by S. D. Grimm
“Ryan, she’s your betrothed.”
“Not anymore.”
“How’d you get out of that?”
Ryan shrugged. “It’s not like our parents are alive. Her heart belongs to her, and if she chooses you—”
“She won’t,” Ethan repeated, his face as emotionless as stone.
“You know, she’s never admitted to loving me.” Ryan paused.
Ethan grabbed more wood. “That’s not really my business, Ry.”
“Just know I won’t be angry. That I would rather it be you than anyone else. And I hope you’ll still let me help as a Protector.”
Ethan just clenched his jaw and stared at the woodpile. “Of course.” He looked Ryan in the eyes. “And she won’t.” He walked back toward the house.
Well, he’d get no more out of Ethan on that subject. It didn’t matter. Ryan had said what he needed to say. And the voice hadn’t interfered.
When he made his way back to One Eye’s, arms full of chopped wood, everyone else had gathered outside. Before long the fire was tall and lively. Ryan let the flames that flickered back and forth, licking the logs, mesmerize him.
“The dance is just as important as the fight,” One Eye said. “When you dance, you feel your partner’s movements. You will visit the tavern every night until you can fight like a dancer.”
Was he serious?
“A tune then.” One Eye sat on an old soot-stained stool with his lute. He strummed the instrument. “Partners.”
Estelle was not shy about grabbing Logan’s hands, and Ethan offered to dance with Chloe. She narrowed her eyes, hands on her hips. “I suppose you’ll do.”
At least it got him to laugh.
Jayden smiled at Ryan. Sure. One more dance before he officially told her she was free of him seemed fitting.
Except her hands fit so perfectly in his, and she followed his lead with such ease. Letting her go wouldn’t be easy.
One Eye gave them no break when the next tune played. This tune, “The Frog and the Fox,” was animated. Dancers had to flee from their partners, like a frog running from a fox. They only ever touched their partners for a moment before zigzagging between other dancers. It was a good one for parties, especially where the ale was flowing. Each round the music would go faster and faster. When a pair messed up, they sat out, until only one pair of dancers remained.
One Eye was relentless as he sped up the song, but Ryan and Chloe came from a family that liked to dance. They flew each other back and forth, not missing a step. Estelle must have been able to hear One Eye’s lute, for her steps were flawless.
Ryan let go of Jayden’s hand, but he watched her ankles cross. She stumbled into Ethan’s arms and pushed him down. Laughing, she put her hands on the ground on either side of Ethan’s body.
Ryan stood motionless as he watched her brush grass off Ethan’s shirt. The laughing stopped as she pulled a stray leaf from his hair. She froze. Stared into Ethan’s eyes. Her laughter faded and she just stayed there. Their faces were so close, almost touching.
Ryan’s insides squeezed together. A painful lump settled just below his heart.
“Well, kiss her already.” Estelle clapped her hands together.
Jayden and Ethan tore their eyes away from one another and scrambled to their feet, beating dirt and leaves from their clothes.
“Shy, are we?” Estelle tilted her head coyly.
“What? No. No, no, no.” Ethan was shaking his head.
Eyes wide, like a rabbit in a snare, Jayden gravitated away from Ethan.
Estelle put a hand up to her mouth. “I am sorry. I thought you two—I didn’t mean to cause such a ruckus.”
“Perhaps that’s enough dancing for one night.” One Eye rose and stretched. Then he handed Ethan the lute.
Ethan took it, wandered closer to the fire, and sat down on one of the log seats surrounding it. One Eye took out a pipe and joined him. Stag rested his slimy jowls on One Eye’s lap. The rest of the huge dog’s frame was on the ground.
Ryan walked over to join the others and let his thoughts drown out everything but the music and the feel of warmth from the fire.
Ethan started with a happy tune, but after a while his songs grew sad. Ryan thought those tunes more fitting for his mood. He watched the flames sway in rhythm with the music. Jayden sat next to him, eyes were fixed on Ethan. Of course.
