“The perfect blackberry lipstick.” He chuckled. “I suspect as you gain experience, you might be able to do it without any colour giving you away, but I’m not sure. Everyone’s gift is different, and yours is unique.”
I touched my tingling lips and grinned back at him before letting the magic fade. “It worked. Ella was right.” For the first time since learning about my magic, I thought about it and my chest filled with something other than dread.
Now it was mine to use rather than something that used me.
“It really worked.”
“It did.” He rose, circled the table, and held out his hand. “You have control over your power.”
Swallowing, I squared my shoulders. I could trust myself to do this. I wouldn’t kill him.
Still, my heart hammered as I took his hand.
But no dark tendrils of poison spread over his skin.
He didn’t gasp or twitch in pain. He just shook my hand. “I’m Kaliban, and I’m pleased to meet you, Kat.”
A laugh burst from me, close to a sob, and my sight blurred with overflowing tears. “You’re not dead.”
Chuckling, he pulled me to my feet and into his arms. “Far from it.” He slapped my back. “I’m so proud of you.”
That was the thing that broke me, and I sobbed into my friend’s chest as he told me over and over.
“I’m proud of you.”
I returned to the library still high on my success. Curled up in a comfortable armchair, I set to work reading the next book in my pile and practised controlling my poison. The huge space stretched on around corners and out of sight, but I hadn’t seen anyone else here today and my chair was tucked into a corner, so it was safe to experiment.
Since the space was large, with massive windows reaching to the ceiling, I tried to haze while reading the introduction, but nothing happened. With a hmm, I tried again, pulling on the magic around me, trying to push poison out through my pores.
Nothing.
The other times I’d hazed, it was either because I was losing control entirely or because I focused completely. Or, in the case of the clearing, both.
My heart squeezed, and I frowned at the page. Reading about the Underworld, the realm of death, didn’t exactly help distract me from the image of Bastian dying, his Shadowblade fading as the light in his eyes went out.
Not thinking about that.
I tightened my grip, the edges of the book digging into my fingers as I pulled a sudden flush of purple to my thumb before making it disappear just as quickly. That I could do with my attention divided.
This passage explained that the Underworld was ruled by the Kings of Death, which sounded very dark and dramatic. It said there were seven, but I’d seen another book mention nine. These accounts were written by fae of this realm who’d probably never set foot there, so no surprise their information wasn’t accurate—or perhaps had been accurate at one time but wasn’t anymore.
They might’ve divided over time or some had united. Knowing what people said about the unseelie, conquering seemed more likely.
The next paragraph talked about how the Wild Hunt was loyal to one of those kings, which made me sit back and frown.
Loyal? The Wild Hunt?
In all the stories I’d heard, they were described as nothing more than wicked, ancient entities cursed to ride and hunt forever, single-minded and wild. Hence the name.
But this made it sound like they served a master.
I made a thoughtful sound before moving on to the next line.
And blinking.
And bolting upright in my chair.
I re-read the line.
“My gods,” I breathed, heart pounding as I scribbled in my notes, starting towards the door.
I needed to show Bastian.
79
Bastian
My eyelids drifted and I had to force myself to re-read the line.
Supplies in from…
If I had to read another report about suppliers for the royal wedding, I was going to pluck out my own eyeballs.
I sat back and massaged the bridge of my nose.
There was a very real danger of Ascendants trying to sabotage the event, so I had spies on every supplier and guard, the city gates—anything and everything I could think of. So far there was no sign of Sura’s people trying to infiltrate the city.
That didn’t mean they weren’t, though.
Kat was convinced they weren’t behind the Horror attack but she didn’t know our courts like I did. She didn’t know Sura. She wasn’t there for her coup attempt.
So many would’ve died—not just that night, but all the nights after in the war that would’ve followed the queen’s assassination. Some would’ve stood by Sura as the heir, but others would’ve rejected her for killing her own mother.
A subject I knew plenty about. I grunted and scratched the rash on my wrist.
Damned hemlock. I’d been wearing gloves as I’d worked with it, but my sleeve had ridden up and the plant had brushed my skin. I thought I was fine, but later the sun brought out red welts.
They’d calmed over the past couple of days but still itched like mad. Poison wasn’t an area of expertise for Asher’s healing—he was better with injuries—and no way was I giving Elthea another chance to extract a favour from me. So, salve it was. I pulled out the jar from my desk and smoothed it over the pink marks.
How had Kat endured consuming poison when I could barely stand touching it?
The door flew open, and there she was, so breathless I was on my feet in an instant. She had an appointment with Elthea tomorrow, but had she brought it forward? Had Elthea hurt her again? “What’s wrong?”
She shook her head, panting like she’d run all the way here, and held up a book. Gold lettering glinted against a deep forest green cover.
I let my muscles relax and chuckled. “Nothing wrong, but you forgot how to knock?”
“Look.” She spread the book on my desk and pointed. “Look!”
I craned over the book. “Your research. You found a reference.”
“Not just that.” She fanned her face, cheeks pink. “We’ve been working from a coded version up until now, right? And potentially a coded version translated from the High Valens.”
I nodded, reading over the passage. Only a brief mention of the Circle of Ash in relation to a King of Death. Not promising.
“And—and whoever wrote that note translated it as ring or circle of ash, yes?”
“Yes.”
She pointed again at the page, eyes wide. “‘Coronam cineris.’ Don’t you see? This is one of the books from that special pile—you said they were from ‘Granny’s house.’”
“Oh.” I checked the cover. “They’re old books.” I still felt a step behind, but her excitement kindled in me along with the fact I’d never seen her so flustered.
“Old, old books. What if this is the original? Or at least closer to the original than the book in Riverton Palace?” She tripped over her words like she wasn’t filtering them, like she was just speaking her mind for once.
“Which would mean? I’m not following your line of thought.”
“Coronam cineris.” She said it again like it should explain everything. “I checked against your book of High Valens, and it’s the same as Latium. Coronam could mean ring, wreath, diadem, garland. The writer of the note originally translated it as ring or circle. But corona also means crown.”