Chapter 3
Chapter Three
EMORY
M oonlight slashed across my dark bedroom. Outside, snow still fell, the flakes so thick it created a curtain of white. As the dying fire sparked in the hearth, I slipped out of bed and shoved my feet into two white slippers. My husband lay naked in bed, snoring loudly after he’d crawled over my body and shoved himself inside of me, pumping in and out, all while reminding me once again what a failure I was because I hadn’t yet given him an heir.
He didn’t know it, but I secretly took cassroot every month, an herb that prevented pregnancy. I might have been his wife, but I could not bear his child. Couldn’t bring a child into this world in good conscious, not when he’d be the father. It was another little way I could rebel against him.
But I’d taken my rebellion too far lately. I’d been playing at something that I shouldn’t have. All my life, I’d been told what I needed to do. I would be a good daughter and find a wealthy, powerful man to marry, just like my mother had. I’d have prestige. I’d make her proud.
But I’d just had to have more.
I padded across the room and quietly clicked open the door, then slipped out. Darkness cascaded across the narrow hallway, but I didn’t need light. I knew my home well enough to make my way without it. I’d done this very thing enough times now, but this would be the last time. It had to be.
Driscoll and Leoni showing up tonight was a wake-up call. I might not have liked my life with my husband, but it was the only life I had. The white rabbit, my collection, my passion, it was a lie. Something shrouded in secrecy that I had to do in the middle of the night. It wasn’t me. I thought about the bone collector, the last encounter I’d had with him. My heart thumped hard at the memory.
I’d had too many close calls lately, and my husband was growing suspicious about my “outings.” It was time to give it all up and say goodbye to the white rabbit for good.
Tears gathered in the corners of my eyes that I brushed away.
I stalked down the wooden stairs at the end of the hallway, which creaked under my feet, then swept through the kitchen, now dark and silent. I opened the door to the cellar, creeping down the stairs.
I felt for the matches that sat on a shelf above my head, then lit the sconce on the wall. A glow flickered over the room. Canned goods, vegetables, and fruits lined the shelves on the wall, and barrels filled the space, brimming with water, ale, and wine. No one came down here, save our cook, and even then, she wouldn’t find my hiding spot for my most treasured artifacts.
I squeezed through the barrels and tiptoed to the back of the cellar, slipping a stone block out of the wall. A chest sat there, wooden and carved with seashells and fish. I’d come across it one day when foraging by the icy waters of the Silver Seas and immediately noticed the strange carvings on its sides. After further research about the curious fish with their twisted bodies that looked like ropes twined together, I’d realized the carvings were an ancient species. A species that existed in the Old World when the Seven Spirits still walked among elementals, ruled over them, were adored by them. That had been before they’d destroyed the Old World—and everyone who lived in it—and then disappeared and hadn’t been seen since.
I snorted as I slid the box from its hiding place, cradling it gingerly. That was the story we’d been told anyway. That the Seven Spirits had decided to go to Galaysia, the spirit world, and no longer meddle in mortal lives. I had a hunch that there was much more to the story. There always was when it came to history.
This chest, for example. After I found out that it dated back to the Old World, I’d studied it further. I ran my finger over the gold lining the bottom. Gold was a popular stylistic choice in the Old World for those who could afford it, which was very few. But even those who could afford to make a chest with actual gold wouldn’t have. They saw something like that as frivolous. Only the spirits owned things made with gold.
Which meant this chest had to have belonged to one of the Seven Spirits. Spirit Water, if I had to guess. I’d come across a priceless treasure chest, right there on the sandy beach of the frigid Silver Seas.
I sank to the floor and opened it to reveal my most treasured artifacts: a shimmering ruby ring, a delicate wine glass, a beautiful blue scarf, a small calcified rabbit foot, an ancient dagger with a stone hilt. Each of these items was special for a different reason: the first one I ever discovered, the first time I’d taken something from the frost castle, the first time I met the bone collector. My breath hitched. Little mementos.
And now I’d have to give them all up.
Tears welled in my eyes once again as I dug the ring I’d stolen out of my nightgown pocket and dropped it into the box. Tonight, I’d be getting rid of it all. Then I’d go to the bunker where I hid the rest of my artifacts, and I’d empty it out. I wouldn’t destroy any of it. I couldn’t bear to. But I would leave them somewhere they could be discovered.
Once upon a time, I’d hoped that one day I could collect enough artifacts, perhaps do enough research of significance to impress my husband and the Academy of Scholars & Historians. That maybe I could join and become an esteemed historian, advise the queen, like Maverick Von Lucas.
A tear rolled down my cheek.
This was for the best, I reminded myself.
It was nothing more than a dream. My husband would never allow it, and if he ever found out about this, he’d likely turn me in for stealing. It was everyone’s duty to take ancient artifacts directly to the frost queen. According to Her Majesty’s credence, these artifacts did not belong to those who found them. They belonged to her, belonged to the academy, where they could be catalogued, studied. By real historians. Not those like me who played pretend.
I blew out a shaky breath. I’d take this chest now and be back before my husband awoke, and the white rabbit would officially be no more.
“So it’s true,” a voice said from behind me.
My blood turned to ice as I straightened.
“You are the white rabbit,” my husband growled.
His wings rustled as he stepped closer, and the sour odor of dried sweat filled the air. He always smelled of sweat, especially after he drank, and bile rose in my throat.
I slowly stood, leaving the open chest on the ground behind me. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I crossed my arms, and he let out a laugh.
