The snoring has stopped.
Two violet irises glow in the dimness.
I do not move.
“Why?” he rasps.
My heart hammers, body locking up as he coughs.
“Why do you haunt me so?”
I do not dare breathe. My mind scrambles for a response, that I have returned to him to do what he bids, so long as he spares my friends. Yet the leverage they need is in my hands right now; it must be returned to Illusion, and I am not ready. Something tells me that once I give the king what he wants, I will never return.
“Tell me, when will I be free of your death? I know…” He trails off, eyes closing. Still, he mumbles, “I have wronged you, Mother. I have killed you both. But…”
His breathing slides into a deeper rhythm, and the king is snoring again. My heart doesn’t slow. With my genius dampened, he thought I was Death. He thought I was a ghost. I force myself to tread around the destruction. Reaching the servants’ door, I crack it open.
The moment it closes softly behind me, I am running again, sprinting down the servants’ hall, feet slapping against the cobblestones.
I do not care.
My legs work harder, sweat beading behind my neck.
Ahead of me, I see it—the spot where I shall meet Death. When he melts from the shadows, offering a gloved hand, I leap into his arms, despite his puff of surprise, and cling to his robes.
He laces us away.
Chapter Forty-nine
The next day crawls forward,Dominik’s threat of breaking again like a dark cloud in the distance. As hours pass, that cloud grows closer. After having her arm reset, resting, and taking a pain tonic, Briar has settled herself in the Illusion kitchens. She will give the signal.
In the meantime, Kassandra and I practice, our geniuses straining, my body tumbling into the wall, off the sofa. We practice until we hit the target every time. We argue, in hushed tones, over the envelope of black powder that sits on her glass parlor table. I urge Kassandra to sleep, to gather her strength; she refuses, and so do I. She washes in her bath, and I wash in the communal faeries’ chamber, finding each other once more, dressed anew.
In the early afternoon, the note from Briar comes, delivered by a red-faced Benji. I pour him a water as Kassandra reads. She thanks Benji, and I hug him and shoo him downstairs again. When he’s gone, when we are alone, Kassandra meets my eye.
“Dominik and his bedfellow are awake and have requested tea,” she says. “Briar managed to slip in the tonic.”
I let out a breath. “It should grant us an hour.”
Kassandra kneels beside the glass table, her saffron dress fluttering around her like a tulip. Leveling a stare at the pile of black powder, she folds Briar’s note into a square with sharp corners. I crouch down next to her.
“We should take as little as possible. Just to be safe,” I say.
Briar’s note hovers over the pile of black, then cuts it in half. Kassandra looks at me. “Have you ever had the powder from the coca plant?”
I pause. “Yes.”
Her eyes narrow. “When?”
“Two years ago when I was cleaning up after your two hundred fifty-eighth birthday party. There was some left on the dining room table and I wanted to try it.”
She leans back. “You jest.”
“I do not.”
My mistress searches my face, not finding what she seeks. Then Kassandra shakes her head, laughing.
“You’re moonstruck,” she says. “You don’t go around doing random vices off messy tables!”
