Chapter 11 #2
Arms crossed, she studied Stellan with both suspicion and curiosity. “How old are you?”
“A little over 600.”
To her left, Archer ran his finger across a dusty old clock. Bridget slapped his hand down. “Stop touching things.”
Alexia groaned. “We get it. You’re super old. I think we’ve learned enough of your backstory for one day. Can you send us across the gate or not? If I don’t deliver Bridget back to Andarre, my family will suffer.”
“More than just a few people are going to suffer if she goes back to Elyria,” Stellan replied, so nonchalant Bridget wasn’t sure if she’d heard him right.
“I don’t want to go back to Elyria,” Bridget said, hoping the half-truth wasn’t too obvious on her face. She tried to push Cade from her mind. “We’ll go to Andarre and then come right back.”
“There’s no future where I see that happening. The moment you cross the gate again, there’s no coming back.”
Bridget’s heart stopped at the finality in his voice.
All eyes turned to her, their stares begging her for different things.
For a moment, she floundered as she wrestled with the truth inside her.
“I think you already saw why I don’t want to go back to Elyria.
” Earlier, she’d seen Stellan visibly react when she’d thought about Cade’s marriage deal with his father.
“It will be too late. Especially when we have to go to Andarre first. I am not going to go to Elyria.”
A frustrated glint marred Stellan’s expression. “It doesn’t matter what you want. There are too many forces at play right now… too much at stake besides your sister. The second you step back in that realm—”
“Because of who she is?” Archer asked. “Some relative to someone who died for a curse a few centuries ago? Why does that matter?”
“What do you know about who she is?” Stellan retorted angrily.
“You’re not answering the question. The curse is broken, isn’t it?” Archer argued. “So why does it matter if she goes back or stays here? It shouldn’t. It’s done.”
“I knew it,” Alexia said, “she’s related to the—”
“Everyone stop.” Bridget’s command silenced the room. She locked eyes with Stellan. “Answer Archer’s question.”
Stellan hesitated. “Listen…”
“In the woods, you said some things are better seen not heard. Well, it’s time to explain. You know me.” Bridget glanced at her teacup. “You knew—”
“How you take your tea? Maybe it was a lucky guess.”
Bridget shook her head. “It’s more than that. At the Astraeus gate, you knew my name. Knew—”
“I could’ve entered your mind without you knowing.”
“I’ve had enough Fae in my mind to know it doesn’t work like that.” Bridget straightened her spine. “Show me.”
“I’ve already been inside your head today. I think you might need a few more hours to…”
“Show. Me.”
The world around her disappeared.
A slice of pain splintered her skull. When she fell to her knees, grass broke her fall instead of dusty hardwood.
Bridget dug her fingers into the wet, soft earth to steady herself.
Breathing hard, she forced herself to look up.
A long slab of a stone and two thrones appeared before her.
Cavamyne. For a split second, panic rushed through her veins.
Pain and loss and regret overwhelmed her senses.
This was not a night she wanted to see again.
Not a night she wanted to relive. Only when her vision focused did she notice the large group of people surrounding the gate.
Notice that the stones weren’t old and cracked.
That the palace behind her stood looming and dark…
and intact. Perfect. Exactly like her reoccurring dream.
It couldn’t be that night. Shakily, Bridget pushed herself to her feet.
From where she stood, she couldn’t tell if the onlookers were Fae, Witches, or Nymphs. Their backs were turned as they all focused on two figures standing on the gate. A woman, with long dark hair, a blood-red mask, and silver metal claws adorning her fingers held a prisoner by her throat.
Bridget’s heart stopped.
It was her.
She was the prisoner.
Not a relative. Not a great-great-great grandmother. Her. There was no denying it. No second guessing. Even if the prisoner’s hair was longer and the skin on the back of her hands was smooth. Bridget knew herself.
Stumbling backward, Bridget ran into a hard chest. She whipped around and found herself face-to-face with Stellan.
Or a different version of him. One that belonged in a medieval television show or renaissance faire.
With a hood covering most of his face, he somberly watched the scene unfolding yards away.
“What is this?” Bridget asked.
When Stellan didn’t answer, she reached for the edge of his hood to get his attention. Her hand slipped through his head, like he was a projection. That’s when she realized he couldn’t see or hear her at all.
This was his memory.
Bridget turned back to the gate. The masked woman chanted, barely loud enough to hear. Others around her, all in similar masks, did the same. The torches around the gate blazed and sparked the longer they went on.
