13. Chapter 13
13
Casimiro
F irelight warmed the small reading area of the narrow library to an uncomfortable level, but the mortals who tended the books—looking for mold, worms, or pixies—relished the crackling flames and claimed they helped fight the dreaded moisture of these caves. I’d pushed my sleeves up as high as they would go and unbuttoned the top two buttons of my shirt, hoping to stave off any sweat, but the fire was winning right now. After reading the same sentence three times, I slid down in the wide chair, rested my head against the back, and stared at the glowing orb hovering among stalactites above.
My mind drifted back to the woman I’d brought here this evening. She’d chanced death by sliding into those waters. If I’d thought to enchant the water with a clinging spell, I could have listened in on her conversations with the other mortals. But I hadn’t thought she’d do what she did. I’d unleashed our largest water dragon, thinking his presence in the lake would be enough to scare her senseless.
Instead, she’d beaten my game.
A fae entered the long, narrow cavern lined with shelves, their magic brushing against my own like a housecat rubbing against its master’s legs. I sat up and tried to find the sentence I’d last read. The approaching fae wore a concealment spell, although not a well-crafted one.
When Alba slipped into the firelit reading room at the back of the library, her features dim beneath a veneer of shadows, I didn’t look up from my book.
“I see you,” I drawled, reading the same sentence for the fourth time. Daylight hours always made me feel lethargic, and poring over the medicinal properties of various fruit leaves had left me in a state I could almost describe as sleepy.
“King’s crown, Cas,” she cursed. The shadows fell away from her frame, and she marched into the light coming from the fire and the glowing orb above my head. She had her fists on her hips and a pair of antlers protruding from her head.
I shoved the nearest moveable item into my book—a quill—and snapped it shut to peer up at Alba. “Don’t tell me the antlers are permanent.”
My sister made a face. “I’m practicing affixing.”
Relieved, I nodded and angled my chair outward, studying my sister’s expression to see if I could predict her reason for interrupting me.
“What’s plaguing you, brother?” she asked before I could so much as inhale.
“Nothing of consequence.” Thinking about a mortal was the same as thinking about nothing, so it wasn’t a lie.
Alba huffed. “You read that same line at least twice. I saw your hand go back to the beginning. And your magical barrier felt weaker, the way it does when you’re distracted or doing magic elsewhere.”
“I’m always doing magic in many places.”
She crossed her arms and lifted her brows.
“Fine.” I leaned forward and propped my elbows on my knees. “The other mortals who survived their first night did so by playing it safe. And each one of them, in turn, welcomed the help of one of our courtiers in return for protection in the next game.”
“Yes, and?”
“The woman who arrived last night did neither of those things.”
It was a cycle. A predictable, repeatable cycle. Those who played it safe survived, then voraciously accepted the help of a fae in exchange for anything from a single night’s company to playing spy for that fae for a matter of months. Eventually, the courtiers withdrew their protection and the mortals died before their year elapsed.
Alba clapped her hands. “She refused help? I like her.”
“She chose to entertain, Alba. She has to die.”
My sister pouted. “Father is the one who made up the one-year rule for the entertainers. He had to know some of them would survive.”
The look I sent my sister silenced her objections. Father liked the idea of offering hope but never allowing a mortal to collect on that which was hoped for. Survival for those who chose entertainment was not an option.
“Well,” she said, “I still plan to duel with her. Whenever those brutes let her have a day off from the arena.”
I lifted a brow. “Be sure to use the wooden training weapons, or you’ll kill her without even meaning to. She is mortal, you know.”
Alba hung her head, as if chastised. I hadn’t meant to speak so harshly.
My mind flashed with memories of her standing in my room, head hung low like this, when I’d explained what had happened to our older brothers, Velasquez and Augustín, and so many before them. She’d only been a small child then, perhaps too young to learn of such things. The memory rocked through me, and I sensed my magic faltering in every place it consumed energy. In this room, where I held a thin glamour over my scars, in the halls and stairwells around the library, where I watched for approaching visitors, in my distant Shadow form, where I was currently interrogating a duende on the whereabouts of two Moon Court spies who’d been traipsing around the border of our mountain.
I quickly suppressed the memories of the day I’d told Alba of our brothers’ murders, reestablishing my spells in the halls first. Far away in the forest, my shadow form faded momentarily, but the little creature I spoke with only stared at me with wider, more terrified eyes. In my study, where my physical form remained, my glamour slipped. The sensation was freeing, until I noted Alba’s gaze affixed to my scars.
I reached out to muss her hair between the absurd antlers, but Alba’s body vanished from within reach and reappeared several steps away, a few pale strands of hair looped over a prong of one antler. She beamed at me, triumphant.
“Very good,” I lauded her. “Not many grown Shadow lords can transport so precisely like that.”
Her smile brightened and faded in the span of a breath. “I know you’re thinking about them,” Alba said, backing out of my embrace. “Your face tightens and you look to the left when you remember them.”
