Chapter 49
Iwind through the abandoned hallway leading to Gemma’s room, greeted by nothing but silence and flickering lanterns.
I jog past rows of closed doors and steady my hand over the hilt of my dagger. My thoughts churn, uncontrollable like a riptide. I should have known when Gemma stiffened the first time she saw Kressa, or when I found out she worked in the castle.
They knew each other, and I was too blind to see the truth.
My shoulders tense, and I grit my teeth until my jaw aches. If she’s known Kressa her entire life, what has Gemma said about me? Does she know I’m Harriet?
Footsteps come from around the corner, followed by a shout of orders.
I freeze and press myself against the stone wall, my heart a drum in my ears.
“Keep up!” a guard shouts, the metal of his sword clanging against his belt with each footfall. “The castle is surrounded. She’s not getting out.”
I scan the other end of the hall, but I’d never make it before they turned the corner. A door stands to my left, and I try the knob. Locked.
I flatten against the door. The handle bites into my back and I hold my breath, willing my body still.
Shadows dance on the wall, growing larger and more defined. Closer. The first guard appears and darts onward without looking in my direction. Four others follow suit, but the one at the end pauses at the crossroads. He stiffens, and his head turns toward me.
Our gazes catch.
Julian.
My eyes widen, and I clutch my blade. If he calls for the guards, I’ll have no choice but to fight my way out. And against six men in close quarters, with only a dagger? I swallow.
At least Thea is safe. And Kressa—well, Kressa doesn’t exist anymore. Not for me. I’ve painted Cordelia’s features over the idea of her.
I risk a step and flash my blade, holding it steady at my side.
Julian’s lips quirk, and he glances toward the guards down the hallway. But he doesn’t advance on me or call for them. His smirk spreads into a smile, and he tips his head.
He follows after the guards, and their footsteps fade away.
I stand, frozen for a heartbeat, until it comes together. Him and the servant who tainted Caelus’s wine during the ball—working for Kressa. How long has she been infiltrating Sarenia? How many at her disposal?
Pushing from the wall, I creep to the mouth of the hallway and quiet my breaths. I’m met only with the drip of water and scuttling mice.
I bank left and stop at Gemma’s door, giving it a single knock. The door cracks open, and Marianne’s blue eyes stare at me through the slit.
They go wide. “Briar? What are you doing here?”
I force my way into the room. “Where’s Gemma?”
In the armchair before the fireplace, Gemma looks over her shoulder, her face giving nothing away. I stride to her, but she doesn’t rise. Fear doesn’t flicker in her brown, unforgiving eyes.
I come to a stop, fingers flexing on my dagger. “You knew who she was this entire time.”
“Who?”
“Does Princess Cordelia ring a bell?”
She doesn’t blink. All the confirmation I need that she’s the one who glamoured Kressa that night—knew that the Earth Court’s heir has been risking her life in these deadly trials.
Gemma’s gaze trails down the length of my arm to the tip of my dagger. Unbothered. “Her real name is Kressa. Cordelia was only a pseudonym Golan forced her to take on when her mother died at a young age.”
“I don’t care what name she goes by,” I snarl. “You’re working for her.”
Marianne toes the edge of the hearth. “What’s going on?”
Gemma gnaws on her lip and ignores Marianne. “I swore my life to serving her, and I didn’t know she came to Sarenia until I saw her in the courtyard before The Gales. If I had known she entered, I never would have helped you.”
I stop between her and the fireplace. “Have you told her that I’m Harriet?”
“No, but maybe I should. Or perhaps I should go to Caelus?”
Lunging forward, I pin her throat against the back of the chair. “Convince me why I shouldn’t kill you.”
She claws at my hand, but the scrapes don’t register, even as blood blooms on my skin.
Her eyes darken, and on a rasp, she manages, “Who do you think glamoured all those women so Kressa could sneak them through the castle?”
My grip on her falters.
She winces, but her expression remains cold. “And what would Kressa say if she finds out her bonded threatened her oldest friend?”
The nerves in my brain misfire, my ribcage cleaving in two. “Bonded?”
Marianne shifts.
“Don’t come any closer,” I snarl.
The blood drains from her face, body rigid. “Gem, what are you talking about?”
Gemma’s eyes soften. “Let go of me, and I’ll explain everything.”
I hesitate, but loosen my grip and step away, my blade trained on her.
“I’m not saying a word until you hand over your dagger.” She nods toward Marianne.
I begrudgingly pass it over, and Marianne tucks it into the top drawer of the dresser. Gnawing my lip, I calculate how long it would take me to retrieve it. Three seconds, tops.
“Sit,” Gemma says.
I sink into the armchair across from her. Wincing, she rubs at the red finger marks on her neck, sure to leave a mark.
