by HD Smith
“I’m sorry, sister,” Sage said, bowing his head. “I thought I felt Claire’s presence earlier and rushed down here without thinking. I found her asleep on the bed, but I wanted to be sure she wasn’t pretending.”
Cinnamon looked at me, raising one furry white eyebrow. I really didn’t like the hairy Cinnamon. She was much less scary in her human form. She shook off the rabbit’s head, and the pain in my neck vanished.
Stepping over to Sage, she backhanded him. He straightened, keeping his eyes lowered.
“Was I not clear, Brother, when I said no one was to touch her without my permission?”
Every muscle in his body tensed. His jaw clenched. “Forgive me, sister. It won’t happen again. I swear it.”
“Were you walking around my castle, Claire?” she asked me.
“No,” I said. “I was asleep until he woke me.”
“Bring me Mace,” Cinnamon said, staring at me. “He’s so good at seeing the truth.”
Was she kidding, or did she really intend to call him? I didn’t blink. I couldn’t panic. Mace would see through my lie, but I had no intention of caving with a simple threat. I wished I could reach up and compel her to let me go and forget I was here, but I barely had enough magic energy to slip. It would take some time to recover from the drain of holding the protection spell for so long.
“Sister,” Sage said, breaking her stare, “I can assure you she was asleep when I entered the room. If possible, I wish to speak with you in private, before you involve our brothers.”
Cinnamon turned to study him. “You have certainly been the most loyal,” she said, smiling at him. “I will hear you out.”
“Thank you, sister.”
“Bring the girl,” Cinnamon barked.
Sage grabbed me by the arm and pulled me along behind him. We returned to the ballroom, where Jessie and Mary were working hard to move an iron cage into place beside Cinnamon’s chair.
“That’s close enough,” she growled. “Now leave us.”
They rushed past me as they hurried from the room.
The cage looked like something you might keep a lion in at the zoo, only it was the size you might need for a large German Shepherd—or a human. I was finding it hard to breathe just looking at it.
“Put my gift in her box, brother,” Cinnamon said, lifting up the top of the cage.
I resisted as he pulled me forward.
“Move,” he said, tightening his grip on my arm. “Same goals, remember?” he whispered in my ear, as he helped me into the cage.
I immediately began pulling in long breaths, as if the cage was too small. It was big enough, but I was hyperventilating at the thought of being locked in the small space.
Cinnamon phased into the rabbit and sent a shot of pain through my wound. I clamped my mouth shut. I wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of screaming. That thought helped me regain control, and my breathing slowed.
I took several deep breaths. The cage isn’t shrinking. It’s big enough for two. You can handle this.
I jerked when the top of the cage was slammed shut.
A wave of nausea hit me, and a sick feeling pulled at my core. I leaned back against the bars, shivering. It seemed the cage was blocking my power. I closed my eyes and tried to slip, but I couldn’t.
Cinnamon, now without the rabbit’s head, returned to her throne.
“So, brother, you wish to speak on Claire’s behalf?” she asked, with a disinterested drone, as she checked her manicure.
“The message said a gift would be sent that would free us,” he said.
“Now, brother, please tell me this is not all you have brought me?” Cinnamon groaned, like a spoiled child.
“I forced Gwen to deliver the message,” Sage growled.
Cinnamon tisked. “You let me kill Sorrel’s pet?”
“Gwen’s death is on you and Mace. Had I known you were interrogating her, I would have stepped forward. She was dead before I knew what you were doing.”
Cinnamon pursed her lips. “Well then, brother, who told you?”
Sage hesitated for a moment, then continued. “The bird told me of the message. I didn’t believe it, of course, but then Claire arrived. Presented as a gift, no less. If she can save us, we have to let her try.”
Laughing, Cinnamon said, “So, your little birdie told you? How sweet. Mother always did favor you most.”
Sage rolled his eyes. “Hardly. I’m the only one with the damn power to talk to the bloody thing.”
