Chapter Twenty-Two
I stare at my bloodstain on the floor. The bandage scratches my skin, the ointment cooling the wound. Eli took Dominik to his chambers to watch over him while Lila cleaned up, and the executioner and the king interrogate me.
“I truly did not know of his reactions,” I repeat.
“And the contents of the oil?”
The king forces the truth from my tongue. “I didn’t know.”
“And where did you find this oil?” Maxian asks beside me, rubbing at the scowl on his face.
“A…room.”
“What room?” Death grits out.
I don’t reply at first. Then the magic yanks at my tongue—
Pebbles fill my mouth and still, the Reign magic rips at me, the sensations clashing. I gag, spittle dripping down my chin. When I wipe with my hand, it comes away red.
“Shit.” The king paces.
“Your magic conflicts with an oath,” the executioner mutters. “Can you push through it?”
“It’ll shred her tongue,” he says, then faces me. “You took it from an Illusion room, then?”
I remain silent, afraid.
“Most likely Kassandra’s,” the executioner says.
The males glance at each other.
Fuck. If she’s caught, if they find out, we will both be severely punished. If I don’t make it out alive, then what will become of Benji?
“Did you steal the oil?” the king asks, his magic yanking my tongue.
“No,” I say, and it is true.
“Did you steal the bottle?” the executioner asks.
“No!” I cry, and I realize my mistake. This time, I could have lied—and I should have. The executioner cannot force the truth from me, but if I go back on my word, they may realize the fault in having two alternating interrogators.
I cannot look panicked—just ashamed.
“Not the bottle,” I amend. “Just a few drops.”
Pressing my knees together, I wrap arms around my waist, my body trembling.
Do not cry, I think. Do not cry.
My vision blurs.
A speck of orange zips past me. A small, floating orb of fire drops into the hearth on the far side of the room.
Flames dance in the fireplace, a gentle heat warming the air.
In a few moments, some of my shaking has eased, cutting the chill against my back.
Maxian is watching me, frowning. He runs a hand through his dark-honey hair.
“You were cold, were you not?”
I look away.
Maxian crouches in front of me. My instincts scream to move back from the large male, but I dare not. He rests his elbows on thick thighs, hands clasped.
“Avery,” he says. “We ask these questions to ensure that the palace—and you—haven’t been infiltrated. Stealing a few drops of body oil from your mistress is harmless compared to treason. So I need the truth from you one last time.”
Do not ask me of Kassandra, please. Not you.
If he does, I will cough up more blood, revealing a hole in their approach.
“Avery,” the king repeats. “Why did you do it?”
I exhale. His forehead is pinched in concern; whether real or not, I do not care.
Relief flows through me, for in trying to come across as kind, the king was too vague.
Tears pour down my cheeks. The truth magic tugs the words out of me, and I redirect my thoughts to the moment I decided to obey Kassandra and rub the lethal oil into my skin.
I just open my mouth, and let the truth tumble out.
“To feel pretty,” I say. “I wanted to feel pretty tonight.”
The executioner scoffs. But before me, the most powerful male in Amyria lowers his head, a gentle laugh escaping his lips. He stands, pivoting to Death.
“I think we’re done here.”
“So the Heir of Illusion almost died because your servant felt insecure.”
The king sighs again, looking my way. “It’s a shame, really. Especially since the oil was never necessary.”
I bury my head in my hands so that they do not see my disgust, my shame that it’s working, that I am getting closer to the murderer of my friend so that I may free his brother. It is the seediest of ways, and the most effective.
“I’m sorry,” I cry. “I’m so sorry.”
“Me too,” the king replies. “Take a few days off. Eli will see you for the wound, and I promise that Dominik will pay for this.”
—
Briar gapes at me from the service entrance. I glance down at myself, taking in the bloodstained silk. The bandage scratches against my neck. She steps into the hall and shuts the door. “What the planes happened to you?”
“I need to talk to Kassandra.”
“Not looking like that.”
“I look like this because of her.”
Briar’s eyes widen, then she swears. “May I?” she asks, tilting her head to my injury. I nod.
For the briefest moment, she lifts the bandage, and her eyes soften and glaze. It was a look my mother used to give me when the teller added another ring of debt to my body.
“What are they doing to us?” she whispers.
My throat thickens with an unnamed emotion.
Us.
All of us.
