Chapter 9
MAE
Everyone freezes.
The knocks are jarring, each one loud and forceful enough to make the door shake with every bang.
Ivan walks to me slowly, one finger pressed against his lips. Luca positions himself in front of the door, hands extended and ready to summon his magic. Holly is frozen, looking from Luca to Ivan to me.
BANGBANGBANG.
Ivan throws his hands up and walks toward the front door on feet now silenced by his sound barrier.
From my position in the hallway, I can see a glimpse of the bedroom window overlooking the front yard.
I take a slight step backward, steeling myself for whatever—or whoever—it is that’s outside. That’s found us.
Marik? Cora? An army?
But there’s nothing. No guards are stationed in the front yard, no osseri or cambions or Cursed waiting to shred us apart.
It’s empty.
BANGBANGBANG.
I step closer to the window, every footstep as light as I can make it, but not quiet enough. Ivan whirls toward me, mouth forming what I assume is a curse when he sees the direction I’m heading. He waves at me, mouth moving behind the barrier, likely yelling at me to get away from the window.
I ignore him and tip-toe closer. He hurries toward me and lunges, reaching for my hand.
But he’s too late.
I see who’s outside.
I push Ivan away from me and sprint toward the front door. Luca steps in my path, but I shove him out of the way and yank the door open.
Asmo. And Cally, limp in his arms.
Her chest rises and falls, but her eyelids are closed and entirely too still.
Asmo looks exhausted, nearly swaying on his feet. Dark stubble lines his chiseled jaw. His black hair, normally perfectly styled, falls just past his pointed ears in an unbrushed mess. Even though he seems ready to collapse, he looks fine. Unharmed.
Cally, on the other hand…My heart squeezes in my chest. Her cheekbones are sharp as shards of glass, eyes sunken into her skull.
Her chestnut curls lay flat against one side of her head, matted and covered in gravel and dirt.
The corset of her berry-red bridesmaid dress is crusted in dried blood, fresh blood leaking from a pulsing wound on her stomach.
The smell of rot, of death, radiates from her. She is too thin, too lifeless. Tears well in my eyes, but I wipe them away.
“Bring her inside,” Ivan says, gentle but firm. She doesn’t stir as he takes her from Asmo. I choke back more tears. She is so still.
Ivan helped all of us recover in the aftermath of the wedding. But he is not a true healer. And if Cally requires more than what Ivan can provide, we might be in trouble.
Ivan shuffles down the hallway, Cally’s head bobbing in his arms.
“Put her in my room,” Asmo says behind me.
Ivan lays her on Asmo’s bed, and tears well again. If I didn’t see the rise and fall of her chest, I would have assumed her dead. How much time does she have before that becomes our reality?
Ivan gets to work, hands roaming over Cally. He stops when he gets to the blood on her dress, and glances back at me. “I’m going to cut her dress to get to this wound. You might want to step out.”
I plant my feet. “I’m not going anywhere.”
She is laying here because of me. Whatever was done to her was because of me, and I will not shy away from the consequences.
But then Ivan peels the dress back and my stomach threatens to empty itself all over the floor.
The wound is raised, a lump of infection, with edges that are beginning to blacken. Blood and pus create a sickening pink that seeps from it. The veins surrounding the wound are bright pink streaks, disappearing behind the rest of the dress.
My stomach protests again. I clap my hand over my mouth and shove past Asmo, and stumble back outside. I pull fresh air into my lungs and fight the nausea.
Soft footsteps come from behind me, stopping only inches way.
“She’ll be okay,” Asmo whispers.
I take another deep breath, and a tear spills down my cheek. It breaks the damn. I cover my face as they come. Asmo pulls me to him and squeezes me against his chest.
Cally is alive. Cally is alive. Cally. Is. Alive.
And Asmo—Asmo is back. With me—not with his brother. Even so, another part of me is sending off warning bells. Three days is a long time to be gone, and I have no idea what happened during that time. I pull back, and my heart skips a beat as I look at him through my tears.
“Miss me?” Asmo asks, one corner of his mouth tugging upward into a crooked smile.
I shove him. Anger feels so, so much better than whatever I’m currently feeling. And besides, anger has always felt appropriate when dealing with Asmo. It’s our game. “Where the fuck have you been?”
“Stop.” The bravado falls. His smile slips, my fleeting anger along with it.
“Just come back here.” I stare at him, my brain at war with my heart.
Holly’s words ring in my head, while my heart rails against my ribcage, as if it yearns to be closer to him.