Ryan tucked her hair behind her ear.
She looked at him and smiled. Her brows furrowed as she searched his face. “I wish you would tell me what’s troubling you.”
His heart cracked a little more. But he hadn’t pledged his heart to her, even if he planned to—expectation or not—and if he wasn’t the one to make her happy, how could he make her feel like she was supposed to honor tradition? They weren’t in Tareal anymore. No one here, except maybe Chloe, expected them to marry. He couldn’t tame someone so free. He wouldn’t, not if it meant stealing Jayden’s absolute happiness. He would have to let her know she was forgiven.
“Forgive? You are weak. Fight for what’s yours.”
He took a bigger piece of the herb and popped it in his mouth while pretending to stifle a yawn.
Then he pulled out his flute and waved it. Ethan smiled. His fingers changed the tune. Something familiar. One of Ryan’s favorites. They played as the night grew older. Colder. When the moon peeked through the breaking cloud cover, Ethan set the lute aside.
Logan rose and stretched. “We will leave in the morning before first light,” he said to the four of them. “You two will be fine here.”
“I know,” Ryan said.
“Good.” Logan patted Ryan’s shoulder. “And you’ll sleep in the barn, if you know what’s good for you.”
Estelle sat on One Eye’s lap, looking rather cozy, staring into his eye. He whispered something in her ear and she giggled. Then he scooped her up and headed toward the house.
The barn seemed like a great idea.
Jayden’s soft touch on Ryan’s shoulder lured him away from the others. He steeled his heart. She led him off a little way toward the edge of the hill. The cloudy cover was starting to dissipate, and the moon peeked through once in a while.
“We don’t have to say goodbye, you know.” He smiled, though only half his heart was in it.
“I just thought that since this is our last night together, at least for a little while, that perhaps—”
“Stay.”
“What?”
“With me. You would be safe here, and Logan will be back soon. You could stay just while they look for the other Deliverer.”
She stared at him with her mouth open for so long that he decided to nudge her.
“I—I can’t, Ryan. I can’t.” She reached for his arm, but retracted her hand before she touched him. “We would have been happy if things had stayed the same. But I’m a Deliverer.” The moonlight hid, making her pretty face look pale in the dark. And so forlorn.
“Jayden, that doesn’t mean you have to be alone.”
“Yes. For now it does.”
He touched the side of her face, and she leaned into his palm.
Her blue eyes met his. “I’m sorry. I can’t have anyone.”
“You’re wrong, you know. But I understand.”
Chapter 32
Magic, Sacrifice,
and Pain
The sun rose into the gray morning. Belladonna looked south toward the tall trees that marked the Forest of Legends. She would head that way after twelve more sunsets. Rubius had promised to give her a special power, and she wished to accept it.
He approached her and placed a hand on her shoulder. “Are you ready to become a Healer’s worst nightmare?”
“Yes.”
“The Mistress of Shadows has sent you a present.”
Belladonna tilted her head. Really? Wizard Rubius must have a seeing stone.
“She is pleased that you’ve decided to unlock your full powers by learning the dark side of magic that Healers deny. She wishes to gi
ve you something that can make you even more powerful.”
“What could make me more powerful?”
“A creature to bond to.”
“My bond structure is for a unicorn. I do not wish to be inhibited by one of those creatures ever again.”
Rubius waved her inside. “This bonding is a bit different. It involves magic. Sacrifice. And pain. It requires that you be strong enough to survive.”
“And you have the secret to my survival?”
He smiled. “Yes. Follow me. But hurry—this creature is hungry.”
Belladonna followed him into his chambers and over to a bowl of some crushed substance such a rich green that it stained the sides of the bowl. Belladonna wrinkled her nose at the smell. Her pulse raced. She knew that smell. “What’s that for?”
“I’m sure you know what bandy root does to Healers.”
“Of course. It stops our healing powers from working.”
“Momentarily.”
