Chapter 48
Forty-Eight
- MARCELLA -
The blood note tucked between my breast and my dress is as heavy as if it were a stone. I’m anxious that, if I turn wrong, it’ll shift and give me away. As Cyrus and Devin descend, I slip a finger in and tuck it down farther. Praying to the Gods I don’t misstep.
Lady Bethany’s eyes have been on me almost all night.
But now that she sees a greater prize—Cyrus—it’s the perfect distraction.
All I need is for Lyra to confront me. And doing exactly what Lady Bethany demanded of me—to not speak to her or Aelia again—is enough fodder to tempt Lyra into a confrontation.
Or so I hope.
As Devin and Cyrus clear the last step, I avert my gaze, keeping my chin high as I stare at the other guards descending the stairs.
Once the double doors close, I turn to Moe on my right as the music swells.
We go out to the dance floor along with the other women, and begin to dance.
Cyrus finds one of the women and sweeps her off into the fray, and Devin takes his stance near the corner of the room by the other guards.
“I must admit, I never imagined you’d ask me to dance,” Moe mumbles, eyeing me suspiciously. “But I see now it was only a cover?”
I snap my attention back to her and pick up our pace. “I also admit I never imagined you’d accept.”
“You had me curious,” she says with a shrug. “I’ve only ever seen you dance with Lyra and Aelia. And seeing as you aren’t speaking to them…I have to wonder why.”
“I don’t think that’s any of your business, quite frankly.”
She chuckles. “That’s fair.”
I glance down at her feet. “I must say, though, I’m quite impressed you’re still well on your feet after the first trial. If I hadn’t seen your foot crushed in those spiked walls, I would’ve never guessed it happened to you.”
“I owe it to you for pulling me out of the walls, and to the doctors here. They’re the most skilled in all the Dragon Lands. On occasion, when it rains, I’ll still feel an ache in my bones.”
I work over the thought of asking her. After the first trial, she was the only one in the infirmary who came back. “To recover in a few days is indeed miraculous. I’m glad Cyrus kept you.”
“As am I. I’ve felt guilty that out of the three of us women who went to the infirmary that night, I was the only one who was kept.”
“Was it because their injuries were more extensive? I never heard much about them or their recoveries.”
She shrugs, glancing off into the room. “I wouldn’t say more extensive.”
I narrow my eyes at her sudden distance. “What would you say then?”
She shakes her head with a puff, still not wanting to meet my eyes.
“Moe,” I whisper, squeezing her hand. “Did you see something while you were there?” I can still see the lady’s maids scrubbing blood out of the infirmary beds after two women were admitted for a mysterious illness. “What happened to the other two women?”
She bites a trembling lip, finally dragging her gaze back to me.
Water lines them. It’s like a punch to my gut, confirming my suspicion before she speaks, “Umm…I was asleep so I didn’t see anything, but…
I heard.” She nods frantically, a tear slipping down her cheek.
“Whatever they gave me blocked all my sensations but one. I could hear everything. Their screams. Their…” She shakes her head, eyes falling to our feet.
“The next morning they were gone. The beds were stripped.”
My face drops, breath slowing. “I’m so sorry, Moe.”
She takes her hand off my waist and furiously wipes the tear off. “Stella is going to get jealous,” she whispers, slipping her hand from mine. “I have to go.”
“Wait, Moe—” I call, but she slips off toward Stella, who is glaring at us.
Clicking heels patter toward me. “Marcella!”
I suck in a quick breath. Here we go. I glance at Lyra over my shoulder to further prompt her ire, then turn away and walk toward the corner of the room.
“Marcella!” she barks and snatches my elbow, stopping me in my tracks. “Stop, I want to speak with you!”
I turn to her to rip my arm out of her grasp. “Leave me alone, Lyra.”
“What is the matter with you?” A mix of frustration, fear, and confusion is on her face. She needs to be better at masking those.
I turn to walk again. All while plucking the note tucked in the top of my dress. She grabs my upper arm this time, her fingers digging into my skin. Blue eyes searching my face, and I so wish she could read my mind with how hard she stares at me.
“What have I done to deserve such cold treatment from you?”
Lifting my chin, I mutter, “I’m only as cold as I’ve always been.” I slap my hand over hers, the coin-sized note now sandwiched between our hands. Shoving my thumb down beneath my palm, I slide it out from underneath my hand into the space between her thumb and forefinger.