“Please,” he adds. Before my brain can talk me out of it, I take a single step toward him. It’s all he needs.
He pulls me back to him, and this embrace feels different than the last. This feels like two lovers holding each other in the middle of a storm.
His fingertips dig into me like he’s afraid he’ll let go.
Or like someone will take me from him. He strokes my hair while his heart beats against my cheek.
When Holly suggested that Asmo left on his own and betrayed us…
That was something that I was unable to accept.
But in the back of my mind, the idea lingered.
I would be a fool to completely ignore any possibility.
Despite my hesitation and the continued decisions we’ve both made not to be together, something continues to pull us back to each other.
The chemistry between us is undeniable, but so is the friction.
“Mae.” His breath is a whisper.
I peer up at him. His dark eyes search my amber, full of pain and longing, and I’m sure mine mirror his. It’s how I feel every time I look at him. A throat clears behind us. I break the eye contact and step away, even though every part of me wants to cling to him.
“Welcome back,” Ivan says cautiously as we move inside. He sits on the couch, hands clasped tightly in his lap.
“How is she?” I ask.
Ivan’s expression softens. “She’s alive, but her wound is severe. I cleaned it as best as I could and gave her some of the medicinal sedatives to make sure she stays asleep. She needs to rest,” he says with a pointed look.
I was prepared to insist on seeing her, on sitting by her side, but I deflate—part resignation and part exhaustion. “Sure, of course.”
“Sit,” Luca commands, gaze fixed on Asmo. I barely contain my flinch at his harsh tone, so at odds with the somber reality of Cally laying on death’s door down the hall.
“Luca—” I start.
He shakes his head furiously. “No. We have no idea where he’s been, what he’s been doing, or what information he’s been spreading.”
“It’s okay. I’m a big boy,” Asmo says behind me, his hand grazing the small of my back as he steps around me. Back to his usual self, then. But I saw the mask slip.
I hold my hands up. “Fine,” I say as I all but collapse onto the couch next to Holly.
Asmo sits in the armchair across from us, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. An errant lock of hair falls forward and brushes against his forehead. His usual carefree demeanor is gone. He wrings his hands together, squeezing his knuckles, the only outward sign that he’s nervous.
Luca stands behind one of the worn armchairs, gaze stony as he stares at Asmo.
Asmo doesn’t wait for any questions. “Marik locked me in the dungeons for three days. That is where I’ve been.
You can ask Cally to corroborate.” He looks at each of us as he speaks, eyes wide and imploring.
His gaze lingers on Ivan and Luca as he waits for a response.
They don’t give one. They stare at him, arms crossed, not a hint of empathy or sympathy.
“I don’t know why, but something set Marik off with my story.
He asked me if I felt that teachers made enough money.
I answered honestly and said no. He told me I could keep my money and repay him by sleeping in the dungeons. ”
“Just his way of exerting control,” I mutter.
“Did they know it was you?” Holly asks, then goes back to biting her nails. Her only indicator that she’s as nervous as I am.
Asmo shakes his head. “No, I don’t think so.”
“You don’t think so?” I ask, sitting forward.
He scrapes his hand through his hair. “No, I don’t think Marik knew it was me. I didn’t see him at all after the tithe. But I saw Elle.”
Luca, previously shifting on his feet, freezes. “Is she okay?”
Asmo hesitates. “Physically…yes, she’s fine.”
“What the fuck does that mean, Asmo?” I ask, annoyed by the tidbits of information he’s giving us.
He sighs and runs a hand through his hair—another nervous tell—and that one lock of hair falls back in line with the rest. “She came down as you, Mae. We were right. She’s pretending to be you.”
“How are you so sure?” I ask.
He puts his head in his hands, rubbing furiously at his temples. He glances up and says, “It wasn’t a glamour. I think they’re using the same dark magic we used to get inside the castle.”
I wince. Wearing the spell felt like wearing a blanket. The longer I wore it, the heavier it became. “She has to perform that spell every day?”
He nods. “There’s something else. She was wearing a necklace that seemed familiar. I think it’s a Serpent heirloom.”
“Okay, a gift from Marik?” Holly frowns. “So what?”
He shakes his head hurriedly and rubs his temples again. “No, no, I think…I think I’ve seen it before in my parents’ home. They have a private room with rows of jewelry. I swear I’ve seen that specific necklace in a glass display case that my mother kept locked.”
“So what?” Holly repeats, staring at him.