Chapter 18
Elsedora
Ripping back the covers of Lark’s bed, I found only pillows where there should be a sleeping thirteen-year-old Princess.
That little troublemaker had finally lived up to her nickname.
I groaned.
Krait would kill me for this.
My mission for the night: make sure Krait did not learn of it.
Lark chose the wrong aunt to attempt skirting. I was an expert in tracking down priceless things. Her intentions with the mirror were likely innocent—merely curiosity—I reassured myself as I ran back down to the Egress.
It would not surprise me if she wanted to meet the man we all spoke so highly of, the one she’d been reading stories to for years. I felt guilty for being too careless in my use of the mirror. Though, hiding things from a girl who could read my emotions and thoughts had proved impossible.
I flung myself into the Egress. “To Luz Palace.”
The Egress guards snoozed on the ground at their posts.
Clever kid.
I bet she had sleep-charmed me, too, in order to get the key from my neck. It never left its place at my heart. Impressive, almost. Or it would be if I weren’t so pissed off at Lark’s sneaking around.
I slunk through the halls up to Emmerick’s bedchamber.
Behind the door, two voices chanted, Lark and another. “Sever the ties holding Death to this body. Tether him to the glass.”
Oh. Sources.
No, no, no.
Lark hissed, “It should be done. I don’t know what’s happening to him!”
I slammed open the door.
Emmerick writhed in the bed, his hands and feet were bound. On his ankles and wrists, inky handprints marred his skin. A vial lay shattered on the ground, and a drip of dark red liquid ran down Em’s chin.
A ripped page, discarded on the white sheets, revealed a scribbled recipe. Lavender, pig’s blood and grated birch bark.
An enchantress three times her age would struggle to master this unbinding spell.
Handprints of illuminated gold, muddled with Lark’s imprinted Shadows, shone on Emmerick’s shoulders. They had come from the other guilty party standing in the room.
Dritan. My new young groundskeeper. He and Lark stood by the King’s bedside with shocked expressions cast in my direction as I assessed the scene further. I itched to shake her.
“What have you both done?” I seethed.
Emmerick stilled, and I pushed Dritan aside, throwing myself onto the bed to check his pulse.
He breathed.
His heart beat.
I gasped a sigh of relief. Whatever had just happened, whatever spell they had cast, it hadn’t hurt him. But what had it done?
My head fell to his chest with a heaved breath; in all the years we’d talked through that mirror, I’d never touched him. I took his hand and squeezed gently before releasing it. Their foolish actions could have killed him.
Pulling myself away from the bed, I spun toward the two young Source-wielders. My blood boiled with more anger than I’d felt in… fifteen years. That moment when my cry had knocked Caym from the amphitheater wall crawled through my memory.
Dritan stared at the floor.
The clattering of metal armor sounded down the hall, the guards having roused awake. Lark’s mouth hung open for a couple of seconds before she blurted, “Please, Aunty. This was all my idea. I dragged Dritan into this to help me. They’ll arrest him just for being here. He’ll go to the gallows.”
“I will?” The whites of Dritan’s eyes showed as he glanced between us.
He was not the mastermind of this half-baked plan. This had been the workings of a very smart girl who knew enough about advanced charms and spells to be dangerous to herself and others.
She was so young and naive. I’d been careless—too busy moping about to notice her slip out.
This was my fault.
My mind raced through all the what-ifs and worst-case scenarios that could have happened to her.
I nodded toward the window. “You have ten seconds to climb down the trellis, boy. You are to come to my estate at dawn and explain yourself, or I will hunt you down and drag you there through the sewage gutter by your big toe. Do you understand me?”
Dritan offered an emphatic nod. “Yes, Lady Lamoreaux.” Yet he stood there, frozen.
“What are you waiting for?” I snapped, and he flung himself at the window. I turned to my niece. “What did you do?”
“It was a transitionary binding spell. I unbound Caym from King Mattock and placed him somewhere else. It was quite easy, and now we can wake up the King. I can feel how sad you are when I read to him. I thought maybe you’d be happier on days like today if he were awake.”
