There was nothing but an impossibly thick wall where I’d once felt that slumbering beast. He sneered, as if the sight of me disgusted him.
“I didn’t think so. You, my dear, are no more than a mortal now.”
He turned and started walking away.
I marched after him, fuming. “You had no right to curse me.”
“And you had even less right to steal. I’d say we’re even.”
I thought of my plans to spell the wine at the Feast of the Wolf. I needed my powers back. That was nonnegotiable. “Fine. I’ll return the book. Wait here while I go get it.”
Envy stuck his hands in his pockets, considering the offer. “I find this is a much more interesting turn of events. Keep the book. I’d much rather watch your plans crumble.”
“I’m willing to strike a bargain.”
“Too bad you didn’t think of that before. I might have been open to an agreement that would benefit us both. Now? Now I’ll enjoy watching fate run its course.”
I clamped my teeth together to keep from either cursing him, or begging him to reconsider. A faint wail drifted up from the bowels of the earth again. Goose bumps swiftly rose along my body. I turned to stare at the statue.
“I’d not become too curious about that, pet.”
“I told you not to call me—”
I faced Envy again, only to discover he was already gone. A wisp of glittering green and black smoke wafting around was the only indication he’d been there at all. I glanced back at the statue and listened to the cries of whatever was being tortured deep beneath it. It was mournful, hopeless. Brokenhearted. A sound that pierced through my emotional armor.
I wondered what was damned enough for Wrath to bury below his wicked House in the underworld, alone and miserable. Then I realized it must be more horrid than I could even fathom to receive that punishment. Wrath was a blade of justice, swift, unemotional, and brutal.
But he wasn’t cruel. Whatever was making that terrible cry…
I did not want to encounter it alone without magic. I hurried from the garden, the sounds of suffering still ringing in my ears long after I’d slipped between my sheets that night.
The next day, Fauna excitedly danced in place outside my door. Her knocks were as fast and light as a hummingbird’s wings. I opened the door and grinned. Her slippered feet moved as swiftly as she spun us around. “Invitations for the feast are arriving this week!”
My smile vanished. After Wrath’s devilish training session, I did not share her excitement. Honestly, I hadn’t been thrilled by the feast the first time he had told me about it, either. But now… now I found my gaze straying to the clock, jumping at every sound in the corridor. I was nowhere near being ready to withstand a demon prince’s influence. Not to mention, being without my magic was another obstacle I hadn’t anticipated.
Fauna seemed to think we wouldn’t hear about who was hosting for a few more days, but I had other suspicions. I had no base for the fears that kept growing, so I did my best to ignore the air of foreboding that settled over me like a storm cloud.
My friend called for tea and sweets and lounged in my receiving room with a book. I tried to relax the same way but was wound too tightly. After my encounter with Envy in the garden, I’d combed through books on magic, searching for a way to break a curse or hex.
It was complex—I’d either need the one who’d cast it to release me, or figure out the intricate structure of the curse; it was described in one grimoire as being similar to a series of magical threads woven together. I’d have to locate the source knot, then snip it. If I guessed wrong or undid the wrong knot, I could end up magically snipping the thread of life. And die.
The author of the book on hexes made sure to point that out several times, as if anyone could mistake the meaning of “snipping the thread of life.”
I’d briefly contemplated visiting the Matron of Curses and Poisons, but I’d still face the very real possibility of death if she didn’t locate the correct thread.
It was a gamble I was unwilling to try. At least not yet.
I wished Anir would show up and start our lesson early. The physical training would help burn off the excess nerves. And I desperately needed to rid myself of jitters.
Finally, late into the evening, a servant delivered the envelope I’d been dreading. There was no royal crest, no indication of what it contained, but I knew. My name and title were the only bit of writing on it. Indicating it was not just a note from the prince of this royal House.