Page 45 of The Court of Venus

Roland slammed a finger onto the opposite page.

The blood cipher requires careful consideration and study. The more commonplace a phrase, the more difficult for a Mercury to seal. The phrase can be read aloud or silently. When the victim’s mind processes what he has heard or read, the phrase communicates to the body that it is dying.… The heart will no longer circulate blood; the throat will close … Outlawed by Parliament after King Bruce VI’s death … the king read a rival’s letter before his page could open it first and died within minutes … “It says nothing about undoing it,” Roland rasped, but I was lines ahead of him. An advanced Mercury may be taught to counter the cipher with a new phrase, which soothes the body. A rare occurrence, as blood ciphers typically bind the body to death fairly quickly.

Oliver. We needed to find Oliver.

I clutched Eleanor’s book to my chest, and the two of us struggled to our feet.

Roland kicked open the doors by the sleeping guards. Outside, a hot storm brewed. Soon, the court would return, Tom Guildford triumphant and muddied from the yard. Oliver had not been at the joust, so where was he?

“An inn,” Roland managed. “He’s staying at a shabby little inn. Insisted on it.”

There was no time to go searching for him in the city. We would be dead long before that.

I pointed to the great hall, making a gamble. Each day a meal was laid out on the tables from noon to suppertime, entirely paid for by the Crown. Any courtier might sit and eat at their leisure. If Oliver was staying at such a shabby inn, then meager coins rattled inside his purse. He, no doubt, would accept a free meal.

We heaved ourselves along by grasping at tapestries, at walls, but the palace was cold and silent and remorseless. The rain outside had begun in earnest.

By the time we reached the doors to the great hall, Roland could hardly stand. His skin was as clammy as mine was, but he was shivering and pale, while I burnt with fever.

A page boy, standing outside the entrance with his twin, cried out when he saw Roland. They both wore his swan badge on their breasts.

Our throats had nearly closed, so we could only point desperately toward the hall. Despite the depravity of it, we began to crawl, dragging ourselves toward the long feasting tables.

How much did I want to live? I’d never asked myself such a question, but I felt the answer now, as I clawed at the floorboards, as my nails tore from pulling my body forward, curled wood shavings trapped beneath them.

Yes, let me live. I needed to know what this cipher meant; I needed to know who murdered Hal; I needed to live for so much more than myself, and it was me who reached a stunned Oliver first, Eleanor’s evil little book clenched between my teeth.

“Cipher…” I croaked, thrusting the book toward Oliver in the hope he’d understand. Hadn’t I just read that a Mercury could distinguish between what was said and what was truly intended?

We writhed on the floor, struggling to capture fresh air, Roland coughing blood down his chin and linen shirt. He mouthed something I didn’t catch.

Oliver’s quicksilver eyes widened, and he cast about for ink—there was nothing but the red wine in his goblet, or Roland’s blood. He chose the blood; it was thicker. Roland had slumped over on his side as Oliver dipped his finger into the smear down his chin and neck, then pressed it onto a blank page in the book, dipping and writing until he had a phrase.

Silver symbols burst through the air.

He spun the book around, shoved it toward me. “Read this. Quickly!”

Caught with a blood cipher,

caught in the noose.

I felt the command sink inside of me, waking my body up in small bursts of awareness. For the first time in minutes, I could haul in a deep breath. But Roland was still choking, and as Oliver held him up, I watched the light die in his eyes.

I realized then what he’d mouthed. Her first.

As I had earlier in the day, I grasped for his mind. This time, there was nothing to hold on to—gone were the things he felt, gone were the memories he cherished. The sudden lack inside of him was terrifying; he was usually brimming with so much emotion. I laid my cheek against his heart. Pressed down harder, as if somewhere, deeper in his chest, there might be a flicker of life.

Oliver slid Roland’s lid open and held the book in front of his unseeing eye. “He didn’t read it in time. Bianca, he’s gone.”

“No. He’s not,” I said. “He’s not. Roland. Come back.” I gripped his shoulders, shaking him with all my strength. He flopped limply on the floor. No. Not again. Please not again. No one else. Take no one else from me.

There had already been so much death. I’d had the idea to search Eleanor’s things. It was my fault we found the cipher. Roland’s blood was soaked on the book, and it was in my gown, and I knew, if he died, it would seep into my very soul. Prospero’s voice rose out of the past. No magician can raise the dead.

I shook Roland again. I want you to wake up. Roland. I beg you. Please.

I imagined dunking his mind underwater, and amongst the swaying reeds was our childhood, the memories that made me feel the most alive. I took him to the meadow with long, disheveled grass. It was summer. Birds stopped their singing, disturbed by our shouts and our laughter. I was so much shorter than Roland and Hal; one of their strides was three of mine. I couldn’t see through the sunlight, but I’d keep running until I could stretch my hand out and touch them. You’re it, I’d say, and finally, finally, I would win. Faster, faster. Push harder. But they were too strong; I’d never win this way. Roland had taught me well.

I toppled to the ground. “Help!” I cried. “Roland! Hal!”