Chapter Fourteen
William Castor is lying to you.
The room spins. Black spots edge my vision. I feel as if I’d been gutted, and I flick a glance at my stomach to make sure my entrails haven’t spilled out onto the floor beneath me.
Will stands, his wounds fully healed, and he transforms before my eyes.
The translucent pallor of his skin shifts, his ivory face and hands appearing to glow silver from within, as if he had bathed in moonlight.
He stretches, rolling his shoulders, seemingly shedding his frail, sickly stature, growing until he is at least one foot taller, broader, more muscular, his jet-black fingernails gleaming like polished obsidian in the firelight.
Even his clothing morphs into a solid black ensemble bedecked in iron chains, until the figure standing before me looks more like a harbinger of death than a mortal man.
Aside from his green eyes, the smattering of freckles across the bridge of his nose, and his coal-dark hair, I hardly recognize him.
Slowly, deliberately, he withdraws my father’s compass from his pocket. It sways back and forth like a pendulum in his grasp. He drawls, his gritty, rasping voice like shadows and smoke, “Looking for this?”
He drops the compass back into his pocket. Winks.
“Come,” Morana says, beckoning him. “General Azeron of House Viridian, Keeper of the Guild of Shadows, Lord of Chaos. Tonight, we feast in your honor.”
Will—no, General Azeron—ascends the dais, his back to me.
When he takes his seat on the throne to Morana’s right, I realize I can no longer feel my hands.
Hurt, betrayal, grief—they all fade beneath my immediate panic when Will winks at me, and I see it—the twinkle of amusement in his eyes.
He smiles, revealing two sharpened canines, his laughter deep and rough.
“It’s good to be home,” he says, addressing the throne room.
The Underlings cheer. I feel like I’m going to vomit.
“You—” I feel the magic release my tongue, just enough that it’s still a feat to get the word out. Will. The boy who spoke to me with flowers. The boy who kissed me—who told me he loved me. The boy who asked me to marry him—who promised me he’d fight for our future together. “It was you.”
Will props his cheek on his fist, grinning. “What gave me away?”
This sets my teeth on edge, because nothing gave him away.
Nothing at all. And I know why. I feel it—the instant he releases his grip on my mind.
Something snaps, abrupt and final, jarring me back to myself with a rush of startling clarity that leaves me breathless and weak and yet more in control of my thoughts than I have been since the moment Will and I crossed paths all those months ago.
“You compelled me!” I don’t recognize the sound of my own voice.
Tears burn my cheeks. I don’t care if the entire Underling army sees me cry.
These are not tears of sadness. They are tears of hate.
And with each one, I feel clearer. As if each drop of water cleansed my mind of Will’s influence.
“All this time!” Disgust rises to the forefront of my emotions when I think of the kiss I’d given him on Holy Winter’s Day.
Every tender caress. Every night spent in the conservatory at Bludgrave Manor.
I hate myself for wanting to know, but I can’t help asking, “Was any of it real?”
Something flashes in Will’s eyes—something I can’t understand. A crease forms between his brows. “Of course it was,” he says, sitting up straight, gripping the arms of his throne. “It was all real for me, Aster. You just needed a little help to see it.”
My stomach roils. I remember every time Will has ever touched me, from the two weeks he influenced me to sleep aboard the Merryway after we were captured to just a few minutes ago, before we entered Morana’s throne room.
Nothing I feel—nothing I felt—for Will is real. It was all a lie. A trick. A game.
But then an even worse thought occurs to me.
“How long have you pretended to be Will Castor?”
I’m not sure I want to know, but I need to hear him say it.
His grin broadens, revealing his dimple. “Little William Castor drowned when he was eight years old, and I took his place.”
My stomach flips. “This whole time… you’re a Changeling?” Which means that this General Azeron would have possessed all the real Will Castor’s memories. His love for his family. He would have become a child, raised alongside Henry and Annie by parents who never knew this monster replaced their son.
A sob escapes me as I grieve another person I never knew.
Will Castor did exist. But I never met him. Not really.
He purses his lips, considering. “Yes… and no,” he says with an impish grin.
“I told you before, I have been many things—lived many lives. Before your world existed, I was. Long after your world is nothing more than the dust of a long-forgotten star, I will be. I am older than your Stars—older than all that which you fear.”
