He finally stops his mad dash, though, and turns. “Nevertheless, I’ll gladly strike one with you once your magic—”
“A witch’s power dies when she does!” My rapidly pounding heart makes me sound out of breath.
“Planning on ending your life, moya?”
My head rears back, because no. The only life I’m planning on ending is his. And Meriam’s, which is the reason I piped up in the first place. At least Dante’s ridiculous comment serves to take my mind off my cramped surroundings, easing the constricting feeling in my chest.
“Since Meriam apparently bound my magic, if she dies, it’ll release her hold on me. No need for spells or full moons.”
“If she perishes, so do the wards, and so does her spell on the Regio bloodline. Not happening.”
My tongue vibrates with my pulse. “What s-spell?”
“Right. You interrupted me before I could explain my grandfather’s brilliance.” He accompanies his declaration with a smug smile.
The wordsgo onburn the tip of my tongue, but I know he will go on with or without prompting because Dante relishes my ignorance.
“Nonno Costa convinced Meriam to make Regio blood impervious to Shabbin spells. Which is the reason why I don’t fear your magic’s release.”
Death by spurs or iron blade it will be, then. “Won’t activating my magic pitch my body beyond the Shabbin wards?”
“You’re of Meriam’s bloodline, so you’re immune to her wards.”
What?My jaw falls, its hinges all but squeaking from the sudden collapse. “But my mother— My mother couldn’t penetrate them until they weakened two decades ago. And my great-grandmother, the Queen, she cannot sail past them.” Unless . . . “Can she?”
“No. But if they’d been on this side of Meriam’s wards at the time of their creation, they could’ve stayed.”
After a solid minute of silent gawping, I finally click my jaw back into place, but another question scratches at my mind. “If I’m immune to the wards, does that mean I’m immune to Meriam’s magic?”
“No. Only the Regios.Me.”
“And Bronwen,” I point out. “Let’s not forget Luce’s rightful queen”—and traitorous wench—“right?”
“She forfeited her claim to the throne for a meeting with her stepmother.”
“Excuse me?”
“Her stepmother.Meriam.” After a beat, he says, “How strange that we share an uncle and aunt . . .”
Although tempted to hiss out that he can keep Bronwen all to himself, I ask, “How long have you known that she was your aunt?”
“Meriam informed me of Bronwen’s identity when she and I met after my coronation.” He runs his thumb over the bandage on his palm as though to soothe the wound beneath. “The witch has proved a prodigious weapon in my arsenal.”
“Too bad Justus got to her first. Come to think of it, why don’t you have their sham union annulled so you can marry her?”
“Only death can annul a blood-bind.”
“That’s an easy fix. Kill Justus.”
He tips his head. “Wouldn’t that make your day.”
“More than my day. My whole year. My whole lifetime. I’d be forever grateful.”
“Except your grandfather is not expendable, and I’ve no need for your gratitude.”
“You’ve need for my approval. You cannot marry me without it.” Right?
“Like Bronwen said, we’ll have plenty of time for long chats later. After all, we must wait until the rest of Lore’s crows fall to return—”