Did the bird belong to their mother? If so, why wasn’t she helping them out of this mess? And how did their mother know a gift would be sent?
“Oh, don’t be modest dear,” Cinnamon said, pulling me from my thoughts, “you’re the Great Duke of Flockington after all.”
What the hell was she talking about?
“Can you two get on with it,” I said, breathless. “I’m dying here.”
Cinnamon rolled her eyes, then said to Sage, “The bird changes nothing.”
“The bird changes everything, and you know it.”
“Then why not mention it before?” Cinnamon asked.
“There was no gift before. No hope of freedom,” he snarled.
“Temper, temper, brother. That will not do. Shall I put you in the dungeon again?”
Schooling his features, Sage lowered his head. “Forgive me, Countess.”
“Leave us,” she commanded.
“Sister—” Sage started.
“Go,” she yelled, “before I change my mind.”
Crap, he was going to leave. Sage glanced my way. I had no clue how to read the grim look on his face. He left the room without speaking to me. Any hope I had of him helping to convince Cinnamon was gone.
My head hurt, and my body ached. I could do nothing but lean against the bars and try not to pass out from the sickness.
Cinnamon remained fixated on her manicure, until the door closed behind Sage.
In the blink of an eye she phased back into the hare. I clamped my mouth shut to stop from crying out as she heated the bite. My body bowed. The skin around my wound tightened and pulled taut. A line of heat curled around the edges, as if she were magically stitching them together.
“Enough,” I begged.
“Be quiet,” she snarled, “I have to finish.” Cinnamon reached in through the bars, placing her hand on my neck. In a whisper so low I couldn’t hear it, she chanted a few words and a blue flash of energy hit my skin with an ice cold pain so intense I almost blacked out.
I fell back against the bars when she finally let go.
Cinnamon phased back to her normal self as she returned to her throne. I wanted to curl into a ball as my body shook with cold then fever. My teeth chattered, then a wave of heat passed through me, as if burning the fever from my body.
“Now we can talk,” she said, as if she hadn’t just rubbed salt in the wound.
I touched the smooth skin at my neck. The raw, jagged edges were gone. My temperature settled and I no longer felt hot or cold. “Am I healed?” Because that would have been worth the pain.
She laughed. “No, there’s no cure—not while I hold the title.”
“Title? Don’t you mean curse?”
She shrugged. “Being the countess has afforded me some advantage in this hell.”
She looked around the large ballroom—her prison.
“So you’ve just hidden it? It’s still within me, about to leech into my heart?” I asked.
“I’ve put it in stasis, but I can’t stop it forever.” She looked down at my arm.
I followed her gaze. Three precise red lines ran horizontally across my wrist. The tip of one was a pale white, like scar tissue. They didn’t hurt.
“What is it?”
“A timer of sorts. You will have three days to find our blood and return it. Or you’ll die.”
I swallowed. My throat was dry. “Three days, that’s it?”
“You’re resourceful, and have blood like the big three, correct?
Are you not up for the challenge?” she asked.
“The blood’s just going to get me in—not help me find your blood. I don’t even know where I’m going.”
Cinnamon laughed. “I know of a spell that will take you to the Great Museum from the shores of the Silver Sea, which is a mere four hour walk from here. A lovely place, but I wouldn’t touch the water if I were you.”
“So, I walk to the Silver Sea, cast a spell to the Great Museum, find your blood—which I’m sure will be super easy—then make my way back here...in three days?”
“What part of challenge did you not understand?” she asked.
“Fine. Any idea where your blood is in the museum?”
“I’ve only ever seen it from the outside. No one but the big three are allowed in, however, I’m told it’s larger than Manhattan.”
“Manhattan is over thirty-three square miles. You do realize that’s really, really big, right?”
“Did you think it would be easy, Claire?” she asked.
“You do want out of here, don’t you? A little help would be appreciated.”
