“Nevina wouldn’t know anyway. Only Brahm has ever seen this statue,” Tempest says through her teeth.
“But we can disguise it?” Eudora asks hopefully.
Everyone nods.
She reaches out, takes my hand, and squeezes. “It will work. I know it will. We just have to spread the word. Only to those we trust. New Stygarde can never know what we’ve done.”
Tempest glances back at the castle. “We should depart, before Eloise’s absence draws suspicion.”
I want to say that Nevina doesn’t care where I am or what I’m doing, but the truth is that after last night and today, maybe she does. Maybe she cares more than a little. Maybe she has someone watching to make sure I don’t return to Bolvet.
I nod once, and the three of them poof into shadow like drops of ink dissolved in water. They’re gone in a matter of heartbeats, Tempest last, leaving behind the faint smell of fresh rain. I turn back to the goddess and stare up into her face, not with the reverence that Eudora did, but with a new respect for what she means to the people of Stygarde.
What if I left an offering? Just a thank-you for watching over the ladies of Stygarde and what we plan to do over the following days. Yes. An offering. I reach for a nearby bush and pluck a perfect purple rose.
“Ow!” A thorn pricks my finger. I all but throw the flower onto the altar along with several drops of my blood, and then I stick my finger in my mouth to stem the flow. Damn it. Damien warned me about the thorns.
I can still taste my own blood when the cemetery darkens, and a man strides toward me. A newsprint man, all black and white with silver eyes. A ghost like I haven’t seen since I lost access to my ancestors. Excitement trills through me. Is this a relative? Am I getting my powers back?
But as he moves closer, I realize I know this man, and he is not my relation. He’s Damien’s. It’s his father. He’s speaking to me, but as with every time I saw spirits before Phantom, I can’t make out what he’s saying. But then he lifts his chin and draws a finger across his throat. A silver gash appears there. What is he trying to tell me? Did someone slit his throat? Oh my god, his ghost is not thin. He’s not wasting away. His ghost looks healthy, aside from the gash.
He holds his hands toward me, mouthing something too fast for me to interpret.
“I don’t understand,” I say.
He squeezes his eyes shut. Opens them again. Then he draws his finger across his throat once more. This time, he mouths only two words, and I have no problem reading his lips. “Tell Damien.”
The night crashes down between us like a slamming door, and he’s gone, leaving behind the faintest whiff of apples. That was Damien’s father, and I think he just told me he was murdered! Shaking hard, I gather myself to do what I must do.
The last thing I notice before I leave the graveyard is that the rose and my blood are gone.
20
Revelations
DAMIEN
I sense her coming before I see her. Eloise’s fear causes a pang of anxiety to roll through me like someone has rung a bell and the sound is reverberating deep within my soul. It’s not a common thing with our mating bond, and I don’t recognize it for what it is right away, but when I feel it, I look up from the rabble beast whose footpad I’m trimming and see her running toward me from the castle.
Her skin is pale white, almost ashen, and her green eyes are wide, terrified. I drop the beast’s foot and move toward her, but I needn’t go far. She slams into me at a speed I’ve rarely witnessed. I easily catch her in my arms, but even her slight weight hits me with enough force that I back up a step. “What is it, little dragon? What’s wrong?”
“Damien…” She shakes her head, tears streaming. “Something awful…”
I wipe the moisture from her cheeks, anxious to stop the salty scent of her agony. “Take a deep breath. Tell me.”
She draws air into her lungs and blows it out slowly. “Your father didn’t die of any wasting disease,” she says in a strong but hushed voice. “His throat was slit.”
I release her like she’s burned me, replaying her words in my mind. I’m utterly confused. How could she possibly know how my father died? “Where did you hear this?”
“I saw his ghost in the cemetery, Damien. He asked me to tell you.”
My little dragon can communicate with the dead, but I thought her abilities had waned since our arrival. “Your powers are back?”
She frowns. “No, not exactly. I mean, he is the only spirit I’ve been able to see, but…”
My father was murdered. By whom? And if it is true, why has no one in this kingdom come forward with that accusation. Someone would have told me the truth. My brother or Tempest if he were complicit. A servant. But even as I think it, I realize none of the servants who’d worked in the castle before are still here. That hadn’t bothered me before because a change in regime often brings with it a change in staff. Now, though, I wonder.
And then another thought plagues me. “I don’t doubt you, but are you sure about what you saw? Don’t you find it strange that he is the first and only spirit you’ve been able to connect with since our arrival? Is it possible you saw what someone wanted you to see?”
