36
Sin and I conspire for a while before we start to put our scheme into action, always during stolen hours in the middle of the night. The Ascension Rite is a mere two weeks away, and while we need all the time we can get, we also need to work quickly.
In two weeks, queens, duchesses, earls, and baronesses alike, the strongest werewolves in the world , will be here. Right here.
If we’re going to accuse Queen Sybil of murdering one of her own werewolves and—depending on her motives—potentially seeking to threaten the other six courts with some sort of Bitten-human conspiracy, we need to convict her with allies present. Allies who will be able to take her down.
Of course, that means we need hard evidence.
No more scribbling in journals, and no more dungeon quests.
If we are going to trap a murderer, we have to think like one.
Unfortunately, Queen Sybil still won’t let me out into St. Augustine for fear of me fleeing—for fear of her losing whatever power she sees within me. But Sin…
Sin has freedom to roam over the city, and tonight, he’s used it.
Oona brushes my hair while I perch on my bed, counting the seconds since he’s left. After supper, as soon as the sun set.
“You’re quiet today,” she says. “Of course, typically that would be a reprieve, but silence with you is never a positive omen.”
“I’m thinking.”
She moves aside the capelet attached to the falling sleeves of my gown. Scarlet as roses and as sheer and billowing as the sea. She pulls a whalebone comb through the ends of my pin curls. “As I said, not a positive omen.”
“Hmm.”
She smacks me on the head with the comb, and I startle. “If you’re keeping secrets, there will be more where that came from.”
“I’m not keeping secrets.” My heart pounds a deceptive rhythm: lie lie lie . Oona doesn’t have any gifts, however, so she can’t tell.
“I should hope not. I’d rather like to keep my other leg stable and steady.”
I wince, but Oona clicks her tongue on the roof of her mouth. “We are done pouting,” she says. “We decided that days ago, remember?”
“How are you doing? With the training, I mean.”
Instructor Shepherd has been helping Oona exercise her leg in his spare time. Apparently, the man has a heart after all, and by the way he glances at Oona—often and deeply—I have a feeling it beats only for her.
“Shep said it won’t ever work the way it used to, but I can strengthen it. So far, I can almost rotate my leg in a full circle.” She huffs. “I’m doubtful of his confidence.”
I pivot on the bed, grinning at her anew. “Oh? Shep , is it? I’m sure he’s very confident in you.”
“ Instructor Shepherd is a gentleman of the court,” Oona says. “He would never stoop so low as to—”
“Feeling you up while teaching you about resistance training?”
She whacks me with the comb again, and we laugh. For a second, the world feels right and whole. We are just two young women laughing and talking about boys. My chest flushes with deep affection. But that ends quickly when a hard knocking throttles my door. I leap off the bed.
Sin.
He’s back already. It has to be quite the find for him to come to my room before midnight. More knocking throttles my room, and I throw open the door. My nose wrinkles. My lip curls into a grimace.
“ You ,” I say, right as Calix says, “Where is he?”
Calix Severi takes up the entirety of my threshold, one hand behind his back and the other propped above my head on the doorframe. He glances down at me with wild, glowing eyes. “Where is Sinclair?”
Oona gathers her materials—pins, combs, oils, and sprays—and busies herself with organizing my room. Undoubtedly eavesdropping. I roll my eyes. “Haven’t you noticed? I don’t speak to him anymore.”
“Don’t lie to me,” Calix growls.
“I’m not ,” I say in a tight voice. “When is the last time you saw me and Sin sitting together—”
Calix grabs my arm and hauls me backward, into my room. “Do you mind, Oona?” he barks. I’ve never heard him so panicked or aggressive before. Oona hasn’t either, with the way she drops into a curtsy and silently stumbles from my room.
“Don’t be cruel to her,” I growl, snapping my arm from his grasp.
He prowls forward, all predator, forcing me backward still. Until my legs hit the edge of my bed, and I’m trapped. “Where is he, Hart? You don’t want me to ask again.”
“What are you going to do? Torture me? Hurt my friend? I think the queen beat you to those.”
His eyes flash. Soften. But I’m not in the mood for his pity. When I confessed what happened at the match, Calix didn’t care. He didn’t seek me out again. We’ve been just fine existing far, far apart in this damned court.
“My cousin is missing,” Calix repeats. “He’s in danger. I need to know where to find him, and I think you’re the key.”
I scoff, ready to tell Calix to fuck off, but he raises a hand between us.
A hand blackening to ash.
His veins pulsate, inky beneath his flesh. “What the hell?” I breathe. “Wh-what’s happening to you?”