My head spins. Before my world existed—before there were Underlings. Which means… “If you’re more than an Underling, then what does that make you?”
There’s a twinkle of pride in his eyes, as if he were waiting for me to ask, but before he can answer, Morana cuts across him.
“Enough,” Morana says, sounding bored. She stands, and with Annie’s little hand, she gestures for Owen to approach the dais.
He emerges from the crowd and offers my daggers to her, but she takes only one.
“You’ll have plenty of time to catch up with your little pet after I’ve taken what rightfully belongs to me. ”
It feels wrong, watching Annie make her way toward me, running her finger over the edge of my dagger. She doesn’t even have to stoop down when she uses the flat side of the blade to lift my chin, forcing me to meet her eyes.
“You know,” she whispers, using Annie’s small, clear voice.
“I think you’re really going to like it here.
We can be friends again,” she adds, and a fresh wave of fury rises up in me when I think about every interaction I had with Leo—how it was actually Morana I had befriended, not the princess of Hellion.
“I’m doing you a favor, Aster. You’ll be free.
Powerful. We can finally put an end to all the suffering inflicted by Nightweavers.
The humans and Myths who surrender will be given sanctuary in my kingdom.
With the power of the Lightbringer, I can remake this world into a better one.
You will never have to look up at the sky and wonder if the True King”—she spits, as if the words tasted bitter—“sees you. Because I see you. All of you. Even the parts you feel you have to hide.” She reaches out, caressing my face with long, blackened nails. “You’ll never have to hide from me.”
I look over her shoulder at Will. He watches our exchange with idle interest, but when our gazes meet, his face hardens into an unreadable mask.
“But first,” Morana says, taking a step back. “We had a bargain. If you made the choice to follow General Azeron into my kingdom of your own free will, I agreed to let this form continue to live. And I always keep my word.”
Before I can truly understand what she’s saying, shadows encircle Annie, lifting her at least a foot off the ground, the dark cloud crackling with green lightning.
Annie’s jaw gapes to fit a scream as hundreds of sickly green snakes slither out of her mouth, falling to the ground in a twisted, writhing heap.
Once the last snake has fallen, the cloud dissipates, and Annie drops, unconscious.
I hadn’t seen Will stand, hadn’t seen him approach her, but he’s there to catch her in his arms.
He places her gently on the ground, and she lies there, unmoving, her black ringlets splayed around her tiny form.
I would think she were dead if it weren’t for the subtle rise and fall of her chest. She’s still breathing.
Still alive. For some reason, this gives me purpose.
I don’t know how, but I will get her out of here.
Even after I turn, I must remember to help her to safety.
The heap of snakes twists at an incomprehensible speed, and I blink, feeling as if my eyes were playing tricks on me as the snakes appear to multiply and combine, growing taller, forming limbs.
First legs. Then a torso. Arms. A head. Suddenly, I’m no longer looking at a writhing tangle of snakes, but a woman.
No—a girl, about my own age, with hair as dark as a raven’s wings that falls to her hips in a long, unbroken sheet, her pale skin glittering as if lit by starlight from within. Flesh and bone and blood. She looks…
Human.
Except for her eyes… black as ink, her irises bloodred and glowing like smoldering embers of a freshly stoked fire.
She flashes a dazzling smile, revealing sharp canines.
“It’s been far too long,” she says, admiring her own curves, her hands, touching her face, running her fingers through her hair.
She sighs, stretching, and when she turns to Will, he drops to one knee, the force of his fall shaking the ground beneath my feet.
“Look at me, Azeron,” Morana purrs, her voice like darkness incarnate.
His head remains bowed, as if he couldn’t bring himself to gaze upon her.
“I said,” she croons, “look at me.”
As if compelled, Will’s gaze trails from her feet, up the bands of shadows encircling her form to create the illusion of a gown, until he finally meets her eyes, his entire body trembling.
She crouches, clutching Will’s face in her hand. “You were away for quite some time.” Her sharp black nails dig into his skin, drawing blood. “You cannot fool me, Azeron. I can see it in your eyes. You’ve grown to care for them. You’ve grown to care for her.”
Will glares at Morana, his teeth gritted. “I would have slaughtered the lot of them had I thought it would benefit you, my queen. And if it is what you desire, I will gladly drive a blade through the Oberon girl’s heart.”