‘That is where you’re wrong, Princess. I’m not nearly as cruel as you are, but I promise you this. If I see Cain fly through my lands one more time, I will catch him and break his precious wings. Then you will see how cruel I can be when I’m backed into a corner.’ A flash of fear coursed through me; he meant those words. This was why I kept my distance to protect those around me. I didn’t mind being the one to slit the throats of my friends and foes alike if the situation called for it, but I never wanted anyone to die as a result of my choices. That felt wholly wrong.
‘Says the little princeling who spent all his time in these halls finding ways to torture me. And as for Cain, why stop at his wings? Kill him. If he’s foolish enough to be caught, I have no need for him,’ I said, trying to believe every word I had spoken so that Demir would too. It was far too risky for him to know the importance he played in my life.
‘There is a difference between schoolyard politics and carving your name into a child’s head. Do you even have a line that you’re not willing to cross? Judging from the black mark on your chest, the answer is no.’ He looked almost forlorn; gone wasthe arrogance and amusement. What was left was pity and something else I couldn’t quite place.
‘There is no line I will not cross for my land and my people. You did this. Did you think I would smile and accept my family’s and people’s deaths at the hands of your father? You drove me to this. While you were sitting in your castle, drinking wine and cavorting with sluts, I was on that battlefield protecting my borders, watching body after body fall to the ground as your father stood there smiling. I promised him there on that field that for every life of mine he took, I would take ten of his. This black mark is one I wear with honor, so get that look off your face. I do not need your pity. You are the son of a madman—it is you and your people I pity most in this world.’
Without so much as an acknowledgment, he changed the subject as if he hadn’t heard a word I said, distracted by something that burned curiously within him. ‘What happened to your eyes?’ he asked.
Not deigning to respond, I stepped aside to walk around him. Demir gripped my arm, holding me in place.
Beautiful,I heard him say—but as I looked at him, his lips remained sealed shut.
‘Dance with me,’ he demanded, pulling me along behind him as though he were suddenly in a rush and had to be somewhere urgently. Shocked and confused, I couldn’t tell if I had just hallucinated the interaction.
As we made our way to the dance floor everyone stopped their conversations and looked at us, slowly backing away to give us space. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see the same shock that was coursing through me reflected on Lejla’s face and the faces of the quieting crowd. Before I could even truly register what was happening, what I was allowing to happen he pulled me in tight, my body pressed against his as he gripped my waist and pulled my chin up so that I was looking at him before placing his other hand on my waist. There was nowhere for me to place my hands other than on his shoulders and around hisneck. His grip was unyielding, and although I could have easily fought my way out of his hold, I had to admit I was curious about the bizarre display.
‘What are we doing?’ I whispered, barely audible so that no one else could hear us.
He didn’t respond. Instead, he continued to gaze at my new piercing blue eyes.What am I doing? Maybe I am the son of a mad man but those eyes. Gods! Those fucking eyes,I heard him say. But this time I was sure I hadn’t imagined it. I was hearing him without him even speaking. I was hearing his thoughts.
Panic raged inside me—not at this new power, but at the words he had spoken.Was he…?Surely not. I shook the thought from my mind before it could take root. I wasn’t shocked by the new ability to read minds; magic was, and could be, an unpredictable thing when one had their mind tampered with. And although Sienna had not said this could be a possible side effect, I was sure it would settle as I got space from the Awakening. Instead, I diverted my attention back to him, finding a way to needle my way in and get him off kilter.
‘Tell me, what fascinates you so much about my eyes?’ I asked as we slowly spun around the dance floor.
He looked at me hesitantly, wondering if he had spoken his thoughts out loud, before shaking it off.You’ve been staring like an idiot. Reign it in, Demir, you dumbass.
‘There is something deep within them that is…’ he trailed off.Calling to me,he thought, shaking his head and trying to dislodge the thought from his mind.
‘They are my mother’s eyes,’ I said, not wanting to explain what now coursed within my veins—especially not to my enemy.
‘They’re not. They’re your eyes.’They were always meant to be your eyes.
The music came to a stop. I had been lost in my thoughts, trying to understand what was happening and reconciling the man I knew with the thoughts that sounded nothing like the way he spoke.