My jaw tensed. For a fae without telepathic magic, she could read me better than the books on the shelves. My father had tried for millennia to forge an heir powerful enough and obedient enough to do what he’d always wanted to do: bring the Shadow Court into Rivenmark, making it an official fae court among the other four courts. But when the time came to test the heirs on their ability to lead the court, not one had satisfied the Shadow King.
I pressed my hands down into my pockets so Alba couldn’t see the black lines forming on the backs of my hands.
If I hadn’t had to watch two brothers murdered by our father, I might never have felt the surge of protectiveness that washed over me the first time I met Alba. I’d seen her face, and I’d known what fate awaited her. Death. As it did for every Shadow heir.
Unless I could stop the cycle.
“Alba,” I said, careful to calm my heartrate before the curse in my veins ran out of control. “I won’t let you meet the same fate.”
She nodded, but her smile had faded. “You said the mortal woman refused protection? Do you think she could spy for you?” A scoff burst from my lips. “She refused help. She won’t want mine.”
“But the poisonings are starting again. Now that Father is gone, you know as well as I do that another coup will be attempted, whenever they find the right poison.” She shrugged. “You need a spy among the mortals. Relying on the journal isn’t enough. Eventually, whoever is behind the coup will find a poison that can kill us both.”
My heart pinched. “I won’t let that happen.”
Her expression softened. “I know. But think about it, Cas. She will eventually crack, like all the others. She’ll want help. You just need to be the one to offer it before anyone else does. And she seems to have a way of getting even the quiet mortals to talk. She would make a good spy.”
“I’d only have to kill her afterward.”
Alba bit her lip. “Yes, only that.” She sighed. “Well, if you choose not to offer her help, then someone else will, and then she could be spying for the enemy. Think about it. The mortals carry all the secrets around here.”
The mortals could lie, so the court employed a network of them to carry secrets and transfer information, enchanting the mortals with spells that prevented them from ever speaking of the secrets they held to unwarranted contacts. Then the fae could then erase from their own minds the information the mortals carried. They were unbreakable lockboxes. The servants had long since been exhausted, and their minds were so filled with secrets and spells that most of them could offer little additional help. But the entertainers cycled through regularly. Their minds were fresh ground to be tilled.
I sat back down and crossed my ankles and threaded my fingers together over my stomach. The woman I’d brought here last night wouldn’t crack as easy as the rest of them. She was fighting against my control, and some part of me was enjoying the game. Finally, someone with a little fire in them.
My mouth twitched up at the memory of her small frame pushing violently against my own as we’d danced.
“How can I get her to trust me enough to accept my help?” I asked, glancing at my sister.
Alba rubbed her hands together. “Oh, I like a plan. So, you need to think of something she wants. Not your help, because she’s made it clear she doesn’t want that. Something she can’t refuse.”
My brow quirked up. “She mentioned a friend of hers, a woman who married a fae recently.”
Alba’s face lit up. “You know who that is, don’t you?”
Over my crossed arms, I shot my sister a frown. “How would I know who a random mortal is?”
“The news circulated all the courts. A mortal woman from Avencia recently married Rafael del Sol .”
My lips curled into a satisfied smirk. Yes, I’d heard about that . Now that I thought about it, the woman who’d married the Sun prince was said to be from Leor, the same town Zara was from.
“If she wants to know about this woman,” Alba said, “you can use that, Cas. Now you’ve got something she wants: information.”
My mind spun with possibilities, ways to ensnare this mortal into spying for me.
“You’re welcome,” Alba said, wagging her brows at me.
I shook my head, but a small smile played on my lips. “I’d say thank you if we weren’t discussing a coup designed to kill us both before Father returns.”
Her face paled, and for a moment, she remained speechless. “I’m not worried about the coup. I’ve got you to protect me. I’m worried about you , Cas. How close are you to finding a cure?” Briefly, her eyes darted to my hands.
“Closer than before.”
Alba swallowed. “You have plenty of time.” Then she bent sideways, drawing my gaze. “How do you keep Father from knowing when you’re testing the antidote? Doesn’t the curse tell him every time you break his rules?”
I braced one hand against a shelf and drummed my fingers. “The curse only activates on his end if the pain gets strong enough. And I’m very good at ignoring pain.”
Alba’s frown deepened. “That’s a terrible answer.”
“And it’s the only answer you’re getting.” I shooed her back the way she’d come, needing to think without her barging in on my thoughts. “Nine more months, Alba. Nine more months to perfect the antidote to an incurable curse and kill all the humans who foolishly chose to entertain our court. And uncover a coup that wants to lop off both our heads. Should be easy enough.”
“You’ll solve it—all of it. I know it.”
To placate her, I nodded, but the pain I’d been denying for the past few minutes was growing, and I longed for a swallow of my tonic to dull the discomfort. I was running low, and Felipe had yet to replenish my supply, which meant I had to keep the last few sips for when the curse in my blood was too painful to ignore.
Until I had a replenished supply, I’d have to stick closer to my father’s expectations of me, which meant no speaking to mortals. I only had to hope that Zara Valencia remained as strong for the next few days as she had last night, or someone else might offer her protection before I was able to.