Her eyes widen. She tightens her grip over the note, and I grab her wrist, throwing it away from me. As she clenches her fist tight, I have to fight myself from grinning.
She got the note.
Everyone else behind her has stopped dancing, their attention hooked on us.
I prowl closer, staring down my nose at her.
“Cold as the Briarstones you’re so well aware of.
Let it be known that I don’t stray from my family tendencies.
And if you speak to me once more—if you even look at me again—I’ll show you just how Briarstones handle their adversaries.
” I place my fingertips at her chest and shove her away from me.
Hard enough, she fumbles back a few steps.
But she pulls her tightened fist with the note up to her chest, eyes narrowing in on me as she subtly slips it into the top of her gown.
Good, Lyra.
She lowers her hand slowly to her side. “You’re right. I tried to give you the benefit of the doubt. But it turns out you’re a just a stone-cold bitch. I suppose your last name fits for the woman you are.”
My face falls slightly. Too far, Lyra. I don’t think I’ve ever heard her curse before. Not sure if I should be laughing at how unnatural it sounds on her tongue, or be impressed she knew it. Judging by the rounded eyes around the room, and the way Lady Bethany grins, I know we’ve won.
Or, at least for now.
I take one step toward Lyra, looming over her with the earned stature I have. Glaring at her, I whisper loud enough for Cyrus to hear as he strides near us with Devin in tow, “I should’ve let you die in that last trial—”
“And I should’ve let you die during the first!” she spits back.
I move forward like I’m going to do something I’d regret if it wasn’t all for show. Cyrus captures my arm before I swing, pulling me away as Devin swoops in to cut off my vision of Lyra, his back to me.
“Walk,” Cyrus warns in a low tone.
A tone I’m not sure I ever recall hearing from him. One that sends my heart down to my toes as he rushes me back to the reflection room, pulls us in, and slams the door shut.
His hand braces against the wood, eyes serious when he regards me for a few breaths before he asks, “Do you mind telling me what in the realms all of that was about?”
The way he’s looking at me carves back my usual indignation. I’m not sure if I should be concerned or terrified at the way his eyes are narrowed, leaving no room for any other emotion but anger.
Blinking through my wasted thoughts, I shake my head, “I don’t think you’d understand—”
“Understand?” he repeats slower, louder. Leaning toward me and letting his hand slip off the door, he flicks it back out to gesture to the room beyond. “Marcella, one of the rules in this entire competition is to not fight with the other women.”
I hold my ground, crossing my arms over my chest. “You don’t need to remind me of the rules, Cyrus. I’m well aware. Perhaps even more so than you.”
“What is that even supposed to mean? You break any of them, and I have no choice but to disqualify you, to send you home! I can’t keep making exceptions for you! Is that what you want, to be dismissed?”
“Of course not!” I jerk back.
“Then why is it you were two seconds away from taking Lyra to the ground? Your experience and skills wouldn’t just hurt her, you’d destroy her. She wouldn’t have even had a fighting chance against you had you lost your temper.”
“And yet I’ve heard she had no consequences for her quarrel with Willow the other night? Who so happened to disappear that same evening?” I nearly spit.
“She’s different,” Cyrus mutters. “She doesn’t even have a tenth of the skills in combat you have. Nobody was concerned for Willow’s well-being.”
“So?” I bark. “You don’t find it the least bit suspicious that they had a disagreement and suddenly she went missing? Do you even know what happened to Willow?”
He falls quiet, eyes flicking away from me.
“What if it’s her?” I whisper. “What if she’s the traitor?”
He snaps his attention back to me. Quietly on a breath, “It’s not.”
I take a hard step in his direction. “But what if it is?”
He shakes his head and turns away from me. “It can’t be.”
I thunder toward him, shoving his arm so it’ll spin him toward me. “And why do you say that? Look at me if you’re going to lie to me.”
His head lowers between his shoulders, and slowly he turns to me. When he lifts those eyes to me, realization spears through me hard enough I lose a breath.
Shaking my head, I whisper, “There isn’t an assassin here, is there?” When he doesn’t answer, I press, “You brought me in for some false vision? Why!”
“I think you know why…” he whispers weakly.
My jaw drops open as I stare back at him, my mouth growing dry. The only words I can form are, “You’re unbelievable,” before turning away from him and stalking off to the other side of the room.
He follows after me. “Agnes’ vision of the castle drenched in blood wasn’t a lie, Marcella.”
I whip to face him. On a shaking breath I manage to say, “Are you in love with Lyra?”