Chapter 11
My mouth hangs ajar for what I suspect may be an inordinate amount of time, but I can’t bring myself to care. ‘How do you know who did this to us? Or where they are?’
He paces the room without answering, stopping at a hole in the wall and staring at the city of Rerta far below; a giant overlooking a miniature kingdom.
Wind ruffles strands of his hair. ‘After I was hexed, I followed the Souleater across Rerta, and into Shiverholde. I watched them attack your festival. It was unbelievable, the amount of magic they consumed that night.’
‘You sound like you admire them.’
‘The Souleater? No. But the power they have? Anyone who says it’s not magnificent is either a fool or a liar.’
‘There is nothing magnificent about a Souleater. Nothing.’ My voice trembles. Thankfully, the hexmark on my arm is a good enough excuse for my hatred of them that he doesn’t see it for what it truly is – a hatred of myself. ‘Anyone who can’t see that is the fool or liar.’
He tuts. ‘If you don’t appreciate your enemies’ strengths, you’ll never learn to best them.’
‘Is that what you want the cure for? To best that Souleater?’
There’s a slight pause before he answers. ‘You saw them that night. They have too much magic for me to attack outright. But if I can use the cure to eliminate their powers . . . they’ll be nothing. They’ll be ordinary at last. And then . . .’ His voice drops to a whisper. ‘Then I’ll kill them.’
I shiver. Between Astin, Brandon and Damian, this trip is turning into a whole alphabet of men who think murdering people is the only solution to a problem. It isn’t. Stooping to a Souleater’s level makes us as bad as they are, and I want no part in it.
Besides, what he’s planning is dangerous.
If he’s caught . . . ‘What if they saw your advert in the paper? Or if any Souleater did, for that matter?’ I remember Astin’s concerns they might infiltrate the party.
‘They won’t want you finding the cure. Couldn’t you have pretended it was something else? ’
‘A calculated risk. So many people have searched for the potion, I knew they wouldn’t be able to resist coming to find out if I really had discovered where it is. I advertised outside of Rerta, where the Souleater in question wouldn’t see it.’
‘Why – Wait. Are they in Rerta? Right now?’
He nods, and I have to fight to hide my tremble.
The Souleater who ruined my life is less than a day’s walk from me.
The Souleater Astin desperately wants to kill.
After the attack on Shiverholde, it was easier to pretend they’d travelled far, far away; a distant threat that would never revisit.
But knowing they’re nearby . . . I edge closer to the table, in case I need to use it for support.
My knees are making several attempts to buckle.
If I come face to face with them again, I may fall apart entirely.
Oblivious to my inner turmoil, Damian goes on. ‘Another Souleater may have seen the advert, of course, but I suspect most are too busy locking themselves inside to be interested in snooping. This is hardly their favourite time of year.’
He’s got that part right, at least.
Abandoning his view of the city, he returns to my side of the room, stopping when his boots are a few inches from mine. ‘Do you know what I thought, when I saw your hexmark?’
‘What?’
He swallows, and I wish I could sense his emotions.
His lack of smell is distracting. There’s an emptiness to him beneath his clothes, like his inability to touch ripped away his ability to feel anything at all.
Once again, I’m forced to rely on the softness in his tone when he says, ‘I thought it was nice not to be alone in this.’
‘I –’
He leans closer. ‘Join me, Daisy. Help me find the cure. You have more motivation than any other competitor. We can stop that Souleater before they hurt anyone else.’
‘You can do that without killing them,’ I remind him.
‘If you used the cure to take away their magic, wouldn’t that be punishment enough?
’ I bite my lip. On a selfish level, pleading for their life might ruin mine.
‘How big is this cure, exactly? Would it be enough to rid us of every Souleater? Or more than one, at least?’
He straightens. ‘I wouldn’t know. I’ve never seen it.’
‘But you say you’re sure it exists. And you can’t get it yourself? Why?’
Another pause, like he’s deliberating how much he wants to tell me. I must have asked one question too many – or touched some kind of nerve – because his voice is clipped when he answers. ‘It’s warded against me.’
‘How –’
Loud knocking interrupts my next question. Oh, hexes. I’ve been in here longer than anyone who went before me, and Astin must be going out of his mind with impatience and worst-case scenarios.
‘Here, take this.’ Damian reaches into the wooden bowl on the table and plucks out a key.
