I could hardly breathe. “I guess this answers my questions about why you have such disdain for mortals.”
His eyes gleamed. “It’s confusing to me that I have such a high regard for you, but you’re not what I expected.”
The floor creaked as I crossed the room to the mirror, and I stared into its blackened surface. “What’s with all the scorch marks? Did they start to burn this place?”
“That was from me. I couldn’t control my fire then, but if I could have, I’d have burned the entire army down. And most of the demons with it for turning on us.”
“How old were you?” I asked.
“Five.”
The breath left my lungs. “They put you in prison when you were five?” I asked, a little louder than I’d intended.
I crossed the room and looked into another of the scorched mirrors, half my face obscured by the smoke. But I could see my eyes, my cheekbones. Moonlight streamed in through the old, warped windows, tinging my face in ghostly light as I looked at myself. “What happened to the other Lilu? Were they killed right away, or were there others in prison with you?”
“That would be a good question for Mortana.”
I felt it again—that rising anger. He’d only been a little boy, and he’d watched mortals cut out his brother’s heart right on his living room floor. I felt like my chest was splitting in two when I thought of it.
My anger was rising again, like magma buried in a volcano.
When I thought of little Orion screaming for his father, I wanted to find those very mortals and rip their hearts from their chests. Power flooded me, and I felt like I could pull those Puritan fucks from their graves and kill them a second time.
A dark power imbued my body. I was clutching the side of the table so hard, I was breaking some of the wood. I glanced at my arm, where the image of the skeleton key was flickering—one with a skull shape burning like embers.
It was happening again.
When a demon feels a strong emotion…
When I looked up in the mirror, I saw the faint hint of golden light beaming from my forehead, but the shape was obscured by the scorch marks. I slapped my hand over it, my heart slamming.
Fuck. Fuck.
“Rowan?” Orion asked. “Why can I hear your heart beating like you’re about to be devoured? You’ll wake half the city.”
Orion had said a demon could erase her past, could wipe all her memories. She could get rid of the guilt…
What if I’d erased my own memories?
But I couldn’t just stand here permanently with my hand on my forehead, could I? What was I so scared of—that I was Mortana? He’d said I was human.
I slowed my heartbeat until my muscles started to relax again.
I was, quite simply, seeing things.
Shaking, I pulled my hand away and shifted so I could see my forehead. Nothing was there. No demon mark, no golden light.
“Orion? I think I’ve been hallucinating things.”
“Ah,” he said. “That’s because you’re here. I’m seeing them, too, the ghosts of my past. In here, they feel more vivid than ever.”
I let out a shaky breath and turned to him. “For a second, I thought I was turning into a demon.”
He gave me a sad smile. “You can’t turn into a demon. You’re mortal.”
Maybe the tragedy of this place was just getting to me. I reached into my pocket for the key and held it up. “Should we keep looking?”
We approached a stone mansion in a section of the ward I’d never seen before. Canals flowed on either side of the building, gently moving south toward the Acheron River. An overgrown garden rambled out front, and stone paths curved through uncontrolled shrubs and tangles of vines.
Three stories high, the mansion boasted grandiose columns and ornate carvings of gargoyles. Balconies on the second and third floors overlooked the canals and the garden.
“What is this place?” I asked.
“This was once the home of the duke of the Asmodean Ward.”
I shivered as I looked up at it. “Why didn’t they put me here, if I’m supposed to be the duchess?”
“When Mortana was the only one left, she stayed in the building where you are now. It became the new residence of the Lilu’s representative.” He glanced at me, his eyes bright in the darkness. “And she probably didn’t want to be haunted by the memories of being instrumental in the death of her own father.”
I stared at the mansion, my blood growing colder. If tragedy could cling to a place, this palace was dripping in it. It felt tangible in the air. “The duke who lived here was Mortana’s father? What was his name?”