Chapter 21
Nelle
Time marched on— seconds, minutes, hours —I had no idea how far into the evening we’d come while I stood trembling on the stone pedestal, glitter shivering off my dress like stardust.
The Emporium roared around me. Modern music clashed against ancient masonry, bleeding into the hum of feverish conversation and sharp bursts of laughter.
The court had descended into a bawdy tavern—courtesans draped over laps, hands wandering, drinks sloshing, champagne corks ricocheting off stone.
Hungry eyes watched me, waiting for something humiliating to gossip about.
But I didn’t see them. I didn’t hear them.
My mind had folded inward around a single truth.
I was going to die.
And soon—whispered a dark, cruel place inside me.
I’d fought to find the mites, fought to escape the Crowthers, only to learn it was futile. With the Alverac hanging over my head like a sword, I’d be dead before the Witches Ball even took place.
I shifted, glancing toward the rooftop foyer where Master Sirro had left earlier. When would I see him again to give him my answer? All he wanted in exchange was my body. But for how long? A night, a week, a month? Maybe forever?
Would it matter?—murmured that dark place.
Guilt knotted in my throat.
There was only one way to survive.
Only one way to keep breathing.
And that was by taking up Master Sirro’s offer.
The Horned God would ensure Graysen met his end. But could I make that choice?
Mist billowed at the edge of my vision, and I twisted around to peer at the wall of darkness pooling behind the ancient columns.
Mrysst emerged from its depths, shadows washing wide as she stepped closer to a pillar. She leaned against it, her hand curling around its grooved girth, blood smearing her fingers as she slid them between the latticework of black flowers.
Dread drew sharp, pointy teeth along my skin, its bleak breath making me shiver.
The Crowthers were desperate for Jurgana’s attention, and here was her shy sister.
I had many desirable qualities that could be hacked from my body or peeled away like veins from a withered leaf.
But the power Sirro had spoken of, the real power the Witches would slaver over, was in the fact that I wouldn’t bend the knee.
A quality Graysen had mentioned before.
Mrysst cast a glance over her shoulder into the oily darkness of the Horned Gods’ Emporium, rising on her hooves as if searching for someone before lowering herself and returning her gaze to me.
Amber eyes glimmered behind the worn layers of lace draped over her figure. I watched her watching me, drawing my hands behind my back to hide the shaking. Mrysst had entered the Emporium on Sirro’s arm. The Horned God was playing a game with all of us—one we didn’t know the rules of.
The prize was me.
It was a certainty I felt deep in my bones.
I slicked my tongue nervously across my lips, angled my chin, and steeled my spine. I bowed to no one. Not even one of the Witches.
Purposely turning my gaze away, I ignored Mrysst in favor of the crowd. Valarie was nowhere in sight. Kenton paced near a cracked statue entwined with climbing flowers. Acting as auctioneer, he swept a hawk-eyed gaze over the Houses, acknowledging the discreet bids.
Kenton paused, slanted his head toward his brother, and lifted his fingers to indicate the current bid.
Caidan jerked his chin, raising it again, then returned to conferring with his companion.
The older man looked increasingly uneasy, his complexion turning even more pallid.
Confusion twanged along my veins. It was a strange reaction for someone so eager to buy my body that he was outbidding everyone.
Jett sauntered back toward me, threading through the throng of guests in light suits and sparkling gowns. Zielenski strode beside him, their voices low before the ruler of the Emporium gave a decisive nod, then parted company with the youngest Crowther brother.
I stiffened at Jett’s smug expression as he scanned my face, searching for weakness. He was patiently awaiting the moment I’d break and start begging him to remain untouched.
I couldn’t let him see me small and afraid.
Behind my back, I balled my hands into fists to force the trembling to subside.
Jett stopped before the dais, eyebrows furrowing closer. “What did Sirro want with you?”
I almost clicked my tongue in curiosity. How interesting he hadn’t overheard. Perhaps he’d been too far away. Perhaps Sirro had shielded our conversation from prying ears. Or perhaps Jett was still playing games.
Better he didn’t know I held his older brother’s life in my hands.
Sometimes it’s not the loud, angry face that scares someone so much. It’s the smile, the quietness of it all. Graysen had told me that once. So I answered Jett with a slow, cold smile that was secretive.
A muscle twitched in his cheek as his jaw hardened.
He was pissed off, and it cracked the smugness he wore like one of his bespoke suits.