I stepped away from Demir, breaking the trance I had been in, and suddenly, I felt the eternal flame within me turn ice cold. I had not realised the sense of warmth that enveloped me in his arms. It was not a way the flame had ever reacted before, and something in me yearned to feel that warmth once again.
Visarous stepped into my field of vision behind Demir, seething with rage. Without looking back, he left the hall, slamming the large wooden doors behind him. Not caring to acknowledge the still shocked crowd or Demir in front of me, I followed Visarous but found the hallway empty. I sighed out every bit of frustration from this night out of my body.How had everything gotten so spectacularly confusing?I turned to look down the hall, only to find Demir standing there.
‘What have you done?!’ he bellowed, his voice echoed through the halls. I couldn’t hear his voice inside my mind like I had in that hall, so I could not understand why he was so angry.
‘What nonsense are you spouting?’ I snapped at him, no longer having the patience to deal with anyone—least of all him—when I knew Visarous was already on edge prior to that display.
‘You’re... you can’t be,’ he said, stumbling over his words, unable to articulate them as if he were waging an inner battle within himself, trying to understand what it was he wanted to say.If only I could hear his thoughts again. Why had it stopped?The only thing that was different now was that we weren’t touching.
Shocked at the realisation, I curiously stretched out my hand toward him. He stepped back as though my touch would burn him. I took in the scene before me, where we stood, and the emotions that ebbed and flowed in this space. It was the scene from theOraclethat meant Visarous was down the hall, watching us. Without another thought, I pulled up the bottom of my gown and ran down the hallway to where I thought I would find him, but he was already gone.
Ten
Not wanting to walk back to my room, where I would inevitably have to face Viv after discovering her relationship with Acheron, I opted for the library—a place that had always brought me solace during those more trying times at the Academy. Stepping back into its doors and casting my eyes over its never-ending shelves made me feel like I was home, almost more so than when I walked along my castle walls. Stone carved shelves housed millions of books, all in rows. There were sections of long tables where I had studied into the evening with my council members. How had things become so complicated since then? Had Viv run off to the shelves at the back of the library to rendezvous with Acheron the way I had with Visarous throughout those years? I was angry—so incredibly angry—but I felt guilty too. Had I been such a terrible friend, so consumed with my own troubles that I did not bother to pay much attention to her and the others? What else had I missed? A wave of paranoia consumed me; missing things in my position was dangerous.
I walked deeper into the library, trailing my fingers along all the spines until I found my spot. There was a small space between two bookshelves on the right side of the library. I satdown on the floor, my gown pooling around me as I leaned against the cold stone wall. It was a soothing balm for my agitated body. Behind the shelf many years ago, I had hidden a book—my favourite book. The tales of the old crone. I pulled it out and opened it; the smell and creak of the old, unused spine immediately made me nostalgic. It evoked something in me that was almost enough to make me cry.
The story was of an old woman who barely looked human, she was disfigured, her bones were crooked, her skin leathery yet clammy with three pieces of oily hair that hung from the side of her head. The legends and children’s nursery rhymes we all grew up hearing spoke of her as though she were the foulest thing to behold; one look was enough to kill someone. That was the cost of her magic—dark magic. She was the epitome of power, and the more she used it, the uglier she became until she was a husk of her former beauty.
The gods sought to punish her for her evil deeds and bound her—along with her power—to live out eternity as a walking, rotting corpse. Instead of succumbing to her fate, she found a way to break the bindings they had placed on her magic, bringing the world and the gods to their knees. She wiped out every living creature until she was left to walk the lands of the world for thousands of years on her own. Until she crawled under a mountain and slept for a thousand more—lying in wait for all the naughty children who would walk these lands once more. And should they misbehave, she would be lurking in the shadows, ready to pinch them in the night, never to return again.
It was a book my father had read to me a thousand times as a child. I had often seen myself in the old crone. Where her darkness lay on her skin for the world to see, mine lurked deep within, and just as she did, I would unleash hell on all those who crossed me, consequences be damned. I sat there for what felt like an hour, lost in thought and remembering all those memories of my father—when we had stayed up all night reading, all of our arguments because we were both as stubborn as each other,and the one time he tried to cook for me; inedible was a compliment for the concoction he had made. Pulling myself from my thoughts, I hid the book back behind the shelf, took off my heeled shoes, carried them in one hand, and got up, smoothing the satin fabric of my dress.