‘Your room for the night, assuming you decide to stay for the party. I’ll be revealing the details of the search there.
You don’t have long until it starts.’ He drops the key into my hand, fingers lingering on mine, and I wonder how much he can feel through the gloves.
As if he can sense the fresh sympathy brewing in me, he adds, ‘I do hope you’ll stay. Coin is a powerful motivator, but nowhere near as powerful as revenge. If you’re the one who wins, you’ll get both.’
If Astin was here, he’d jump at the chance. Probably argue with Damian about who gets to stab that Souleater after the cure is shoved down their throat.
‘I told you, I don’t believe in revenge,’ I say. ‘All I want is the reward.’
And the cure. If the potion isn’t big enough for two, I don’t know what I’ll do. Is taking it for myself worth leaving that Souleater free to run rampant for the rest of time?
Damian shakes his head, as though my opinion remains an unfathomable mystery to him, and opens the door, telling me I’ll find my room upstairs. Everybody else must have hurried straight to their accommodation, because the corridor ahead is quiet (and, of course, green).
I dawdle, waiting for Astin, peering into side rooms as I meander towards the spiral staircase at the end of the hall.
The first few rooms are empty, save for one stuffed with what must be spare party pieces – stacks of goblets, emerald banners with the letter D stitched on to the fabric, a crate filled with candles waiting to be lit – but in the fourth I find a stone bust, untouched by emerald, carefully placed on a pedestal.
The face carved into the stone is unrecognisable, but something draws me to it anyway. There’s a plaque beneath the bust, the lettering so tiny I have to squint and press my nose close to the metal to read the words, but when I do . . .
In honour of Ozias Sunbone, friend to the Crown.
I frown. It’s well known that the last king was sympathetic to the Souleaters, but thanks to Clarabelle’s order to have all the records of that time destroyed, it’s never been clear why.
I trace my finger over the letters. It’s one thing to suggest humans and Souleaters try to live in harmony, but it’s another to like one so much you commission statues in their honour.
‘Dais?’ Astin’s voice makes me jump. ‘What are you doing?’
‘Look.’ I point at the plaque and wait for him to read it. ‘Do you think it’s the Ozias? The Souleater?’
‘What does it matter?’ Astin shrugs, utterly disinterested.
I suppose it doesn’t. It’s just . . . odd, that’s all. This is the first time I’ve seen a depiction of Ozias where he’s not burning on a bonfire or lying on the floor with Clarabelle’s knife in his back. ‘I’m surprised to see him here, I guess. How do you think he and the king became friends?’
‘Maybe Ozias used magic to manipulate the king’s mind. Maybe the king was a Souleater too. Maybe it’s a different Ozias. Now come on. What room are you in?’
We establish we’re a few numbers away from one another, but I can’t concentrate as I follow him out of the room.
I wish I knew more about the time before; had some concrete facts about why the king was willing to overlook Ozias’s nature.
As far as I know, we can’t manipulate minds, and if the king was a Souleater too, he presumably wouldn’t have been so easily dragged from his castle.
I scan my surroundings as we ascend the staircase, as though the answers are going to spring from the wall. None appear. That or Damian has covered any clues with emerald, because every inch of the second floor is coated too, like he stood there for hours simply to watch it spew from his skin.
Around a bend, a few blocks of grey stone are untouched, and there’s a beauty in the rawness of them, in their imperfections, reminding me that, despite what he thinks, his curse isn’t a gift. It destroys what came before.
Astin sees me safely to my room before disappearing to find his own, telling me he’ll return shortly for the party. He’s striding down the hall before I can question what he means by shortly, because I suspect he doesn’t have the first clue how long it’ll take me to tie a corset.
Sighing, I drop my pack to the floor and take in my surroundings.
The room thankfully has all its walls and windows intact to keep out the chill, but more than that, it’s beautiful.
Larger and more opulent than anywhere I’ve slept before, with furnishings Damian must have brought in for the party.
Crisp silk sheets cover a four-poster bed, while a patterned armchair is stationed next to an empty hearth.
On the opposite side of the room stands a wardrobe, doors open to reveal a bundle of dresses and suits.
A quick inspection tells me it’s the same clothing in a variety of sizes, and it is, of course, all emerald green.
I consider putting on the dress I packed for myself instead, but suspect wearing pink will make me stick out like a sore thumb.