41
For three blissful moments the next morning, I forget anything except the sound of Sin moaning my name. And then Oona appears.
“Up, up, girl! Have you lost your wits? You’ve skipped breakfast, and you have lessons in mere minutes.
” She flies around my room like a bat out of hell, orange curls bouncing and hands snatching a gown from my wardrobe, a comb from the bathroom.
She doesn’t ask me to sit up before she rips the comb through my waves.
If she can scent what occurred last night, she makes no mention of it—or the bedsheets piled on the floor. I wince at her firm, unyielding grasp.
“I thought—you wanted me—to keep my hair,” I say, wincing after every other word.
“Hush, now. The Ascension Rite is in less than thirteen days, and there is a ball in twelve where you will finally be able to prove yourself. You must prepare. It is time to do well in your lessons, to behave in this court, to—”
“Oona,” I say, sliding away from her and off the bed, “it’s a little late for that.”
“No, girl, it is not. Prince Sinclair—”
“I don’t want to talk about him,” I blurt out.
“Not… not now.” Not when I can trace the fiery path his hands carved last night from memory alone.
I grind my teeth. Oona heaves a gown at me, maroon, with a sheer bodice set with dazzling rubies and black diamonds. If only I could tear it into ribbons.
I don’t care about a ball. I don’t care about the Ascension Rite. If Sin chooses me, I’ll be forced to work for his mother forever. If he doesn’t, I’ll be cast out. There is no happy ending left for me. I dress quickly regardless, just so this conversation can end.
Lessons.
My stomach tightens, and nerves lump in my throat. I’ll have to face Eric. I’ll have to face Nettie too. God. Bile churns, and my organs knot. My hands shake. Oona grabs them with a frown.
“Why are you so sullen this morning?” she asks, an ebony pin held between her teeth as she pauses in weaving black roses through my hair. “One might assume you’d be happier with lessons drawing to a close. You’ll be a true member of this court soon.”
My stomach flips—and not in a good way. I deflate under her touch. She doesn’t know. The maids Instructor Shepherd spoke to last night, Oona must not have been one of them. She doesn’t know Evie died. “Oona…”
“What’s wrong?” Oona wanders in front of me. She turns my cheek to the right and then the left. “Are you running a fever?”
“Oona, Calix and I left the castle last night. To find the prince.”
“Yes, I’m aware. I was here when Calix barged inside.”
“No, you’re not aware.” Please don’t hate me , I pray. Please please please. “Last night, we went to find Sin, but instead Evie and I were attacked by werewolves on the beach. We fought them. She died .”
Oona blinks. Her mouth falls open.
And she laughs.
I stumble away from her, knocking into a post of my bed and nearly snapping it in half. “Wh-what’s wrong with you?”
Oona laughs harder, as though her chest cracked open, and malevolence is spilling out. I race around the bed, my heart plummeting. “Why are you… you laughing ?” I can’t breathe. My bones ache. Surely Oona isn’t under the queen’s thumb. She can’t be evil.
“Because you have, indeed, lost your wits,” Oona says, with a shake of her head. She takes the clip from her mouth and approaches, trying to pin a wilting rose behind my ear.
“No, I haven’t.” I inch away from her. “She’s dead, Oona.”
“She’s not.”
Did the queen get to her? Manipulate her? “Whatever the queen said, it’s a lie,” I say. “I can’t prove it, but you have to trust me.”
“Dear, she didn’t have to say anything.” Oona stomps toward me and holds my head in place, jabbing me to the point of bleeding as she fixes the flower.
“I saw her with my own eyes this morning at breakfast. Evelyn Lee was picking at her buttered toast and rolling her eyes alongside her brother. In fact, you were the only one missing. The prince, Calix, her friends—they were all there. They are all preparing for the coming events. Be smarter, Vanessa,” she chides.
But… well, now I really don’t give a fuck about the rite.
Evie was at breakfast?
There—there’s no way. I hear the crack of Evie’s neck. Recall the smell of her blood. Vanilla and cinnamon and pungent copper. No. Evie’s not alive.
No fucking way.
“Oona, you’re mistaken.”
Oona heaves a great sigh. “If you truly think she’s dead, be my guest and attend Alchemical Designs. I assure you, she’ll be there.”
She doesn’t finish speaking before I race out the door.
