“If the bleeding gets out of control, I’ll be here to help,” she murmured.
It didn’t seem to help. Worry still tightened the corners of his brow.
Stellan placed the grimoire beside her. Bridget inched away slightly, suddenly uneasy about how close it was.
“Like I was saying,” Stellan continued, voice quieter now, “you’ll need to read the spell and channel through the Bloodstone. Once it starts, you’ll need access to Bridget’s blood. It might be easiest to use the scars she already has from Quinn’s previous attempt.”
Bridget’s gaze flicked to the dagger, heart lurching. For a second, she thought she saw something flicker in Stellan’s expression. Guilt, maybe. Or doubt. But it vanished before she could name it.
Cade slipped the Bloodstone from his pocket and held it out. Bridget turned her head away. She didn’t want to look at it. Didn’t want tofeelit. The magic thrumming from it already made her skin crawl.
It seemed like Cassia felt the same way. She stared at it for a long time before she finally took it from Cade’s outstretched hand. She inhaled sharply when it hit her skin. Moments later, Castor appeared behind her, lowering his voice as he leaned in close. Whatever he whispered, Bridget couldn’t hear, but the tension in Cassia’s shoulders eased. Barely.
Bridget opened her mouth, ready to call the whole thing off. Her instincts screamed at her to stop it, to yank the grimoire off the table and forget the crown. But then Stellan and Finn moved to stand at her feet, silent and focused. Before she could say anything, Cassia wrapped her hand around the Bloodstone and began to chant.
Her voice was unrecognizable. It was low and ancient, echoing in a rhythm that pulsed in Bridget’s veins. Cassia’s eyes glazed over and began to glow. They weren’t white like Cade’s, but golden. Bridget couldn’t look away. There was something hauntingly familiar about it, like a dream she’d half-forgotten.
The chant abruptly stopped. Cassia vibrated, as if the spell transformed into something else entirely. In a fluid motion, she picked up the dagger with her free hand and drew it across Bridget’s abdomen.
Bridget gasped, pain slicing through her like fire. Cade flinched beside her, his hand tightening near hers but not daring to touch. Blood poured freely, hot against her skin.
Then Cassia’s fingers plunged into the wound.
The world around Bridget disappeared. Darkness consumed her as Cassia’s presence infiltrated her mind. The pure power connected to her left Bridget writhing and reeling from the sheer force of it. It felt like she couldn’t breathe.
Suddenly, a single thread appeared in her mind, tight and sharp. Colors bloomed. Shapes formed. Memories unraveled as she dug deeper and deeper.
The thread looped around her brain like a fishhook. She could feel it. It swiveled back and forth, pressing against things Bridget couldn’t believe she’d witnessed. Like a glittering frozen lake in the Elder Woods and a tavern that looked like it belonged in one of Archer’s favorite television shows. But then she sawherface. The girl from her dreams. Just for a second. But it was enough. Bridget knew her.
Reflexively, she tried to catch it. She wanted to see… to finally know whether she’d been real or not. The hook stopped. A wave of realization rushed over her. She could control it. Bridget let her consciousness wrap around the thread.
Bridget, stop!
She ignored Cassia’s panicked voice. Because at that moment, she decided she didn’t just want the memory of the crown. She wantedeverything.
Bridget pulled harder on the thread and tunneled further down. Her entire life passed before her eyes. She saw her childhood, a waterfall, a dark tavern, dark blue eyes,Cade, a glittering ballroom. And then the memories got darker. Sadder. More devastating. Blood. Screams. Pain so raw it stole the breath from her lungs. She wanted to look away but couldn’t. It washers. All of it.
Her body trembled beneath the weight of it.
It was too much. She wanted to cry out. To scream. To thrash. But before she could, she found it. The crown. The memory she needed. And as it wrapped around her like mist, Bridget let herself succumb to the past.
Chapter twenty-five
February, 1579
The moment the door closed behind her, Bridget sprinted for the armoire. She’d spotted what she needed in there yesterday, when she’d been summoned like a dog to Vega’s room. Their conversation hadn’t been pleasant, but somewhere between the insults and threats, a glimpse of the crown had fueled Bridget’s hopes of a possible win. Even though time was running out, she just needed one more chance in the room alone. After that, she’d watched Vega long enough to know what to do next.
Luckily, Vega was stubborn enough to repeat her mistakes.
She knew what Vega wanted her to do. She wanted her to beg. To plead. To somehow validate the prickle of guilt Bridget knew lived in hersomewherewith words of regret. And since Vega relentlessly pursued what she wanted, she summoned Bridget. Again. And left her alone, unbound and free, until she deemed Bridget had waited an appropriate amount of time to be graced with her presence.
Almost flinging the wooden door off its hinges, Bridget clawed the space inside until splintered wood grazed her fingertips. Carefully, she pulled out an old chest. Scratches adorned the sides and the engraved heart on its topwas faded and barely visible. To anyone else, it was a piece of junk. But Bridget knew exactly what lay inside.
Once she got the chest open, the Tuathan crown gleamed in the dim light of Vega’s bedroom, like it was almost daring her to pick it up. Air fled the room, leaving Bridget’s heartbeat echoing in her ears. After searching for it for so long, and being beaten to it, she couldn’t believe the object was within her grasp. It was even more beautiful than legend had described. The blackness of the metal was deeper than any night sky and the cut of the diamonds placed along its curves outshined every jewel she’d ever seen. Trepidation ran down Bridget’s spine. Only something with so much raw, dangerous power would be so appealing.
Footsteps sounded from the hallway. Stuffing the crown inside the deep inner pocket of her cloak, Bridget slammed the chest and armoire closed. Hurrying over to the ornate table in the center of the room, she zeroed in on the other object she needed for her plan. Pages from Vega’s book of spells. Bridget cringed as she flipped through the thick book. It had grown in size the last few months and a few of the pages were stained with fresh blood.
The door creaked open. Hoping she remembered the pages right, Bridget ripped out a handful and slid them into the waistband of her pants. Now, part two of her plan had to be enacted. Whipping around, she crossed her arms and acted bored. Vega’s favorite maid wheeled in a cart of tea, too busy fretting over the glass cups to notice Bridget’s actions. Poor Helga. She knew Vega treated her poorly. She’d seen it with her own eyes during the few weeks she’d been held prisoner in what was technically her own castle. Not that her and Cade would ever live here. Vega had seen to that.