“She’s in bed.” Briar steps back. “See if you can brave the sleeping beast.”
I nod, and Briar leads me into Kassandra’s quiet, dark chambers. Lighting a candle, Briar passes it to me and exits back into the parlor. I’ve taken only one step toward the bed when Kassandra’s calm voice floats toward me like a breeze.
In the hours since, her bruises have yellowed, the minor cuts closed. Briar has braided her silver hair. Still, Kassandra remains propped up against pillows.
“Avery.” She frowns. “What happened?”
The flame flickers before me, and it’s only then that I see my shaking hand. But I’m not scared. I can’t feel terror in her presence anymore. Just blood-red, unbridled rage.
“You.” I round the bed, reaching her side. “Your brother.”
She clicks her tongue. “Oh, yes.”
“Did you forget that he’s deathly allergic to peaches? Or that you oiled me up to kill him?”
“I’ve never tasted this emotion of yours. It’s like frustration but much more pungent.”
My hand twitches to throw the candle at her. It wouldn’t do anything—she’d douse the flame before it could fall onto her blankets. But just to show her I would, that I am capable.
Her eyes flare in surprise.
“You are furious,” she says.
I do not reply.
“So you want to live?”
I blink, and some of that choking anger stutters in its tracks. “I—what?”
“I couldn’t tell, after your faerie friend died,” she says, “if you wanted to live or not. I just thought you wanted the boy to live.”
My eyes squeeze shut, the flood of memories overwhelming. Jeremee’s moss-green eyes. Benji’s debt-riddled body.
“Please, don’t.” I press back the sting of tears.
“You’re growing stronger,” she says. I open my eyes, watching the flame grow brighter. “The rot is still there, but so is freshness, too.”
I hesitate, then say, “I haven’t been holding myself back.”
“That’s how it begins.”
We lapse into silence.
Finally, she says, “It was a moment of desperation.”
“The king questioned me afterward. I was forced to speak truths, and I could’ve spoken this one. I could’ve revealed what you had done.”
“But you did not. You are too intelligent for that.”
I can feel my fury beneath my skin, like a fire spreading through a forest. But Kassandra collects hers in an icy stare: a calm defiance that has me shivering.
“Dominik banned peach from my wing,” she says. “I managed to buy that perfume from a smuggler decades ago.”
“Where’s the bottle now?”
“I’ve hidden it. I couldn’t give you any magic tonight. Couldn’t call you back to the House of Illusion. And I couldn’t be there. So I drenched you in harmless body oil, a poison made just for him.”
Perhaps Kassandra is redacting her reasoning. Perhaps this was her true intention all along. Either way, I do not care.
“I could have died,” I say, and to my surprise, I sound…hurt.
“I know.” She takes a shuddering breath. “And for that, I am sorry.”
“I do not forgive you,” I say, then bite out: “Mistress.”
Her eyes narrow. “It is not forgiveness I truly seek.”
“What do you seek, then?”
“Relief.”
I blink, stunned at the emotion in me she has also named. Exhausted, the candle flame dies. In the dark, there is our breathing, the patter of light rain outside. The wounds on my shoulder throb. The moments stretch on.
“You were right, earlier,” she says. “He must be stopped.”
It wasn’t the worst plan I’ve ever heard of—but I’ll never admit that to her.
I am tired of being a pawn, thinking I can see the entire game from my spot on the board.
Only the High Fae can see everything, all at once, for they drew the lines.
And I think I am being clever by walking those lines and trying to make a pawn out of my mistress in turn.
It hasn’t gotten either of us very far. Perhaps it’s time to swap pawns for partners.
“Do you truly want to stop your brother?” I ask.
The covers shift, fabric against skin, and Kassandra reaches for my arm.
“Say what you want to say.” Her nails graze my skin.
“Why did you win with Benji when you could’ve won with Briar and not faced so many consequences?” I ask.
“Very demanding.”
“I risk my neck with this conversation.”
“So do I,” she says, and it is true. She sighs, her hand retreating. “I won with the boy because he needed it. Because Dominik would’ve punished me for winning either way, so I thought, may as well win as egregiously as possible. And because you asked me to.”
The boy giggling as rings dissipated on his skin had been the most beautiful thing I had seen and heard in years.
If there is any chance of that happening again, then it is worth it.
Jeremee and my mother would warn against teaming up with my tormentor, playing against the High Fae using one of their own.
