My attention dropped back to the dagger. I liked the feel of it. The weight. It was perfect for me. Just like the clothes he’d had waiting in my wardrobe when I’d first entered this world. Because Wrath knew me. For goddess knew how long. I was no eighteen-year-old witch; I was an ageless being. Unable to handle the full scope of what that meant, I shook those thoughts away, concentrating on the weapon in my hand. I had my own House dagger.
Worry gnawed at me.
“Now that we completed the physical part of our marriage bond, will the decree you made earlier about Vittoria apply to me?” I asked.
“You’re not officially a member of my House until you swear a blood oath.” He buttoned his shirt, seeming to choose his next words with care. “And the decree gives each House the authority to do as it sees fit. Technically, that allows me to do just that without breaking the oath. We will find Vittoria before my brothers can. You won’t have to swear a blood oath unless it’s what you want. In fact, I might see how we can arrange for us to swear an oath together.”
If I didn’t already know I loved him, that would have sealed his fate. I looked at my dagger again, a new realization forming. “Vittoria is the goddess of death, isn’t she?”
“Yes.”
Hysterical laughter bubbled up my throat, but I choked it down, refusing to start crying instead. I’d prayed to the goddess of death and fury countless times after Vittoria’s “death.” She was the deity I connected with most during my quest for vengeance. Now I knew why.
Except it was all much more complicated than I’d ever imagined. Instead of one deity, there were two goddesses: Death and Fury.
Even now, seeing my eyes change color from my power, I had a difficult time accepting it. I’d grown up. Had a mortal family. Lived a fairly unremarkable life in Palermo before my sister “died” and I’d accidentally summoned the king of Hell.
Or maybe not so accidentally? It could not have been a coincidence that Vittoria had left the incantation needed to summon Wrath where I’d find it. I just needed to know why.
Did she think he was the key to freeing the rest of my memories? And if she believed that, then why would she tell me to not marry him now? Was it really only because she believed that in order to join his House, I’d have to give up something of me in return? There was clearly much more to the story, considering some of her actions didn’t quite line up with her words.
For now, I couldn’t imagine how our lives as goddesses had been covered up. Magic was the likely source, but I’d never heard of such a spell. Every memory I had of our life seemed real. If it was a glamour, it had been cast by someone with immense power. Someone like La Prima Strega.
I thought of Nonna Maria, of the secrets she’d kept from us. The stories she’d twisted about the Wicked and the First Witch and the devil’s bride. Nonna told us that when it came to the Wicked, nothing was ever as it seemed. But maybe the true villain had been much closer all along.
To even think that made my stomach clench. A betrayal that large was unfathomable, though nothing would surprise me now. The people I’d loved unconditionally were turning out to be morally questionable, and the creatures I’d been conditioned to hate were not so terrible after all. My world was collapsing around me, from the ground up. It seemed as if a giant chasm split open and was swallowing me whole. Wrath reached over and stroked my arm.
“I can’t… I can’t remember much else.” I glanced back up at Wrath. “Will I regain all my memories? Or will the past always be fuzzy?”
Instead of answering, Wrath summoned clothing—a velvet gown, gloves with buttons running up the side, and a traveling cloak—from the ethers and laid them on the bed. Little vines and flowers were embroidered along the edges. Rose-gold and black.
A blend of his colors and mine, apparently.
I forced myself to focus instead on what had driven us here and the new consequences of failure. “The duke mentioned several interesting things about Vesta. Did you hear any of it?”
“Most of it,” Wrath admitted. “Vesta wasn’t from here originally. My brother Greed supposedly wanted to wed her. And she was distracted lately. Couldn’t scent blood, but inquired about it in detail. A curious amount of werewolf blood would be present at any scenes she’d attended. All, unfortunately, is court gossip without fact. Though I’m particularly intrigued by the blood. It’s unusual enough for the commander of an army to be unable to trace information one can easily and effectively glean from scenting the scene, but on top of that, wolf blood frequently appearing is perplexing.”