Page 73

VALEN

The moment I take form on my family estate’s platform, I fall to my knees. My hands are shaking too much. I fumble my chalk and then have to redraw the sigil back to Memorial Park twice before the lines are smooth.

“Travel,” I say in the old tongue, but the circle stays dark. “Travel!” I yell, but it’s no use. Lucas must’ve destroyed the park’s platform.

I slam my fist down with a roar. Birds take flight, their panicked calls mixing with my cries as I hammer my fists against the useless stone. I could make another circle, one that would send me to the approximate area of the park without an anchoring one, but I’m too shattered to concentrate. I’d end up miles away, and I know deep in my heart that Lucas is long gone with no trace for me to follow.

Except, I know where he’s going. The signet ring on my right hand will allow me to pass through the Archweaver estate’s wards effortlessly. I could head there now to try to stop him, but then what? Bring him back and imprison him here? How long would I have before he slips free? His rings are still healing. I’d be causing him more damage needlessly and increasing his likelihood of failure.

I reach into my pocket and withdraw the notebook paper he placed there. As he said, there are coordinates, but it’s the note scribbled at the bottom that breaks me.

I’ll find you. I swear. Trust in me.

I squeeze my eyes closed. Lucas will get Astoria or die trying.

The one thing she asked of me was to keep Lucas safe, and I failed. Again.

I drag my upper body off the stone to sit back on my heels, my head tilting up. The sun blinds me through the jacaranda trees, but there’s no peace to be felt. I am not alone. The jacarandas sway serenely in their endless dance, giving away the direction of the approaching assassin, but their rustling disguises the sounds of their approach. Lucas was right. It was not safe to return here, yet he sent me because it’s what I wanted.

This is the end of me. I can feel it deep in my bones. Every storybook has led me to believe that a sense of serenity, an acceptance of the inevitable, would comfort me in the moment. The storybooks are wrong. I feel nothing. I can do nothing. I am utterly defeated, my shoulders slumping. I simply close my eyes and hope that it is quick.

A blade touches my throat, a body pressing against mine. My head tilts back, and a fleeting thought to protect myself tries to filter through the soul-deep agony of everything I’ve lost.

A disappointed voice huffs in my ear, “You are no fun today.”

My eyes snap open, and I whip around to fall on my ass when the blade leaves my throat. I blink and blink again before choking out, “Are you real?”

The laugh is unmistakable, deep and oddly menacing. My sister tosses back her long black hair, her white teeth bright in the light. Her lips are a dark blood red against her perfectly snowy skin, like the sun has never touched her. Her blue eyes dance and are somehow brighter than mine, with her thicker dark brows and longer lashes.

She spins her dagger between her fingers in a little dance. “Surprise! I’ve come to kidnap you.”

I blink, and she reaches her hand out cheerfully to help me up. “Well, technically it’s no longer kidnapping. More of a joint grieving moment for dear ol’ dad. How did he croak, anyways?”

I limply grip my sister’s hand only to crumple when she tries to pull me up. Emilia stumbles, nearly dropping her dagger, her eyes wide. I claw at my too-tight throat and whimper, “Emilia,” before wrapping my arms around my head to hide.

She places a cool hand on my shoulder, crouching down next to me like a silent sentry standing watch. I have no more tears. My body shudders with the force of my breaths. I cough, unable to get enough air in.

“Come on,” my sister says softly. She draws me up to standing and slips under my arm. “We need a drink.”

I lean back on the large ornamental couch I’m sprawled upon after filling my sister in on everything that has happened since she left six months ago. My mother would skin me alive if she saw me with my feet up on the cushions, but it doesn’t really matter. This is my estate now. And she abandoned me.

The front parlor Emilia and I settled in is one that my mother was very fond of. The windows facing the gardens are massive, and if it were still daylight outside, I’d be able to see the ornamental hedges that grow in the shapes of different animals. When there were guests over, the hedges came to life, the elephants lifting their long trunks, the horses galloping in place, the swans spreading their wings as if to take flight.

The carpet beneath us was her favorite, with colorful sprites dancing along the border and flowers blooming and wilting in an endless cycle of life. For someone who hated the Creation Domain with such a passion, my mother did enjoy all their luxuries. Or perhaps Viola gifted her all of them. I never thought to ask.

Emilia’s hand covers her mouth as she leans against the ornate chair’s armrest. I pass the time waiting for her response by inspecting the clear crystal tumbler holding my barely touched drink. The lamplight really does dance within the amber liquid quite nicely.

I take a slow sip. The smoky, vanilla accents burn down my throat perfectly, and yet I nearly gag it back up. Retrieving a bottle of my father’s favorite scotch from the cellars was the wrong choice. Every sip brings the image of him skinned in the bookshop I fought for my life in not that long ago. I’ll add it to my ever-growing list of fuck-ups to brood over during my long, lonely life.

I rest the cold glass against my forehead. “You’re too quiet.”

“I’m processing. A woman is allowed to process.” Emilia takes a massive gulp of her own drink. “So you’re in love with a magician.”

I frown at her. “That’s the part you’re fixating on? Not Alasdair or the civil war or—let me think—oh, yes, our father’s slow, torturous demise?”

She sighs. “Yes, that is unfortunate. I hoped he would pass in a more peaceful way.”

I gawk at my sister, and she glares back. The resemblance to our mother is striking. “That is an unattractive look, brother.”