Calix sticks it in his pocket, but those veins coil up his forearms. He’s being incinerated slowly from the inside out. I recall the pain of the wolfsbane and wince.
“The blood bargain,” Calix says. “Sin’s life is tied to mine. If I’m dying, then he…” He curses. “I need to find Sin. I need to save him.”
Save him? No.
No, no, no . If Calix is dying, then Sin must be too.
My heart leaps into my throat. What did he find?
What did he get himself into? There’s no time to ruminate.
There’s no time to wait . I push my hair behind my ears, collect my skirts in hand, and hurry for the door.
Calix stops me with a hand on my belly. “Where do you think you’re going, Hart? ”
I glare up at him. “To find Sin. And since you have no idea where he is, you can’t stop me.” I raise my brows and level him with an unspoken challenge.
Work with me or die.
Calix sighs and drags both hands down his face. The blackened one is rigid. Ashen. “Fine, Hart.” Calix yanks my door open and stalks into the hall. “But if I’m sneaking you into town, you might want to change into an outfit that won’t stick out like a sore thumb.”
I glance down.
My cape and gown are hardly the right attire for St. Augustine’s busy streets on a Friday night. “Give me five.” Calix moves to close the door, but I stop it at the last second and stare him down. “Do not leave without me, Calix.”
His jaw ticks. “I won’t.”
A truth.
I shut the door and disrobe quickly, tugging on a pair of Combat leggings and a cropped white shirt.
Then I follow Calix out into the hall. I’m going to be watched, however.
Sneaking out won’t be easy. Queen Sybil wants me under her thumb, and I’ve never even been shown how to return to the mortal world.
Before we can pass the guards in the foyer, Calix snatches me by my waist and drags me into his side. His muscles tense against my soft body, and even his healthy hand is too stiff to be anything but extremely unfriendly. Yet he’s holding me as if we’re lovers.
“Calix,” I hiss in protest—in confusion.
“Shut up,” he growls, pinning my hand to his chest. He is a wall of hard muscle, and fighting with him twice does not change how intimate this moment feels. His heart beats unsteadily against my palm. He’s much more nervous than I am.
“But why—”
The guards squint at us, study us, and my spine straightens. Shit. They’re already watching. I glance up at Calix, anxious, my pulse frantically outpacing his, and he looks back at me with a storm in his gaze.
“Your gift doesn’t happen to be magical disguises?” I whisper.
His cheek dimples, and a smile twitches on his lips. Just for a second. One beautiful, infinitesimal moment. “No, Hart. It doesn’t.”
“Well, fuck.”
“Well, fuck,” he agrees. He begins to walk toward a pair of massive ice-blue doors, shielding me in the crook of his arm all the while.
But the guards will notice—they’ll still spot my hair.
They’ll still see my face. We can’t just casually stroll by them.
I need to turn around. I need to fully hide myself.
I need… I need to pretend Calix and I are doing more than just going for a stroll .
I glance up at him again, and the knowledge of this already flickers in his gaze. But he makes no move to touch me, to change our current lover’s amble. “Calix,” I whisper, “are you… are you waiting for my consent?”
He growls, another deep rumble of frustration that reverberates through my core, and yanks me in front of him so we’re face-to-face.
Chest-to-chest. Nose-to-nose. His eyes glitter dangerously, and he fists my hair, jerking my head back—exposing my throat while hiding the recognizable purple strands of hair in his hands. “Would you prefer I didn’t?”
He continues walking me backward, the bulk of his body hiding mine. It’s a brilliant plan. And that is most certainly the only reason that my heart contracts and my belly flutters. His lips move to my ear, and I suck in a breath, trying so carefully not to bow my back and arch into him.
“Ease up on me, Hart,” he murmurs. “You’re going to rip my shirt off my body.”
Oh. Oh. I didn’t realize—I have a death grip on his chest. I’m clutching him as if I might die if he doesn’t hold me tighter.
Ridiculous. This is… this is just a disguise.
I check for the guards surrounding us, but they’re careful to avoid eye contact with Calix.
The blood traitor’s son. He’s the one werewolf in this whole court who could slip me out unnoticed.
I ease my grasp, trailing it upward to his neck, and he licks his lips. I swear his tongue flicks against my skin. “How do we… how do we leave this r-realm?” I ask, fumbling almost every word. My fingers brush his hair, and he tenses further.
“The doors themselves are the portal, crafted by Alchemists centuries upon centuries ago. We need only walk through them to reach the mortal realm—if the guards will open them for us.”
Wow.