Cinnamon’s eyes narrowed on me. “Sage could be lying about the bird’s message, but it is most likely true. That is the only reason you’re walking out of this castle. Mother is never wrong.”
“So she’s the one that knew a gift would be delivered by a stranger, and that gift would set you free? Why the hell didn’t she just come herself?”
“Mother is a guest in Mab’s castle at present, and she doesn’t have the blood needed to enter the museum. She sent you instead.”
“Why do you say that? I’ve never met your mother.”
“Who do you think hired the Bounty Hunter?” Cinnamon asked, as if it were obvious.
I shook my head. Ronin was paying back a debt Mab owed. If Cinnamon’s mother was a “guest” in Mab’s castle that sort of made it sound like she was in the dungeon, not a guest suite. Of course, nothing was straightforward with these crazies. She could be the one Mab owed the debt and be a prisoner locked in Mab’s castle. “How?”
Cinnamon shrugged. “Never underestimate her, Claire, nor assume you’re in her favor.”
“Nice. I can see where you and the boys get your well-adjusted moral compass.”
She sighed. “Play nice, or I may just let Mace have you for a while. Especially now that he’s destroyed that damn mirror. He’s going to be such a pain in my ass.”
“You knew about the mirror?”
“Of course. How else would he have remained so patient? Mab did me a favor by giving it to him. Mace would have kept talking to it for years—believing all the while that she just needed time to forgive him, that if he could just figure out the right thing to say, she’d save him from this hell.” Cinnamon laughed. “My brother has always had a weakness for her kindness. She favors him, but not as he imagines. She likes having him safely tucked away, I think. The spelled mirror was her way of keeping him hooked. She’d simply need to show up and he’d assume he’d finally convinced her. He would have never discovered the truth on his own. I don’t even think I could have convinced him—not that I wanted to, of course.”
I shook my head. “Your compassion is beyond words.”
A cold gleam ran across her eyes. “Well then, this next request won’t surprise you.”
“What?”
“If by some miracle you survive and actually find our blood, you will bring all of it back to me—and only me.”
“The boys—”
“Will kill me if they get the chance. I can’t allow that to happen,” she said coolly.
“You’re going to leave them trapped here, aren’t you?”
I had no love for any of them, but I couldn’t believe Cinnamon would be this cold. She wasn’t exactly sister of the year, but this was cruel even for her.
“Your view of this situation is lacking, or you wouldn’t judge me so harshly.”
“Enlighten me then.”
“Royal children are given royal titles. It never mattered for us, of course—our father’s blood kept them away. Last spring when Mab claimed us, and father released us to her care, she ripped away his part of our blood, essentially leaving us full pagans, and allowing our titles to emerge.”
“Okay, so that makes you the Easter Bunny—but then that means the boys got something too. Oh God, what do they turn into?”
She snorted. “Nothing. Sage is the Duke of North Flockington,” she said. “Completely made up drivel based on his natural ability to talk to animals.”
I remembered her calling him that earlier, but I hadn’t known what she meant. That explained how he could talk to birds, and possibly why the bird’s “voice” was earsplitting to me.
“Sorrel,” she continued, “is the Earl of South Roseington, because of that idiotic ability he has to”—she made air quotes with her fingers—“talk to plants.”
“Idiotic ability?”
“It’s a farce. The voice on the other end is another pagan with the same pathetic skill. Useless since it can’t carry over large distances.”
I raised my eyebrows. So, Sorrel’s vine was someone local with the same talent.
“Don’t worry Claire, I have taken care of the problem. I couldn’t have him spreading rumors of a girl named Claire being at the Countess’s Estate, could I? The vine won’t be back.”
I was relieved, then realized that meant the man was most likely dead.
“Mace is the Viscount of West Toothington—another one I’m sure you’ll find amusing.”
“Huh? What does he have, strong teeth? Oh, no.” I gasped. “Please don’t tell me he’s supposed to be the freaking Tooth Fairy.”