My blood ran ice cold.
“Where?” I growled, too panic-stricken to take in her reasoning.
“What?” Lark asked with a tone drenched in confusion.
“Where did you bind the Death Origin?” I snapped, and Lark flinched.
She’d acted on my behalf.
My sulking could cost us the realms.
Lark hesitantly held up the black mirror; in all the commotion, I hadn’t noticed it in her hand.
No… not there. Anywhere but there.
“I’m sorry, I was just trying to help!” Lark answered my internal panic.
Swallowing hard, I peered into the pane. Instead of the swirling black abyss that usually greeted me, amber fogged the glass.
“Emmerick?” I croaked out, hoping he would appear and quell my growing worry.
A decaying countenance materialized in the mirror, screaming in silent fury as clawed hands banged against the pane to reach us. Lark jumped and nearly dropped the fragile prison.
I snatched it before it fell.
“This…” I stared at the trapped Death Origin, at where Emmerick’s face should be. “This is the most reckless, stupid, foolish, irresponsible thing you have ever done.”
Lark grew teary-eyed. “But the North King! You can wake him now without Caym being released. I know that is what you wanted—I’ve heard you think it.” Her tone grew defensive.
“If you’d eavesdropped on my private thoughts a little longer, you might know that we cannot. There isn’t a way to wake someone from the Sethe curse. Now all we have is a precariously trapped Death Origin and a sleeping King that I can no longer speak with.” My voice cracked on the last part.
My throat closed. Clearer now, Caym’s face grew closer to the pane. His glare locked on me.
“You killed my friend,” I growled.
“Many more will die trying to stop me,” he hissed, and the hairs on my arms rose. His skin was peeled back on his nose, exposing the bone.
“Why won’t your soul just rot?” I spat.
He let out a grave chuckle. “The Sources and Isolde think this new little Isleen can contend with me?” He glanced at Lark, who flattened her back to the wall.
The Reverist that Sybilla and Lark had descended from was Isolde’s most powerful daughter. He still held a selfish grudge over Isleen’s ancient betrayal.
“Don’t speak to her.” I ground my teeth and then said, “So, you are going to destroy the world, lay cities to rubble, for what? Over a lover rejecting you in favor of your brother? Petty really.”
“I see no greater reason. Wouldn’t you have torn the world apart for your Moon-wielder? What might you do for your sleeping King?”
I longed to punch through the glass. He wanted to be free; he would say anything it took to bait me.
The guards threw open the door to the bedchamber, finally realizing where the threat lurked. Sybilla and Krait were on their heels.
There was much explaining to do.
None of it boded well for my standing as their most trusted friend and the advisor for multiple courts. I’d put their daughter in danger and the realms at risk.
Sybilla peeked around Krait’s shoulder. When her gaze locked on the mirror, she gasped.
“I will live to see the next black moon,” Caym snarled. “You’ve made it all the easier with no one to fight in here. The clock ticks, my little Isleen. You took my body once and failed to stop me…”
The Origin of Death looked directly at Sybilla. My Queen’s hand found her throat—the only nervous tell the tough-as-nails woman possessed.
Then Caym slipped into the shadows of the pane, as though he’d never been there at all. The shining black surface revealed nothing amiss.
“No…” Sybilla whispered.
Even while taking garrot root, which dulled her ability to compel others, she could still pick up on my emotions and thoughts. Thrown off guard by the events that had unfolded, I did little to prevent her from sifting through my account of the evening.
When Sybilla’s gaze found mine, her expression matched my fear.
Lark crossed the room and sobbed into her father’s chest.
“What is the meaning of this?” Krait growled.
The room spun. My negligence had placed their daughter in danger. Our enemy gained strength in that once charmed, now cursed mirror.
I landed at the bottom of despair when I realized the impact of my mistakes.
My King lay asleep, and I could no longer reach him.