I shove into Alchemical Designs. The front of the classroom is dressed in billowing, shimmering tapestries depicting magical elements human eyes can’t pick up—crafted from spider silk and stardust—but the back of the class remains unchanged from when Calix and I fought.
Cabinets of curiosities and mythical concoctions.
Rows of adamantine desks resistant to any spills or burns.
A ceiling painted with ground moon rocks and crystals, as fluorescent as the expanded universe. And my peers. All of them.
Including Evie.
My heart stops. My throat tightens.
How?
She sits with her legs kicked up onto her desk in the back row. Stilettos dangle from her ankles, the sheer lace of her gown hiding everything but the pale of her chin and face. Her arms appear unmarred. Smooth and porcelain as ever.
No. Fucking. Way.
Sinclair and Calix spot me before she can, but I storm past them. This isn’t possible. It can’t be possible.
Marching up to Evie, charging toward her rather violently, I throw my arms around her neck. She screams as we careen backward, her chair spilling us onto plush, albeit charred, rugs. “You’re alive,” I whisper, clinging to her. “I can’t believe it. You’re alive. ”
It’s a resurrection I never expected. I thought this sort of miracle couldn’t exist, even in the Realm of Superiority.
But Evie is real . She’s here, and her heart is pounding against mine.
She smells the same as always, like winter spices, and a hint of something floral and feminine, and god —I could inhale it for ages.
I squeal against her neck, tightening my hold, even as she bucks in my arms. Her hair tickles my nose. Her flesh is warm.
She. Is. Alive.
“I’m so sorry. So sorry.” A sob almost bursts out of me, and my voice cracks. “Thank god you’re here.”
Unfortunately, my relief is short-lived. Evie snarls beneath me, using her claws to wrench open my iron grip and free herself. “What is wrong with you?” She shoves me away, and I roll painfully into Nettie’s desk. The blonde Beta glances down at me with wide, surprised eyes.
By the time I stand, Evie is already seated again, perched on that adamantine stool as if it’s a throne. I shake my head. Her stare is void, and she glares at me as if… as if nothing occurred.
“What happened to you?” I ask softly.
Evie’s jaw clenches, and Katerina strolls over, leaning against her desk. Followed immediately by Eric. Evie’s closest friends form a protective circle around her, their claws descending with a flick of their wrists.
“You’re lucky we don’t gut you, bitch,” Katerina hisses.
“You created enough trouble last night,” Eric agrees. “You told everyone my sister died . I could dismember you here and now and no one would fault me for it.”
But—I glance at Evie. She won’t look at me.
No. No , that doesn’t make sense. None of this is right.
Confusion pounds in my skull. I know what I saw.
I lived it. Evie was at the beach, and the queen stole her limp body away.
And then … I stiffen. And then I came here, to this castle, where the queen told me she did not kill Evelyn Lee.
The queen had been telling the truth.
I gulp, and sweat beads down my back, chilling my spine.
Killing werewolves—tear off their head, claw out their heart, or stake them with silver or wolfsbane.
But just because Evie isn’t dead doesn’t mean what I saw was completely false. Evie hadn’t been decapitated, but she’d been hurt. Badly. I stare at her high neckline of lace, searching for any semblance of a scar, but she pushes me away. “Get lost,” she snaps. “I have nothing to say to you.”
“Evie—”
She glares at me, and it’s like looking at a blinding solar eclipse.
“Nothing happened. You were trying to cause a commotion. It didn’t work.
So fuck off out of here before I give you a reason to flee.
” She bares her fangs. “I won’t ask you again.
I don’t like you. I don’t want to see you. Fuck. Off.”
Lie.
I don’t know which parts are specifically the lies—I can’t tell when it’s all jumbled together—but she is lying. It scorches through me, reducing my heart to cinders and ash.
Nothing happened. Nothing happened. Nothing happened.
Liar.
I stare at Evie, and she stares back. Seconds pass, infuriating, maddening seconds, and then I retreat. Just one step. Enough to show that I’m not going to fight her. I don’t need any more fights. Her friends relax, if only infinitesimally, but their eyes continue to flicker with loathing.
Evie picks at her quill, ripping out the feathers and scattering them to the breeze. Something is wrong here. She glances up when I take my seat, and her body shudders as a quick scent of fear blows past me. Something is very, very wrong.