Cinnamon’s wicked grin widened. “Exceptionally perfect teeth, and very strong. Like me that title was bestowed and not based on his existing talents. That is his gift from Mab.”
“Strong and perfect teeth—that’s it? Aren’t you two the lucky ones,” I said dryly.
She shrugged. “No one but Mab is ever lucky in her realm. It’s rumored that she has two books of titles. One book for those that please, the other for those that do not. She would have had no reason to give us preferred titles. And trust me, no one wants to be the Easter Hare.”
Cinnamon stared off to the side for a moment as if considering how things could have been different. I looked down at my wrist. The fine sliver of white looked a hair longer, which reminded me the clock was ticking.
“Can I leave now?” I asked, bringing Cinnamon’s attention back to me.
“I don’t actually believe you have blood like the big three,” she said, staring at me.
“I’m not sure how to convince you. I don’t suppose you can call Omar or the Blacksmith? They’ll confirm it.”
Cinnamon’s eyes widened. “Omar of Legend?” she asked, sounding surprised.
I wasn’t sure how many Omars there were in the magical community—at least not ones that could be dubbed “of Legend”—but what were the odds she knew a different one? “Yeah, I guess.” I’d only recently learned of his other title, Omar of the Lost Valley, so it wasn’t a stretch to assume he had more than one.
“He cannot be trusted,” she said, as if Omar was some scoundrel and not an almost friend. “And the Blacksmith is out of the question—not that we can contact anyone, of course. Prison, remember.”
“Omar can’t be trusted?”
“He’s dangerous, anyone that old always is. I’m surprised you know of him, how did you make his acquaintance?”
“I met him at the company. He worked for your father.”
Cinnamon raised an eyebrow. “Father doesn’t employ seers, Claire. Especially not ones wanted for treason.”
Omar didn’t work for The Boss, and he was wanted for treason?
Cinnamon studied me. “He made an effort to meet you. Any idea why?”
I thought back over my many dealings with him. It hadn’t occurred to me that he wasn’t supposed to be there, but now that I knew, I realized that I was always alone when
he arrived. I’d considered him a friend. Now I wondered why he wanted to know me.
“Who knows why?” I said, shaking my head. I couldn’t trust anyone, which was disappointing, but not really all that surprising. Was it possible he’d been grooming me to complete the prophecy, becoming someone I trusted so when he presented the book of prophecy I’d believe him? “So can I go or not? Clock’s ticking.” I was tired of playing this game. “You’ve already said your mother’s never wrong.”
“She’s never wrong, but the question is, who is she trying to save?”
“The message said—”
“I know what it said, but I also know my mother.”
With that cryptic comment, Cinnamon rose and strolled from the ballroom as if she were the Queen of England. She returned with a knowing smirk across her lips. She dropped a rolled piece of parchment through the top of the cage.
“I’ve been to the Great Museum once, long ago, with my father. This is everything I remember.”
I unrolled the paper. There were instructions on how to get there and back, and a spell for travel to the museum. All was in Ancient, which I started reading before remembering that as far as anyone knew I didn’t speak Ancient.
I glanced up at Cinnamon.
“I see you have many new tricks, Claire. Good. Now memorize it. I can’t have you getting caught with it. Then Mab would know of our treachery.”
I rolled my eyes. Mab would know either way, but I guess without the scroll there’d be no proof. “I can memorize it instantly if you let me out of the cage.”
Cinnamon arched her eyebrow. “Many new tricks indeed.”
“Tricks, curses, whatever. Clock’s ticking.”
My body breathed back to life as she swung open the top of the cage. I stood, finally able to stretch out my muscles, and glanced at the paper. She plucked it from my hand almost immediately. I smiled, tapping the side of my head to let her know I’d already seared it into my memory.
“You have two days and twenty-three hours,” she said. “Don’t be late.”
I looked down at my wrist. More of the first line was white.