Chapter 15
Larkspur
Aunt El snored in the parlor.
Clutching the green leather book and stolen key, I slipped past her and out the back door of the estate.
Being so far from the city, Lamoreaux had only a few guards standing watch while I visited.
They had lazily stationed themselves on the front veranda by the gardens; nothing threatening ever lurked at the estate.
I heard the clink of their mugs and the buzz of hearty conversation.
I ran for the cover of the orchard, where I moved tree by tree through the shadows. An owl cooed in the tree line of the Hussa Mountain Forest, and crickets hummed their monotonous tune.
Reaching the stables, I rounded the corner toward the barn doors and slammed into someone.
I gasped. The grass was slick from the prior day’s rain, and one foot slipped out from beneath me.
He let out a dramatic, Hmph. I grabbed his forearms to steady myself.
“Dritan?” I whisper-shouted into the dark.
“I think you broke my toe,” he groaned. “Did anyone follow you?”
The moonlight caught the outline of his face as he looked down at me. He’d grown so tall this year.
“No,” I answered.
With that reassurance, he lit a small flame in his palm. His face came into focus, and he smiled. “Hello, Princess.”
I punched his arm. Hard.
He had sprouted hair on his chin and cheeks. Upon first noticing it, I had poked fun at him—but then I’d realized how drawn my unwavering attention had become to his face.
“What are you trying to murder me for today?” he joked, rubbing his shoulder.
“You startled me.”
He scoffed. “You ran into me.”
I chuckled, and he threw one hand over my mouth, leading me into the barn with his other hand.
“Shh!” he whispered. “You’ll get us caught.”
Once inside, the sweet scent of hay and grains filled my nostrils—along with other less desirable scents, courtesy of Sparkle’s’ healthy appetite.
Poking my head over a stall, I found Mayra curled up, snuggled into a pile of hay, fast asleep. The horses made faint nickering noises from their stalls, and my pony sulked in a corner by an empty grain bucket. At least she’d stopped trying to boss the Griffith chick around through their stalls.
In the dim lamplight of the barn, I faced Dritan. His dark curls were in disarray, and his blue eyes snagged on the book. “What do you have there?”
I’d found the perfect combination of unbinding and binding curses. Aunt Asterie might think the risk too great, but she had to be wrong.
It would work beautifully. Once we unbound the Death Origin from the King, we could imprison him elsewhere. Then, we’d be able to break the Sethe curse and save my aunt years of moping about the estate alone.
Barely able to contain my excitement, I turned the tome’s cover toward him. “I have here a way we can separate Caym from your father. For good!”