12. Chapter 12 #3
“Ha! Since when have you ever done anything out of the kindness of your heart?” Rhaziel thunders, the breadth of his power leaving behind an imprint in the room’s silence as he points a meaty finger Augustine’s way.
“You’re up to something, Dreamwalker. I know that devilish grin well.
Have you found the remedy for the curse that threatens our very existence?
And if so, why don’t you share it with us? ”
Steam practically billows from the queen’s flared nostrils, which makes sense, considering she’s been silent for an uncomfortably long stretch of time.
I imagine she isn’t fond of losing her place in the spotlight or feeling out of control like this.
She erupts from her chair like she’s possessed, her gaze pinning Augustine in place.
Then she says, “How dare you tell the mortal that she’s not required to follow the law I have set forth!
You know better than anyone that all things in nature must have balance.
Which is why our mother cast the curse, to protect us from the wraiths in exchange for the mortals' willingness to fall in love!”
“You think that’s what happened?” Rhaziel interjects between a toothpick and a grin, fracturing the emotional moment with a howl of raucous laughter. “Our dear mother cast the Curse of Love to punish us for massacring the dragons. Isn’t it obvious?”
Armona spins on him next, snarling like a rabid dog. All of her soft features harden to ice as her lips pull back to reveal a set of sharp, pearly white teeth. “Tell me, Rhaziel, what do you know of the Curse of Love?”
Rhaziel dips another chunk of steak into the gravy batter and ignores her.
“Nothing.” Armona answers her own question.
“You know nothing, other than how to skewer your enemies and eat their kidneys raw, you uncultured swine! I should rip out your spine like a marionette doll and make your skeleton dance for that little comment. Perhaps it would set an example for the others who have openly defied me.”
Rhaziel drops his chunk of steak, stands, and unsheathes his blade, which sings like a warning call against the needle-thin sword that Armona draws in exchange.
“Enough,” Augustine says lowly. He doesn’t draw a weapon, but his looming presence alone is enough to give them both pause.
Armona sheathes her sword and points at him.
“My word is law, Brother, and there must be consequences for disobeying it. Heed my warning. When the Curse of Love comes to collect your soul and drag you to Purgatory for defying its restraints, because it will, I will be requesting that your mortal be sent along with.” She motions in my direction, then swipes a finger across her neck in warning.
Purgatory with Augustine for an eternity?
I’d rather suffer an eternal damnation in Hell.
“Have you stopped to consider the possibility that the curse isn’t real, Sister?
” Augustine inquires, pushing away from the back of the chair.
“Think about it,” he says, unsheathing his ruddy dagger and inspecting it beneath the dim candlelight.
“What is our mother best known for? Causing chaos. Right?” He walks around the perimeter of the table, all eyes on him.
“Would it really be so far-fetched to imagine that she would lie about the Curse of Love to incite as such?”
Armona screeches like a wraith and sails toward him, her quick movements sending all the servants rushing down the corridor in a flurry of panic.
“Do not try to trick me, Dreamwalker,” she says, stopping to grab me by the hair.
Gods be damned, I’m not sure how I ended up smack-dab in the middle of their argument, but I’m not a fan of whatever this is.
Augustine stops moving and stiffens, almost as if one wrong move from his sister, one undue scratch on my skin, would cause him to upturn the entire table…
or burn the entire fucking world down from the looks of it.
He looks downright terrifying.
Armona runs a sharp finger over my cheek, her other hand winding deeper into my hair and tugging.
Ow. That fucking hurts. “I know the curse is real,” she says quietly, as if she’s goading him.
“I can feel its magic in my bones and at the very core of my marrow.” Her violent hiss causes the remaining candles to sputter out, swathing us in total darkness.
Augustine sinks into that darkness like a wraith, almost like he belongs in it. “Step away from my mortal,” he growls, his voice deeper and more forceful than I’ve ever heard it. “You remember our pact.”
“Your mortal?” I rasp.
After a long moment of insufferable silence, the queen releases her grip on my hair.
Then she snaps her fingers, reigniting all the candelabras in one fell swoop.
“I think we should have a ball,” she says, her voice taking on an unexpected cheerful lilt.
I rub the top of my head where my hair was pulled taut, scowling in her direction.
“Are you okay?” Bella mouths. Even Maxine looks horrified by the transaction.
I nod.
“A ball? Is that really necessary, Sister?” Rhaziel asks with a dramatic eye roll. Meanwhile, Thalmos tucks his weighted book beneath his arm and takes a step away from the table with a sigh.
“A ball is always necessary,” Armona says, as suddenly, the dining hall transforms into a glistening ballroom.