“You don’t care.” I wave her off. “Now that your deal is struck. It makes no difference to you whether I’m alive or dead.”
“That’s not true.” She risks a step closer. “I care about you. You know that.”
“Why? Because you bought me a dress once? Because you kept my secrets? Plotted to stage a coup on Aurora’s behalf? Oh, wait.” I tap a fingertip to my chin. “All of that was lies.”
She rounds on me. “I knew the princess was coming to visit you in secret. That you were reading forbidden books. I could have told Endlewild that, but I didn’t. I could have left you to rot in the prison, but I broke you free instead. Went along with your foolish plan—”
“For as long as it was convenient for you.” I shove her shoulder hard enough that she stumbles. Her golden Grace eyes smolder. “But the moment it wasn’t, you disappeared. Just like everyone else. And now you’ve taken Aurora, too.”
The tolling of the bells echoes in the room.
“The Graces are prisoners. Just like you. Remember Narcisse. Rose. You would have done the same if it was the Vila hanging in the balance.”
Maybe. But I dismiss that logic with a shrug. “We’ll never know.”
The sound of the key meeting the lock tears through the room. The handles jiggle. Laurel looks toward the sitting room, then back at me. “They’re coming. You must go.”
I nod, smiling. That familiar, comforting anger building inside my chest. Making me feel powerful. In control. “Oh, I will. And so will you.”
Her brow furrows, trying to sort out the meaning behind my words. Too slowly, for all the strength of her gift.
Mortania’s magic shivers awake. I can feel it uncoiling. Yawning and stretching. As it unfurls, I can sense the humming energy of nearly every object in the chamber. The leafy, woodsy magic of the paper in Aurora’s books, the souls of the trees still trapped inside each page, still smelling of pine and damp earth. The honey-drenched buzzing of the waxy candles. The molten ore inside the iron fixtures.
Laurel backs away one step at a time, her palms up. A sheen of copper-tinged sweat beads across her forehead and cheeks. “Don’t—”
A hawk striking, my magic soars out of my body and into Laurel’s. Her power is stronger than Marigold’s had been, but it yields all the same.
“Alyce,” she gasps. “Please.”
“Don’t worry, Laurel.” I tilt my head at her garbled sobs, riding the intoxicating tide of Mortania’s power. “You’re getting what you want. You’ll never be a prisoner again.”
She opens her mouth to beg. To bargain. And then the last fibers of her magic give out, guttering once, and then going dark. With a muffled cry, Laurel collapses, her arms stretched out on either side of her like broken wings.
Hers is the second life I’ve ended in less than a day. But I feel nothing, save for the crackle of my own power. And the overwhelming desire for more.
Something hard butts against the wood. Voices, first one, then many—one of which might be the queen’s—begin to crest. The door bows inward.
We cannot stay here.
Aurora is too heavy for me to lift alone, but I command my power as I did when I carried the sack of coins to the black tower, filtering strength into my back and arms. After I Shift, it feels like she weighs no more than a child. I scoop her up, careful to tuck her head under my chin.
And then, just as the door begins to splinter, I shove aside the tapestry on the far wall and duck inside the servants’ halls.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
I break into a run. There’s no help for it now. A Shift would do nothing to aid me. Even if I became invisible, the servants would see Aurora’s body suspended in midair.
And so as we pass each wide-eyed and spluttering maid and footman, I reach into their bodies and snap their magic neatly in two. With Mortania’s power inside me, it’s as easy as popping the head off of a daisy. And I feel only a faint itch of guilt each time another purple-liveried body wilts. They would have done the same to me.
I count twenty before we make it to the old library, the only place in this wretched palace that is ours. The blanket is still where we left it. I lay Aurora down on top of it, fetching a stained pillow for her head. If I breathe deeply, I can still catch our scents twined together. Appleblossom and woodsmoke. My stomach flutters.
But we aren’t alone. Footsteps stampede down the corridor, shouts ringing back and forth as the palace guards follow my trail of dead servants. Swords sing their way out of sheaths. But they will not reach us. No one will separate us again.