Everything that had happened since I’d been at the castle ran through my mind. How much of it had been Livia’s machinations? I shook my head, trying desperately to make sense of it all. “Was there ever an antidote?”
“Of course…” She responded absentmindedly. Still pouring ingredients into the cauldron, she hummed while she worked.
She removed another item from her basket and placed it inside the cauldron—smooth, sleek, and black. It emitted an odor so putrid that I wondered why I hadn’t noticed it earlier. The hide of a seal. Livia had slaughtered the seal Tarben and I found at the cove that day.
A fresh wave of fury crested through my body.
“Magnus has it for safekeeping,” she continued. “Magnus?”
He retrieved a small vial filled with a liquid that resembled milky water from the inside pocket of his jacket. He handed it to Livia, who placed it in the basket, shooting me a smirk. “A few drops of this will revive her,” she said.
I struggled against the manacles. I needed that antidote. Again, my efforts were in vain, leaving me short of breath from the minimal exertion.Think, think, think.I needed to keep them talking so I could come up with a plan.
“What happened to your hand?” I asked Magnus in a falsely sympathetic voice. “Did you really stick it in a fire?”
He glowered at me. “That bitch put some kind of protection spell on the door handle. It’s still not right,” he said, holding up his bandaged hand.
I clicked my tongue. “It’s a shame you can’t heal from stupidity.”
“It’s alright. I rewarded her by taking her head.” He dragged a finger across his throat. “And her pretty dagger.”
I fought back a shudder. “Why didn’t you retrieve that yourselves?” I pointed my chin toward the grimoire that lay on the ground, untouched.
“And face the beasts that were bound to protect it? No thank you, I was more than happy to leave them to you.” Another item was retrieved from the basket, this time a jar of decomposing fingers—Lord Hywell’s.
I continued to speak, though my voice was strangled by the effort of holding back the urge to vomit. “The maglocuni came after us because of the grimoire?”
“Yes. That Basia was tricky. She didn’t want the grimoire in the wrong hands.” This time, when she tipped the fingers into the cauldron, it released a sinister hiss, followed by a sputter, as though trying to spit them out.
Keeping one eye on the wheezing cauldron, I asked, “Is that why you killed her? For the grimoire?”
She didn’t respond immediately. She was occupied with adding a drop of Amalie’s blood into her concoction. The resulting smell omitted from the cauldron was repulsive—like burnt hair and stomach bile.
“Something like that. Let’s see,” she said, frowning at the bubbling cauldron. “I have almost everything I need… Now, come here,” she commanded Magnus in her most sultry voice.
Sheathing his sword, he stood and swaggered over to Livia with a self-satisfied smirk on his face.
“I need a drop of blood from you.” She waved the dagger in the air. “But first…” He watched her hungrily as she carved the symbol into his uninjured palm. Once she was finished, she slid her hand behind his head and drew him into a passionate kiss. Pulling a face, I made to look away.
But I wasn’t quick enough.
One moment, Magnus was fervently kissing Livia, the next he was collapsing to the ground, very much dead.
Livia had slit his throat.
Chapter 47
I screamed until my voice was hoarse. “What is wrong with you?” I shrieked. He was her ally, and Livia had ended him like he was nothing to her.
“Sweet Magnus has served his purpose. Well, nearly…”
Wide-eyed, I watched as she knelt down next to his glassy-eyed corpse. Digging her long nails into his jaw, she pried his mouth open and began carving out his tongue. I looked away, but it was too late—the contents of my stomach spilled out of me in a violent eruption.
My head was spinning, and my already weakened muscles were positively frail. This woman was insane, and I needed to get Amalie far away from her.
With the taste of sickness still on my tongue, I looked up, desperately searching for anything that could help me in this moment. The sun had deserted me, leaving nothing but a trail of ghostly clouds in its wake. Although its stage was set, the moon had not yet deemed to make its appearance—I imagined it was waiting in the wings for the clouds to clear.
Above me, there was nothing but the tree that kept me prisoner and a raven perched on one of its branches, its black feathers rendering it near-invisible against the diluted sort of darkness that had descended over the clearing. I scanned the ground of pitiful twigs and dried leaves, and my eyes landed ona rock a small distance away from my feet. About the size of my palm, its jagged edges marked it as my best, and only, choice of weapon.