Belladonna crossed her arms and thrust out a hip. “With a dose that large, it would be much more than a moment.”
“We need the venom to take hold of most of your heart.”
“Venom?”
“It will make your heart harder to slay. It will make you venomous. It will make you irresistible.”
“Will it allow me to lie to a Healer?”
“No. But it will make them instinctively fear you.”
“Where is this beast?”
“Drink first, then I’ll let you through the door. The bandy root will allow your heart to stop regeneration for a time—long enough to absorb the poison. Then your heart will begin to heal, but the scarring will already be complete. This other potion”—he handed her a vial—“can only be taken once your healing powers have returned.”
Belladonna tucked the vial in her pocket. Rubius handed her the bandy root. The awful taste slid over her tongue and down her throat. A strange void filled her middle as her powers drained away. Like she’d been stripped from the inside out. No way to turn back now. Not if the Mistress of Shadows was secretly watching. Belladonna held her head up and met his gaze.
His crooked teeth flashed in a smile and he reached to the floor. His fingers curled around something unseen, but as he pulled up, the wooden door revealed itself.
She strode over to the secret passage. No steps led into the darkness below.
He pointed a long, curled fingernail toward the entrance. “Your oubliette awaits.”
Belladonna plunged into darkness. Her heart raced as she free fell to the ground. It was hard. Slate. Pinpoints of light bled through the cracks in the wooden door above her, but her eyes could see nothing of her prison yet.
She stood from her crouch. Her heeled boots clicked against the ground. A soft purr resonated behind her. Her eyes began to adjust, so she stepped back. Whatever was down here and hungry would have to step through the light to get to her.
The scent of lavender filled the air. Belladonna squinted into the darkness. Furry, black wings extended. By the Blood Moon, it was massive. Belladonna scanned the room. No weapons. No rocks. Nothing for her to use in defense.
The black lion leapt toward her.
Her scream echoed as teeth pierced her chest.
Chapter 33
Wield Carefully
Rebekah placed her brush on her dresser and pinched her cheeks.
Someone tapped against her door three times. Silence. Three more raps. Then nothing. Her stomach twisted. Balton’s summons. He wanted her in his bedchamber. Her time was up. She had to decide and tell him whether or not she’d marry him. Everything in her chest tightened.
She braced her hands against the dresser as her knees weakened. If no one would tell her what had happened the night she’d helped Logan escape, she had to keep her secret safe. Pretending to be Balton’s betrothed was her way out. Answering his summons had to be part of the act. And since he knew she was no longer a virgin, waiting would not be an option he’d want, but she’d try anyway.
She plucked the ring out of a dresser drawer and placed it on her finger. Such a strange custom. This trinket would never mean to her what her marriage stone meant. That she still wore under her clothes. Hopefully Logan would understand if Balton . . . had his way with her.
Rather than risk angering Balton, she placed the marriage stone in her drawer and noticed the bag of crushed tangle-flower seed Thea had given her what seemed like ages ago. Tempting. She picked it up and let it sit in her palm, weighing it. Wondering if the powder was worth using. Certainly not yet. Balton would realize what she’d done, and there was no way out today.
No plan. She desperately needed a plan. She lowered the bag back, but noticed a small vial sat atop a folded piece of paper. That was new. She picked it up and opened the paper.
I thought you might reconsider my offer.
Take this vial and drink half. Give the other half to Wolf. Then that terrible trace will be broken, and you’ll be free to leave as you please. If you can get out.
The trace spell was bound by blood and passed to him upon Idla’s death.
The trace is like a web, and when Franco mentally pulls on the string connected to you and there is no resistance, he will know you’ve broken the spell. So make sure your timing is perfect or it’ll be for nothing.
If I were you, I’d leave that pretty ring behind.
Thea
The paper shook in Rebekah’s trembling hand. Thea had left her a way out? With new courage, Rebekah put the paper in the fireplace. Now she had to pick the perfect time, because if Franco found out the trace spell was broken before she got out the front gate, all could be lost. She—and most importantly, Connor—might be stuck in the palace forever.