Raising her metal claws in the air, the center woman silenced them. “Bring it forward.”
Two soldiers, with black ooze dripping from the mouth and eyes, laid a box at the woman’s feet. Bridget jumped when her old self turned her head in her direction. She followed her eye-line, expecting to find Stellan, but instead…
Cade.
Heart thundering, Bridget ran over to him. Her arms itched to throw themselves around him, but she knew they would just go right through him. Instead, she settled on just looking at him. It’d been so long…
But he wasn’t her Cade, though. He was older, battle worn, and had scars on his cheek and forehead… and arched ears. Bridget peeked at his neck. Snaking, blue Tuathan tattoos disappeared under his shirt. His family’s royal crest was embedded on the upper clasp of his jacket.
Bridget took a frenzied step back, her body already processing what her mind struggled to comprehend. He was… They were…
Composure breaking, Cade took a frantic lunge forward. Stellan caught him before he made it far.
“You can’t,” he whispered, barely holding back Cade who twisted and turned in his arms.
She’d been so distracted by Cade, she’d forgotten what was going on behind her. Bridget whirled around and found the other Bridget on her knees. The masked woman held a dagger in the air. Hands trembling, she realized exactly what memory Stellan was giving her.
The creation of the curse on the humans.
It’d been her all along. Her blood, her ring, at Cavamyne.
It’s why her memories remained intact after she’d returned. Why Alexia’s did, too. Why Marin had been so insistent about the timing when she’d sent her through the gate with Archer.
Her death had broken the curse.
An accident, she realized. Quinn’s goal hadn’t been about her curse.
Which meant…
The moment the knife went through the other Bridget’s chest, Cade fell to his knees. Bridget followed him. Gasping for breath, he stared up at Stellan. “Do it.”
Stellan’s eyes remained on the other Bridget’s now lifeless body. His grip on Cade had completely disappeared.
Struggling to breathe, Cade hurriedly grabbed Stellan’s cloak and pulled him down to his level. “You said it has to be now. Do it!”
A scream echoed from the gate. In a ghastly, beastly voice, the masked woman howled, “WHERE IS IT?”
The explosion of activity surrounding the gate seemed to bring Stellan back to his senses.
Shakily, he reached into his cloak and pulled out the Bloodstone.
It glowed as Stellan closed his eyes and muttered something under his breath.
Moments later, he unsheathed his dagger.
On the ground beside Cade, Bridget couldn’t take her eyes off him. He almost looked relieved and—
Stellan held the knife above Cade’s chest. Bridget scrambled away. Unable to watch. Unable to—
Screaming, Bridget launched herself off the couch.
She didn’t know how she’d gotten there, but Nylah’s concerned face hovering over her told her she’d been unconscious for a long time.
Blood poured from her nose as she tracked down Stellan standing in the corner.
It was strange. Just moments before, she’d seen him upset over her death.
Now, he looked at her like a stranger. There was no compassion in his eyes, only steely determination.
“You killed him,” she snarled, wiping the blood from her face with the sleeve of her coat.
“Excuse me… What?” Archer exclaimed. “Who?”
“Cade.”
“Not the Cade you know,” Stellan corrected loudly over Archer and Nylah’s sudden onslaught of questions. Clenching his jaw, he pointed at her. “That’s not what happened. Think about what you saw.”
Struggling to breathe, Bridget closed her eyes.
For once, she wanted to forget. She wanted to go back to living in blissful ignorance of what was coming for her.
What she knew she could not stop, no matter what Stellan or anyone did.
But no matter how hard she tried, the images she’d seen wouldn’t leave her retinas.
Cade wasn’t just a prince. He was the prince. The Tuathan prince from the painting and every story she’d ever heard about the Cavamynian War. And she…
How was it even possible?
Archer laid a hand on her shoulder. It helped lessen her trembling. Only a little. “What did you see?” he asked softly.
“It was the curse,” Bridget croaked. Oh, God. What did it all mean? “I need…”
Help. An explanation. A way out of this. Hope.
Cade.
Her stomach flopped. Did he know? The idea that he might have known their entire relationship had her wishing the floor would just swallow her up forever.
Slowly, Stellan moved closer to her. With every step, he searched her face. For what, she wasn’t sure. Her eyes watered until she guessed he found what he was looking for. “If you expect me to help you, you need to say it,” he said.
Bridget paused. If she said it, everything would change.