“Oh, Emory.” He lifted his hand, and that’s when I realized he was holding my white fur cloak. The one that had earned me my nickname. I always kept it hidden in a secret compartment of my wardrobe.
Not as secret as I’d hoped. I’d been such a fool.
“You really thought you could get away with all of this?” He gestured to the chest behind me. “Stealing important historical artifacts and keeping them for yourself? What were you going to do? Sell them and buy passage out of this place? Away from your life? From me? Is that what you want?”
My upper lip curled. “It would be hard for you to know what I want when you never bother to ask. I am more than just your wife, you know.”
“Really?” He laughed, the sound cruel. “You attended the Academy of Ladies. Your mother’s greatest dream for you was to become my wife.”
His words brought back the memories of me begging my mother to send me to any other academy, but she insisted that was not the right path for me. Said I would be better off marrying a rich man who could provide a stable life for me, just like she’d done. So I got to learn what it meant to run a household, throw dinner parties, and make your future husband look good. Learn how to make yourself amenable to your husband, to meet his every need .
I swallowed.
My husband laughed again, no amusement behind the sound. “It was too easy, you know. I’ve had my suspicions about your identity for a while, especially after the maid found this white cloak in the back of your wardrobe and brought it to me. The staff might like you more, but I pay them to keep an eye on you. Then there’s the fact that you prattle on with everyone you meet about this artifact or that new historical finding that’s come out of the academy. How you practically drank up every word that came from Maverick Von Lucas’s mouth tonight. As if he’d ever care about meeting you.”
The words were a punch to my gut.
“So I asked Elisabeth to wear the ring. I told her it was a little game you and I were playing so she wouldn’t dig into it. I wondered if you’d take the bait. And you did. Slipped it right off her finger.” He nodded toward the chest behind me. “Divorce is allowed in Arathia but frowned upon. Imagine the scandal it would cause, how it would look. Me divorcing my beloved, dutiful wife. But now?” He stepped closer, wings spreading out behind him. “Now I have reason. You are a criminal and will be tried in the frost court, sentenced for your crimes. And me?” He pressed his hands to his chest. “Well, I’ll be the grieving husband. In shock over my wife’s horrible deception.”
“I never thought I could hate you more than I do in this moment,” I said. “But maybe this is actually a gift.”
His eyes narrowed over his long nose. “What are you talking about?”
“Prison would be preferable to being married to you.”
“How dare you.” His face turned a bright shade of red.
“It took me until now to realize it. I was so afraid of losing this life, but now that you’ve found me out. I’m...” I paused. “Relieved.”
I was scared too. Terrified, actually. But I’d be damned if I admitted that to him. Everything else I’d said was true, though. I could survive prison. I could pay my dues and come out on the other side. But this marriage? I wasn’t sure I could survive another day in it. Not with him.
My hands curled into fists. “Instead of trying to trap me, you could’ve shown interest in something that excited me. You know that I have a passion for history. You could’ve encouraged it instead of acting like it was some threat. ”
He took a step forward, the vein in his temple throbbing. “It was a threat. Instead of focusing on being my wife, on supporting me and my career, you were traipsing off playing pretend. You are never going to be a historian, Emory. You will never be anything more than what you are, what you’ve been raised to be.”
His words struck me in the chest. Right in the most tender part of my heart.
“Just so you know,” I said, “I’ve hated every moment of being married to you. Every time you touched me, it made my insides shrivel. Every time you kissed me, it made my stomach twist.”
His face was now a dark shade of purple.
“And let’s not even get started on the pathetic thing you call sex.” He was shaking now, and I wondered if he might actually strike me. “I would just go somewhere else in my mind every time you climbed atop me. Think about my favorite things to make it bearable. Thank the spirits for the cassroot.”
He stilled. “What are you talking about?”
“Why do you think I haven’t become pregnant after seven long years of marriage?” I laughed. “Because I couldn’t stand the thought of having your child.”
“You bitch.” He lunged at me, his meaty hands wrapping around my throat as his face twisted in rage. I clawed at him, fingers digging into his arms, hands trying to reach for his face, for anything that could loosen his grip. When that didn’t work, I kicked out my legs, and he lifted me into the air. My vision blurred, and my throat burned as his hands clenched tighter. Meanwhile wind stirred and wrapped around me, pushing my hands down and binding them to my sides. He was using his sky magic. Stars dotted my vision, terror freezing me.
I was going to die here.
His eyes bulged from his head, veins popping under his bald scalp. My vision started going black, and my lungs clenched in pain just as my husband let out a garbled choking sound.
His hands froze, and I managed to kick at him and get free from his grasp. I fell to the ground, coughing and sputtering. Air rushed into my lungs as I took heaping gasps. My throat burned, skin bruised and sore from where his hands had gripped me tight. What in the spirits below had just happened?
I looked up at my husband to see him clutching his chest, still making that garbled, choking sound.
“Gregory?” I said slowly.
He fell to his knees, face stricken.
“Gregory!” I rushed to him, the fact that he’d just tried to kill me forgotten with this turn of events. I patted at him, looking for any kind of wound or injury, but I didn’t see anything. “What hurts?”
Spittle flew from his mouth, eyes now veined with red. A croak escaped his mouth as he fell to the floor with a thud. I watched in horror, the events unfolding in slow motion, his body slamming to the ground, wings shuddering, and one last garbled breath escaping him. Then everything went still and silent.
“Gregory?” I asked, reaching out trembling fingers that I pressed into his neck.
No pulse. Blood and frost. My husband was dead.