Arianmêl plus a distraction—hopefully that would be enough.
“The other day,” I murmured, “you seemed like you were about to say something about that necklace, but we were interrupted. I’d love to know what it was.”
“Would you, now?” He touched his lower lip, attention dripping down my body.
“Caelus,” I said, drawing out his name in a way that had his gaze locking on my lips. “How did you see that necklace before it was given to me?”
“I collected it,” he murmured so softly I wasn’t sure he realised he was speaking out loud. I had to crane closer to catch each word. “I owed her a favour, so I picked it up when it was ready.”
My pulse leapt in my throat. “Her?” I softened my tone to match Caelus’s.
“Not anyone important.” He shook his head and edged closer, making me realise we’d stopped.
“Who, though?”
“Adra… His Majesty’s assistant. I lost a card game and owed her. That’s all. She isn’t…”
He went on as though reassuring me I had no reason to be jealous, but my thoughts were louder.
The Day King’s assistant. That meant King Lucius was the one who’d sent unCavendish.
The attempt to ruin the alliance between Dusk and Albion had come from the very highest level of Dawn Court. Was that why he’d come and spoken to me in the street? The way he’d said my name felt even more like a warning.
Gods. I needed to tell Bastian. Did he already know? I glanced around, but there was no sign of him.
Eyes glazed with drink, Caelus reached towards me, perhaps for the lock of hair tickling my bare neck, and that was when I remembered.
Poison.
I jerked away, a horrible shock of heat running through me chased by ice. If he’d managed to touch me…
He cocked his head, this small frown on his face. “I don’t und—”
“This isn’t a good idea.”
Flirting with him as Bastian had searched his rooms had felt like it might be dangerous to me. But this, now—it could be dangerous to him.
I wanted his information, but I didn’t want him dead.
“I—I’m sorry.” Shaking my head, I turned and hurried through the patio doors I’d spotted earlier.
Cool, fresh air. Just what I needed. I sucked it in, greedy—desperate. The world stopped spinning quite so hard, and I clutched the potion bottle pendant. At least I would’ve been able to stop him dying.
Still, my stomach churned at how close he’d come.
I made it ten paces into the dimly lit garden before I leant over a wall and vomited.
I used the last of my drink to wash away the taste of bile, and ventured further along the path. The party had grown so loud, my ears still rang with it, but the quiet soothed me.
Silhouetted against the night sky stood the Dawn Court’s Great Oak and, beside it, the split trunk of Dusk’s Great Yew. They blotted out the stars in deeper darkness. Rose had brought me here and told me how they represented the Great Bargain—a contract between the land and the fae, granting the latter long lives and powerful gifts.
What the land gained, she wasn’t clear on—the fae were tightlipped about that. But the trees’ magic rumbled through the air as if they were the source of it all. The yew’s felt more powerful—darker, somehow, like a cello compared to a violin.
The intensity of their magic made my stomach turn again, and I chose a path leading away from it.
Ahead, pale in the starlight, white roses rambled over an arbour.
And I was still a fool for their beauty, because I found myself drawn to them, tugging off my gloves. Just one touch. Just a texture other than my own clothing. Just the momentary connection with another living thing that wasn’t Bastian Marwood.
I reached out, heart already full as I inhaled the rich scent.
For a second—one glorious second—I had that velvety softness against my skin.
Then the white petals shrivelled and blackened. The shrub’s leaves curled and withered. The branches dried and snapped under their own weight, and where moments earlier had stood a beautiful plant, now lay a mouldering mound scented sickly sweet with decay.
I reached out like I could somehow pull the pieces back together. But there was nothing. And my touch couldn’t fix, only kill.
Death. That was my gift.
I fumbled with my gloves, panting as I fought tears of horror at what I had done—what I could do to anything and anyone with the merest brush of skin. Then I turned and—
And before me stood the man whose entrance into my life had started it all.
34
Bastian
The sight of her trembling, with tears on her cheeks, had me on high alert, muscles and shadows ready to rip apart anything or anyone. But when I saw the dead plant in the gloom and the way she yanked on her gloves, I understood.
Her poison.
“Come with me.” I had to place a hand at the small of her back to get her to obey. “It’s all right.”
But she shook her head over and over, staring at the ground a few feet ahead. “The roses. I killed them. That whole plant—gone.”
“It’s all right,” I murmured in the low, soothing tone I’d used with my father on his bad nights. “The gardeners will clear it up.”
The sharp creases between her eyebrows cut deep. She held up her gloved hands as though only now truly seeing them. “I am death walking.”
She wasn’t even hearing me, not really. So, I rubbed her back and ushered her along. Maybe showing her would work where telling her didn’t.
The palace hothouse loomed from the darkness, a ghostly set of glass towers that glowed from within.
Her breaths had calmed by the time we reached its doors and, arms folded, she peered up as we entered.
The thick, humid air hit us. Tropical trees with broad leaves soared into the darkness, and around us ferns lined the path. Buzzing insects blanketed the building with their hum, like a calm version of the magic running through the River Velos. Pale orchids grew on the trees, adding their vanilla scent to the air.
Instead of fae lights drifting along to show the way, blue and violet glowing fungus encrusted the trees and fallen trunks, and tiny flowers with nodding heads spilled motes of glimmering pollen. It drifted as we moved, sparkling with each step as it rose around us.
Her mouth fell open as she took it all in. Her tears had stopped.
Watching her experience it all—the way she took in a long breath of air scented with dampness and growth, and the sweet pollen—heightened every sensation. She made the tree’s shadows darker, the glowing mushrooms brighter, the heady smell more intoxicating.
She moistened her lips, and I found myself caught up in that simple gesture. “What are all these plants for? Do you eat them? Or use them for dyes? Why build this whole glasshouse and go through the trouble of magically heating it?”
There she was. My practical ember. Although, if it distracted her from poison, I would accept practical.
“One thing I realised during my time in your country is how humans and fae are different.” I set a slow pace along the path, keeping my hand on her back, enjoying her warmth through the sheer lace. “We have an inherent cultural appreciation of beauty, in art and nature. It’s why we favour human artisans—if they can already create beauty, we want to enhance that and see what heights they can achieve.”