A warmth fluttered at my chest. Hardly noticeable at first, then increasing in heat until it practically seared through my shirt. Cursing, I fumbled with my vest pocket and pulled out the enchanted parchment. Two words blazed across the paper.
Try again.
Frustration and disappointment ripped through me, a growl building in the back of my throat as I put a thistle leaf on my tongue and said,“Finiscere.”Instantly, my summoning spell for the vines fell, and they receded from the windows back to the columns.
Daylight filtered in. And standing outside the clear window was Alaric Rinehart, shadows bursting from his hands.
I jumped to my feet in alarm. In several strides, I crossed to the door and pushed.
It wouldn’t budge.
“Alaric!” I thundered, throwing my weight against it. From the corner of my eye I watched shadows cover the window where the vines had been, once again encasing the mausoleum in darkness. “Let me out!”
Through the door came his muffled voice. “Like I said, Rose. No hard feelings.”
19
Rose
He must have followed me from the palace. Thatbastard. Didn’t he know he was wasting time not going after his own artifact?
Knowing his past, however, it shouldn’t surprise me. He’d lost the last Decemvirate due to someone sabotaging him—if I were him, I’d probably be more ruthless than ever.
Still. He was a bastard.
How was I supposed to get out of this? It wasn’t a spell I could simply banish. This was only the second time I’d evenseenshadow magic.
Think, Rose. The door was the sole exit. I spun around in the dark, wondering why I could still partially see the room, when I remembered the window in the ceiling. Sunlight shone onto the ground, meaning Alaric’s shadows hadn’t extended to the roof.
Hope blossomed in my chest. I could get out of here.
Using wormwood and crushed henbane, I performed the same levitation spell I used to lift my uncle’s cursed body from the ground and into our carriage less than two days before. I’d never used it onmyself, but the magic worked the same. Steadily, I began to rise. It felt like all my weight bubbled to the surface of my skin like water evaporating from a kettle. The magic tugged at me,pulling me higher and higher. Trying to guide myself the way I would guide a floating object while still keeping my balance made me teeter precariously in the air, but eventually, I reached the tall ceiling and the small circular window.
With my dandelion leaves, I muttered, “Vata lai.”
Click. The window latch opened. Pushing against it, I ascended through the hole and above the mausoleum. I squinted as my eyes adjusted to the brightness, taking in lungfuls of clean, fresh air and keeping my spell intact long enough to carry me over the roof. I bent my knees slightly as my feet slammed onto solid ground. The effort of using such magic winded me, leaving my energy depleted.
Glancing back at the building, I gritted my teeth at the sight of the solid pillar of shadows swaying in the breeze. How much time had this cost me? First the false artifact, then Alaric’s trick. By the sun’s position, I guessed it was well after noon. I wondered if anyone had reached their destination yet.
From my examination of the maps, I had two leads left: a cemetery in the east, and another to the north. Unless I found a carriage or a horse that would take me, I doubted I’d have time to try both locations on foot. I remembered the driver, Larson, saying he would be available to take Ragnar anywhere he wanted to go in the palace’s carriage,exceptfor during his trials. I was left to my own devices to find a ride from someone else in the city.
Straightening, I forced back my exhaustion and took off through the thin forest surrounding the palace and into the central sector beyond.
Apparently word had not yet spreadto the rest of the capital that there had been a change in challenger from Feywood. Unlike the lords and ladies from the palace, nobody in the main market of the central sector recognized me.
Signs of the Decemvirate were everywhere. Parchment with hand drawn portraits of each of the challengers—including myuncle—with their affiliated province were affixed to almost every storefront, every alleyway, every wooden post. Vendors sold scarves and flags from their booths in various colors of the provinces: light blue for Emberfell, burgundy for Drakorum, shades of black and gray for Tenebra. The dark green of Feywood flashed before me, along with Celestria’s familiar purple and the white and gold of Iluze. Everywhere I looked, people browsed past sporting their support for their favorite province. Whether they were visitors or capital natives who were simply rooting for someone of their own magic, I couldn’t tell.
Even pastries were decorated in honor of the tournament. A woman outside of a bakery had set up a table with mouth-watering cakes bearing the words “Welcome to the Decemvirate” in colorful frosting. At the end of the cobblestone street, a group of musicians played on their stringed instruments, the upbeat sound carrying for several blocks.
My eyes snagged on a building at the corner, next to the source of the lively music. A storefront made of brick was painted a dark green, with pink and cream flowers budding on small vines that twined their way up the iron handrail. Potted plants lined the black steps in front of the door. I ventured closer and spotted circular tables full of chatting families sitting in the outdoor lounging area, with smells of floral teas and delicious baked goods wafting through the air. The sign on the front read “Gershwin Tea House.” Something about it drew me in.
A bell above the door rang as I stepped inside. There was a neat counter and display bearing several scones and breads, with an entire wall behind full of clear tins of tea leaves. Lush greenery hung from the windows, foliage and flowers and herbs living in every nook and cranny. I took it all in with childlike wonder, feeling Alchemy magic pulse through me.
“Is there anything I can help you with?” a dark-skinned woman with deep gray tresses hanging over her apron asked from the counter.
“Yes, actually.” I cleared my throat and approached, catchingsight of several crystals around her neck and wrists. These shop ownersmustbe Alchemists. “I was wondering if you knew where I could hire a horse or carriage for the day?”
She raised an eyebrow. “On the first day of the Decemvirate? You’ll have a hard time finding one.” Leaning her elbows on the counter, she said, “Can I ask where you’re looking to go? I might be able to help.”