Marianne settles between us and pinches the bridge of her nose. “Kressa is our queen?”
Gemma presses her tongue to the inside of her cheek and nods. “I wanted to tell you, but you were so young at the time, and—”
“No.” Marianne holds up a hand. Her fiery hair bristles over her collarbones. “You’ve lied to me my entire life. You can apologize later, but for now, leave me alone.”
I rub my lips together, the flames at my back suddenly too stifling. The air thickens, pressing in.
Gemma blinks and takes a deep breath, settling her gaze on me. “You didn’t know you and Kressa were bonded?”
I shake my head.
Gemma blows out a long breath. “Bonding was extremely rare occurrence. Before she passed, Golan was bonded to Kressa’s mother, and could wield her power alongside his. And hers was infinitely stronger.”
“How have I never heard of this?” I say, wringing my hands in my lap.
“Like I said, it’s rare, and can only happen with souls that are intimately compatible. Familiar, from another lifetime.” Gemma shrugs. “Since then, instances of forced bonds have surfaced, where someone is brought to the brink of death and filled with power. But they’re called—”
“Binding.” A swallow shoves down my throat. “Caelus wanted to do that with me.”
Marianne’s face pales. “You wouldn’t survive. No one has.”
My gaze darts to Gemma, and she nods, solemn. “Caelus believes he is higher than the laws of nature. Or he’s discovered a way to make it possible.”
“But that isn’t what I did to Cordelia, is it?” I say. “She was on the brink of death, but I didn’t bind her, right?”
“No, you didn’t. But bonds don’t exist anymore. Or at least they shouldn’t be possible.” Gemma chews on her lip and shakes her head. “After Golan tried to resurrect his bonded, Terra stripped the ability to bond. Which means—”
“We’ve bypassed Terra,” I finish.
She nods. “Somehow. And even before bonds were stripped, they were incredibly rare. In its most simple form, this is true love.”
“I don’t love Cordelia.”
She shrugs. “Perhaps not, but bonds are predetermined by fate, selecting people who are mirrors of each other. Two halves of one soul.”
“I don’t believe in fate.”
Yet as the words leave my mouth, my lips tingle with the remnants of Kressa’s. My fingers ache for her touch, and my very being yearns for her. But I cannot love her. If I did, the lives lost over the past decade would be in vain. My mother’s death would bear no purpose.
“It doesn’t matter what you believe,” Gemma says. “You can hear each other’s thoughts, can’t you? Communicate with your minds? Unable to kill each other?”
Blood drains from my face and pools in my feet. My vision tunnels on Gemma’s porcelain skin. How many times has Kressa told me I can’t kill her? Not that I won’t, but can’t.
This is why my assassination attempt failed.
“Cordelia knows we’re bonded, doesn’t she?”
Gemma and Marianne share a requited look, and the former nods. “She does.”
I bite down on my cheek. Hard. She knew what sharing our power meant, and she lied about it.
“I don’t want it,” I say, my voice sharp. “Can I return her power? Deny the bond?”
Marianne shakes her head. “Holding back or refusing what fate decides would be a pain worse than death—it would be all consuming torture.”
The flames Kressa endures. Swallowing, I stand and cross to the window. I part the curtain a sliver and far below, guards swarm every exit and sweep the streets.
I lean my shoulder against the wall. “I assume that since I’m bonded to your future queen, you’ll glamour me for the final trial?”
Gemma’s jaw tics, and she gives me a look that screams she’d rather drop dead, but Marianne replies with a simple, “Yes.”
“Very well. I’ll get going then.”
As I walk past, Marianne grabs my hand. “Where are you going?”
“Harriet’s room, to sleep in the closet.”
She stands and blocks the servant door. “You’re staying.”
“I appreciate the offer, but I’m not welcome here, and the guards will be searching your room any minute.”
“They already did. Long before you got here,” Marianne adds. “And if Kressa finds out we turned away her bonded, she’d never forgive us.” She looks over my shoulder. “Right, Gemma?”
Gemma grinds her teeth and stares into the fireplace. “You’re safe here, Briar. On the couch.”
I worry my lip. If I return to Harriet’s room, I risk being caught. And if I spend the night in my room, I might as well hand myself over to Caelus.
“Fine,” I say, easing my wrist from Marianne’s grip. “I’ll stay.”
She smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “I’ll gather a pillow and blankets. And I have a spare change of clothes.”
I nod and retreat to the small bathroom. A stream of ice-cold water pours out of the faucet, and I splash it over my face. I grab a towel from the wooden shelf and scrub at my skin, rubbing off the last traces of Kressa.
But the light flickers in my chest, a nagging reminder of her power lingering beneath—tethering me to her.
If she can’t die by my hand, I should have let her die in the second trial.