When I rise, everyone is dusting themselves off or wiping blood and guts from their weapons. Amaris’s white hair is covered in sprays of black and red blood. I imagine mine looks no different.
Basil lets out a holler—in celebration,fuck you, or a combination of both, I’m not sure.
I glance around, but find no more cambions, witches, or anything that reeks of black magic. A squirrel hops toward me and places a paw on my scuffed boot before bowing its head. A chipmunk follows suit, then a rabbit. When I lift my head, rabbits, badgers, hedgehogs, raccoons, and foxes stare back at me. Several deer emerge from behind the trees and watch us carefully.
They step aside to allow a line of bears to pass, the corpses of the undead in their mouths. They lumber toward me and drop Cora’s abominations at my feet. Limp, hollow-eyed children stare back at me,great drabar lay unmoving, and skeletal remains of Cursed animals lay broken.
I summon fire and set the pile of bodies alight. They burn and begin their journey back to the Mother, where they belong. “May their souls rest in peace.” My voice is a whisper against the smoke.
The smell of death—of burning hair and rotten flesh and putrid guts—has me breathing through my mouth, but we stay until the fire dies. The sound of the crackling flames giving way to the silent night air is a relief. No more witches haunt this forest.
Asmo pulls me to him, his hand snaking around my waist. A sudden rush of exhaustion slams into me at his touch, and I fight to remain standing. I resist the urge to groan as I think about the number of steps that stand between me and my bed. Asmo turns to me and scoops me in his arms, as if he knew exactly what I was feeling.
“How did you know?” I ask, fighting the urge to shut my eyes.
“Perks of the bond, princess.”
“How, though?”
He hesitates, but squeezes me tighter. “You’ll feel it someday.” It’s the last thing I hear before my eyes close and sleep takes me.
Chapter 39
MARIK
Elle sits on the terrace,legs tucked beneath her and a knitted blanket wrapped tightly around her slender frame. I’ve spent the entire morning watching her from the balcony, hidden from view. She’s been sitting there for hours, her only movement that of her eyes as they track the comings and goings of the guards. Her hair blows in the frigid wind and she makes no attempt to tame it.
A knock comes from inside, pulling me from my watch. The fire in the bedroom’s hearth died long ago, but the warmth of the room sends a shock to my system. I yank the door open.
It’s fucking Vicente.
“What?” I demand.
He shifts on his feet. “Sir?—”
“Your Highness,” I growl in correction.
His gaze shifts downward as his cheeks turn pink. “Your Highness, I thought you should know there was another message written on the castle stairs.”
I clench my jaw. If I’m being honest, I don’t care about the ominous, blood-written messages anymore. I close the door, but Vicente puts his hand up, stopping the door before it can shut.
“Apologies, sir,” he says nervously, “Her Highness requested your presence.”
My jaw clenches so hard that I swear I just cracked a tooth. “Why didn’t you lead with that?”
Vicente, again, lowers his gaze to the floor like a child being chastised. “I apologize.”
I close my eyes for just a moment, then snap them back open as I force myself to play the character I’ve been playing for Cora. It gets harder every day. “Well? Where is she?”
“The formal living room, sir.”
The relief at his words is a palpable thing. Her location is a small mercy, one that doesn’t send me further into the pit of despair that I keep sinking into, that pulls me further and further into its depths with every stroke of my tongue, every pump of my finger, every thrust of my?—
Vicente clears his throat. “She did ask me to inform you of the urgency, sir.”
I fling open the door and shove past him before storming down the hallway. Cora is, in fact, in the grand living room. She sits on the velvet couch, pale skin aglow in the light of the blazing fireplace, her arms sprawled across the back of the couch. Through the deep slit in her black gown, her long, slender legs are crossed. She stares at the flames with a calculating gaze that sets me on edge.
“What is it?” I ask as I walk toward her. It comes out sharper than I intended, but she doesn’t turn to look at me as she responds.