My smile grew wider, and I gave a fake, bored sigh, skimming my fingers over my elaborate hairstyle before dismissing him by shifting my attention toward Zielenski.
He angled himself closer to speak to his assistant, the rings that adorned him gleaming in the wavering light as he gestured toward a courtesan.
Then my gaze slid past him and landed on someone I hadn’t seen arrive.
Someone with freckles dusting his pale skin, the shadows darkening his hair to auburn.
Pure terror slammed into my lungs, knocking the air out in a whistling exhale.
Danne Pellan raised a flute of champagne to his lips as he stared intently at Lila sweeping past.
All I could see were hazel eyes blazing with ugly lust, a cruel, entitled sneer, and the phantom sting of sharp fingernails slicing my skin.
My heart thrashed a frantic beat, leaving me breathless and lightheaded. I staggered back, almost tumbling off the pedestal.
Someone lunged for me. One hand grabbed my arm, the other steadied the small of my back. “What the fuck is up with you?” Jett snapped.
I could barely breathe.
I couldn’t tear my gaze away.
“Danne…”
Jett half-twisted around, shifting himself into my line of sight. A moment later, his grip on my body tightened. “That motherfucker,” he snarled.
My knees shook. Tears dampened my lashes.
“Wychthorn…”
My body jerked wildly as he tugged sharply to get my attention. There was nowhere else to look but into his eyes—violet, not black. And for once soft with understanding. “It’s not Danne. He’s dead, remember? My brother killed him.”
No, I did…
But the confession stuck in my throat.
“It’s not him,” Jett urged softly, his touch gentling. “Take another look.”
When I glanced again, the man had moved into the bright glow of candlelight. His face was leaner, lips thinner, and his features more aristocratic than Danne’s had been. I squeezed my eyes shut, breathing slowly until my pulse steadied.
Not trusting that I could speak, I nodded to tell Jett that I was okay.
He removed his touch from me and pivoted around to scowl at Corné, who stood among his friends. All of them were carbon copies of each other. Crisp tailored suits. Entitled lackey boys.
I slid a sideways glance at Jett, at his murderous expression. I hated Corné for his cruelty to my sister, and I feared him for how much he resembled his vile younger brother. The Crowthers and I had something in common—an intense hatred for the Pellans. And in that moment, Jett and I were allies.
“Shit,” Jett hissed, stepping forward just as Corné grabbed Lila’s arm, yanking her roughly. The crystal tumblers slid across her tray and nearly toppled, but she righted them with swift grace.
Zielenski was mid-conversation with his assistant, but the moment Corné snatched Lila, his shoulders snapped around and his voice boomed across the rooftop.
A sound of fury. The words a whiplash. Before Corné could even open his mouth to speak to Lila, Zielenski stabbed a finger toward him.
“If you value your hand, Corné Pellan, I’d advise you to let go of Blue! ”
The Houses fell silent. A quietness descended, with only the sound of music floating overhead.
An exhilarated energy radiated from the crowd, crackling like perverse electricity.
A thrill that something utterly delicious and mortifying was about to occur.
Corné’s head jerked up, his forehead creased in ire.
Nostrils flared and hazel eyes burned with offense.
A cold shiver raced down my spine as memories flooded my mind of what that affronted expression looked like on his younger brother.
Zielenski’s dark glare promised death. There was nothing in his expression that said he gave a fuck about him. Corné was no one to Zielenski. If my father ruled the Houses, Zielenski ruled this underworld, and his word was law when it came to the Emporium.
He relaxed slightly, a small smile quirking his mouth. Though he addressed Corné, he looked right at Lila, his tone challenging. “No one touches Blue unless she invites it. Isn’t that right?”
Lila’s eyes narrowed as a flash of defiance deepened them to a turbulent Baltic shade. While hers were frosty, I wondered if I’d glimpsed something warm smoldering in Zielenski’s.
Corné’s fingers twitched on her arm, reluctant to release her. Before he did, he yanked her closer and snarled loud enough for everyone to hear, “I just want to know what my uncle saw in you. And maybe get a taste of what was denied him!”
Zielenski snapped his fingers. “OUT. NOW!”
Lila twisted free in a swift, practiced move. Servants swept in to shield her within their ranks, and guards lunged for Corné, but he hurled his champagne flute at them before they could gain a hold.
Frenzied noise erupted. The Crowthers shouted orders, Zielenski’s guards too. A wave of guests washed outwards. Servants cried out as trays went flying and crystal shattered as Corné shoved through the rooftop.