Sam inclines his head, the corner of his mouth tipped in a grin. “Willa. The only way into Letum these days is by falling into a star.”
“Into a—into a star?” I repeat faintly, feeling as if the ground itself has come undone beneath me, and somehow, I’m now standing on the ceiling. In those final moments of the fall, I imagined I was doing exactly that—dipping my toes into the silky starlight, swimming through the ethereal colors. But imagining something doesn’t make it reality. I know that better than anyone. Wishing, dreaming—they’re useless past times of those too weak to face their reality.
Sam nods again, even as Marina eyes me warily, like at any moment I’ll collapse into full blown hysterics. I’m not sure she’s wrong, as my breaths come in increasingly short bursts, like the oxygen of the room has thinned, and I’m choking on my own panic.
“You know, like the old fairy tales?” Sam asks patiently. “Neverland, Avalon, the Seelie Courts? You’ve gone and fallen straight into Letum. Though don’t ask me how you managed to make it through the wards alive. It’s been over two centuries since anyone has.”
“Letum,” I squeak, as the rest of Sam’s words race through me. My cheeks grow hot, like I’ve come down with a sudden fever, and my head begins to swim.
Fairy tales,he said.Stories.
Wherever this place is, it's somehow managed to avoid the plague.Thatmust be why there is still beauty and art andhope.People in Letum—they must still dream of better things.
Which only makes the king’s murder of Jamie so much worse. If this is a world without the plague, it means children like Jamie still hold all the imagination and childlike wonder that’s gone extinct in my world.
And the king snuffed it out like it didn’t matter—like it wasn’t something precious.
I grip the file so tightly, it leaves an imprint in my palm, as something lethally cold settles around my heart. I meet Sam’s eyes. “You’re here to take me to that bastard, aren’t you.”
It isn’t a question, but Sam gives me an apologetic wince.
“Let’s get this over with.”
Chapter six
Ihaven’t even managed a sip of tea when a booming crash sounds from the hallway. The following clamor reverberates through the quiet of the dining room, peppered by intermittent bangs and what sounds distinctly like the metal ring of sword against sword.
With an irritable sigh, I take a large gulp of the tea. It’s far too hot and scalds my throat the entire way down, but the herbs are a special mixture Marina steeps to aid my pain, and with the way the morning is proceeding, I doubt I’ll have the opportunity to drink it slowly.
The racket dies down, and a moment later, Sam enters the room looking extremely sweaty and holding a wildly writhing Willa to his chest. Clutching her with one arm, he uses the other to toss what appears to be a metal nail file to the table. It clatters across the length of the ebony wood, sliding to a stop beside my teacup.
“Good morning, sir,” Sam says in a strained voice. His attempt at continuing to adhere to decorum and ignore the feral womancurrently trying to escape the straight-jacket of his arms, draws a faint grin to my face. “May I present, Willa…” He trails off awkwardly, as if suddenly realizing he doesn’t yet know Willa’s last name. “Well…here’s Willa. As requested.”
My grin only widens as Sam endeavors to bow, causing Willa to erupt in a screech of frustration. He shoots her a harried look as she thrashes against his iron grip, testily spitting strands of hair from her mouth and clawing at his arms.
I lean back in my chair, taking in the catastrophe of a woman. Her silky hair is in half-dried tangles around her head and her face is positively mutinous, flushed that same furious shade of scarlet as it was last night. My death, which until a moment ago, had been lazing about the air around my head, jumps to attention, each black ribbon as rapt as I am.
Itskirreverently, and slide my arms crossed over my chest, raking my gaze from Willa’s head to her toes. She bristles beneath my attention as aptly as if she’s raised steel spikes all over her skin.
“That is the second time you’ve attacked Sam. I’m afraid you’re going to start giving the poor lad a complex.”
Willa is unapologetic even as she stills, flicking those ruthless eyes to me. Her upper lip, ever so slightly bigger than her lower, curls over her teeth in a menacing sneer. “If he’d been more acquiescing of my need for a weapon, I would have been more acquiescing of his need to keep his balls intact,” she snaps in a pretentious mockery of my accent.
I press my lips together, choosing not to examine whether it’s amusement or annoyance fluttering in my chest. “Now then, Darling, if you continue to act like a feral animal, I can see that you’re treated like one, if that’s what you so wish.” I bare my own teeth, watching Willa’s delicious rage vibrate through her with relish. My ribbons shudder with the same fervent pleasure as I drawl, “Collared andleashed.”
Willa’s returning snarl is so savage, I can’t help but laugh, allowing myself a brief moment to enjoy the image of her with a weapon. She showed no hesitation in shooting me last night, nor apparently about stabbing Sam this morning; the thought of her ravening anger behind a blade is wildly intriguing. So little amuses me anymore, Willa’s unpredictability is like a sip of heady wine that goes straight to my head.
I nod to Sam, who deposits Willa into a furiously spitting pile on the chair across from mine. He clutches his hands behind him, stepping back with an apologetic nod. To me or Willa, it’s impossible to tell with Sam.
Her close proximity has my ribbons immediately slithering toward her. Cursing under my breath, I snap them back to me with a violent tug. I grimace, winding them around my arms and trying to ignore the pain now shooting from my fingers up to my shoulders.
“Would you like breakfast?” I ask her through gritted teeth.
Willa glares at me hatefully, pawing at the stray tendrils of hair still stuck to her forehead. “What I wouldlikeis to go somewhere I’m not surrounded by a bunch of lunatics who think the middle of the night is the morning and that stars are swimming pools you can fall into.”
I hum noncommittally. “It seems someone lacks imagination.” I take a sip of my tea, watching as every muscle in her body tenses and her brilliant eyes narrow. I’ve hit a nerve, and I smile ruefully, digging in with delight. “Perhaps that’s why the young man fished you out of the sea. He knew what perfect victims those without ingenuity make.”
Willa’s eyes bore into mine and my death shudders so violently, shockwaves race from my limbs to my chest.