She breathed in, straightened her shoulders, and headed toward the door. Just before her hand touched it, another knock resounded. She pulled the handle and let her son in. His eyes were wide and his hair windblown.
“Connor? What’s wrong?”
He closed the door behind him. “What did Thea give you?”
Thea must have left Connor a note as well. No use keeping it a secret from him then. “I’ll show you.” She pulled out the tangle flower and vial and shared with him what the note said.
He paced in front of the dresser, tapping his finger against his cheek. “You know we can’t trust her and her sister.”
Rebekah stared at him with her arms folded. “For this to work, I don’t have to trust them.”
“You do if everything in your plan hinges on this potion. It could change us into . . . well, the Creator only knows.”
“It will remove the trace, Connor.”
He stared at her with his eyes narrowed, intent on willing her to see his side. “That’s trust.”
“Fine. Do you think she’s lying?”
His shoulders sagged. “No, I don’t. But those two are up to something. And they’re using you.”
“Me?”
“They want you out of here so the Deliverers will be drawn to you. It will draw you right back to Logan. They will follow. They want the Deliverers.”
“Connor, Logan is my husband. I do belong with him. And I am sure we can take care of those two once we are with him.”
Connor scrunched his nose. “The last time you were with him—”
“What?” Rebekah closed the distance between them. “The last time I was with him, what?”
“It is probably best that you know nothing.”
“Tell me.”
“You—well, you were spelled.”
She crossed her arms. “I know. Something you’ve conveniently left me out of.”
“I was supposed to be off castle grounds with Luc and some of Oswell’s handpicked men.”
“Which I am sure you did anyway to cover your tracks.”
“Yes.”
“Well, then, what’s the problem?”
“The problem is telling you what went on between you and Logan. If Franco suspects you remember something—”
&
nbsp; “Then we leave. I can’t stand the secrets any longer.” Rebekah searched her son’s face. “Including whatever this new thing is that you’re keeping from me.”
Connor grabbed her hands and towed her to the table. He sat. Rubbed his forehead. “Balton is about to receive a very special gift I can’t let him keep.”
“Tell me what it is. I may be able to get my hands on it.”
“How?”
“I have just been summoned to his bedchamber.”
Connor sat up straight, his fisted hands on the edge of the table. “What? Why?”
She placed her hand on the table and showed him the ring. “Probably to give him an answer.” She choked on a breath. “And so he can claim his prize.”
“Claim . . .” Connor’s eyes flashed a brilliant gold and he stood, his jaw tight.
“Connor,” she touched his tense arm. “I may be able to keep him from . . . defiling me . . . but not forever.” A tear leaked from her eye.
“Mother.” He knelt beside her. “You can’t go in there. This gift—he’ll use it to compel you.”
She pulled back from him. “What?”
“It is a tool of compulsion. That’s why I have to take it from him.”
“I’ll help you.” She stood tall. “I’ll go, and I’ll seduce him so he need not compel me. Then I’ll take this gift.”
Connor stood, shaking his head. “Too dangerous.”
“More dangerous than letting him tell me what to do?” Rebekah smiled. “I have an idea. And we’ll make him forget this trinket ever existed.”
Rebekah glided down the hallway. All she had to do was get the man on his bed and slip the bracer off his arm. Easy, right? She almost licked her lips, but stilled herself. She stopped in front of Balton’s door and raised her knuckles, hovering them in front of the wood.
Breathe. She rapped on the door.
“Come.”
A shiver crawled over her skin as she pushed the door open and stepped over the threshold.
Balton stood inside, shirtless. A thick, white scar trailed over his abdomen. A dark pink one tainted his shoulder. And he wore a golden bracer. Only one. Rebekah stifled another shudder and closed the door.
He poured red wine into a cup and turned toward her. A smile spread across his face. “Rebekah.” His gaze trailed from her chest down and back up before meeting her eyes. “You look beautiful.”