Yet I have already made enemies of the Upper Court.
Perhaps it’s time to become their enemy, too.
It would be a reluctant alliance, no better than a debt collector, aligning with the fae. But I am out of options.
“You won with Benji today. So it’s time to hold up my end of the promise,” I say.
“A way around the oaths.”
“I’ll collect the secrets, and you use them as bargaining chips for blackmail.”
“Tell me how.”
“Riddles,” I say. “You speak in riddles, but you must picture those riddles, too, so that your tongue and mind seem nonsensical.”
“Show me.”
“The wolf breaks two limbs of the silver cat at night.”
A quiet intake of breath. “Another one.”
“The golden eagle and the silver cat may share a nest.”
Silence, save for our breathing and the light drumming of spring rain.
“Who else knows?” she asks.
“Just me.” I will not give Briar up in this, even if Kassandra is protective of the faerie.
“How’d you figure it out?”
“My friend is dead. I have time to talk to the walls in my room.”
“So you bring me secrets, and I’ll use them to barter our freedom,” she says. “Do we have a deal?”
I don’t trust Kassandra, but I trust the motivation of escaping her brother.
Despite our differing statuses, we have a similar goal: to be free.
If it were just my fate at play, I would risk it.
So I think of a suggestion as rare as a fae and faerie working together, one I only heard once in the first year working for Kassandra, and when I asked a cook about it, she told me to never speak of it ever again.
“What of a blood bargain to enforce our pact?” I ask.
Kassandra coughs. “Do you even know what a blood bargain is? How it differs from an oath?”
I bite my lip. “An oath is when one party swears fealty to an institution. It uses blood to bolster the magic that enforces the loyalty. A blood bargain is sworn between two individuals. Both parties must deliver on the agreed-upon terms.”
“And if they fail to do so, one or both parties will lose their geniuses,” Kassandra hisses. “Do you want to be without magic?”
I suck in a breath. “Like a Molder? But High Fae can’t be Molders.”
“No,” she agrees. “But they can be losers.”
Scoffing, I roll my eyes. “How would it work? Losing your magic in a blood bargain?”
“The fuck if I know! I’ve only ever entered one, and that was a century ago. I refuse to join in another.”
Another time, I will pull on that thread, unravel the tapestry that is Kassandra. But not tonight. So if a blood oath is devotion, a blood bargain is damnation.
“How will I know you won’t just use me?” I ask. “How can I ensure my own freedom?”
And that of my friends, I think but do not say.
“How do I know you won’t tell the king I find no interest for the thing between his legs, or between any lord’s legs?
” she counters. “How do I know you won’t turn to Dominik, as the House and staff always do?
He is the more powerful one, the stronger ally.
I may be your mistress, but both these males are our masters. ”
My mouth drops open. “I would never reveal another creature like us.”
“And how can I know that?”
“Well,” I stutter. “I—”
“Exactly,” she cuts in. “We are bound, you and I, by our indiscretions.”
It hits me again; in being played so often, I have come to know their hand. Their tells, their strategy. There is power, too, in bearing witness. And I have witnessed much.
“We have a deal,” I say, extending my hand blindly in the dark to shake.
Soft fingers wrap around mine, tugging me forward with shocking strength. Kassandra grips my palm in hers, clutching it as if I were a memory onto which she desperately wants to hold. She has held me twice today when she’s never touched me before.
“We have a deal,” she echoes.
The candle flickers awake once more, a small spark that illuminates her satisfied face.
“How did you do that?” I ask.
“I didn’t,” Kassandra says, the fire shining in her eyes. “You did.”
“I’ve never properly spoken to fire before.”
“Perhaps it’s never listened until now.” She shrugs, dropping my hand and leaning back.
Kassandra is stark naked. The flame flickers, crimson and peach and gold light painting her shining hair and taut pink nipples.
Indigo shadows cup her breasts and pool between her thighs.
I cannot look away from the power, my power, especially not as it bathes every inch of her in a brilliant portrait.
For once, my magic doesn’t smell like festering hate. Rather, it smells like the tang of upturned soil for a fresh grave. It is not the aroma of rot; it is the aroma of ruin.
“What’s changed?” I breathe.
Kassandra smiles, slow and deep, like a cat with its cream.
“Everything,” she says.
And the fire burns brighter and bigger and hotter.