, and in her hands, she holds scales, her pupilless eyes staring out at us like a divine judge.
“This is the entrance to what we call the Crypt,” he says, and turns to me. “Last chance, Princess. Once you know our secrets, there’s no going back. You’re one of us.”
“Lead the way,” I say without hesitation. There isn’t much left to lose anymore. Even the small chance of finding out more is worth any risk.
Ed turns toward the shelf behind the statue of the girl and runs his fingers along the books there.
There’s a volume on the far-right side that seems slightly less dusty than the others.
He removes it and glances at me over his shoulder before he reaches into the bookshelf and points to something in the darkness.
I step toward him and peer into the darkness on the shelf. There, at the tip of his finger, is a small carved moth with a skull in its wings—the symbol of the Grimmstones.
“Brace yourself,” Ed says, and presses his finger against the moth.
The wood gives way beneath his finger. The floor beneath us lurches.
I sway, and both of us grab hold of the shelf for support.
The bookcase and the floor slide forward.
An opening appears behind the shelf, revealing a stone passage with a ceiling low enough that we’ll both have to duck down to enter.
There are no candles or lamps lighting the passage—it’s a black void.
“That’s the way?” I ask.
I can hear the smile in his voice as he says, “Oh, Sinclair, there’s so much you don’t know about this castle.”
The bookcase shifts shut behind us and we are enveloped in darkness. I inhale a rattling breath. The air is cold here, and I wish I’d worn something under the cloak other than my sleeveless dress from the fete.
The passage goes on forever, taking odd turns and twists. I try to keep track of our path at first, but quickly give up. The darkness is all-consuming—I can’t see my own nose in front of my face, so instead I follow the sound of Ed’s footsteps just ahead of me.
We round a corner, and a gray, smoky light appears.
We step through an arched doorway into a rotunda with an entire ceiling made of glass, the Mists undulating overhead.
The floor has an intricate pattern etched into it—a labyrinth leading toward the center, where a group of cloaked figures stand. Waiting.
All their faces turn toward us as we enter, and my heart thunders against my chest as I wonder if I’ve made a horrible mistake in being here.
Ed stops before the labyrinth. “New initiate tonight, gents.”
“We didn’t discuss any new initiates.” That’s Roze’s voice—the cloaked figure in the center. “We vet all new members together, Ed.”
“You’ve been a bit busy, Your Prickliness. The boys and I discussed this one.”
Roze glances around at the other masked figures. “You’re all conspiring without me now?”
The rest don’t reply, and Roze looks back at Ed … and then to me. I try not to fidget, silently begging him not to somehow sense me beneath the cloak, not to notice my female figure or see my hair poking out of my hood.
“Very well,” he says carefully. “If you’re all in agreement … we can proceed.”
I hear Ed’s quiet exhale of relief next to me. Then he leans toward me and whispers, “Look down.” At my feet is the beginning of the labyrinth, the stone path snaking its way around the room. “Begin here. As you reach the words on the path, read them aloud. When you reach the center, you’ll be in.”
He leaves my side and joins the others. I take a deep breath and step onto the path.
The labyrinth winds like a snake around the room, and I feel a bit foolish twisting all about while the Grimmstone Society silently watches me.
But then I reach a large letter N carved into the stone on the outer edge of the labyrinth.
I look around and notice other letters around the rim of its path.
Oh. The labyrinth is a compass.
Below the northern point are words that I read aloud.
“Bone for Determination, I yield thee,” I whisper.
As soon as the words leave my lips, a mighty ache quakes through every bone in my body. I double over in pain, nearly falling to my knees.
A whimper escapes my throat, and I see one of the masked figures flinch. If I use my voice too loudly, Roze will surely know it’s me.