Evangeline finally pushed past him, linked arms with her stepsister, and departed through the curtains.
“Thank you.” Marisol clung tighter to Evangeline, and though they’d never been much for linking arms before, Evangeline felt as if her stepsister had grown thinner. Marisol had always been slender like her mother, but today she felt fragile. And her skin was almost waxen in its paleness, which could have been from interacting with Kutlass. But there were also circles beneath her light brown eyes that looked as if they’d been there for days or maybe weeks.
Evangeline stopped abruptly before they rejoined the rest of the gathering. Earlier, she’d wondered why Luc wasn’t there, but now she felt afraid of the answer. “Marisol, what’s wrong? And … where is Luc?”
Marisol shook her head. “We shouldn’t talk about this now. This is your happy day. I don’t want to spoil it.”
“You made me cake and saved me from the king of scandal sheets—I think you’re actually the hero.”
Marisol’s eyes welled with tears, and Evangeline felt a knife twist inside her.
“What is it?” Evangeline pressed. “What’s the matter?”
Marisol worried her lip between her teeth. “It happened four weeks ago, when Luc and I decided we’d try to get married again.”
They tried to get married again when she was still stone? This time, the knife inside Evangeline felt as if it were drawing blood. The news shouldn’t have wounded her so much. When she hadn’t seen Luc waiting for her in Poison’s laboratory or at the welcome party, she’d imagined that nothing had changed between them. But it still hurt to hear he hadn’t even mourned her, that a mere two weeks after she’d been turned to stone, he’d planned another wedding.
“We thought we would be safe because the Week of Terror had ended. But on his way to the wedding, Luc was attacked by a wild wolf.”
“Wait—wait—what?” Evangeline stammered. Valenda was a bustling port city. The largest animals it had were dogs, followed by the feral cats that prowled the docks for mice. Valenda didn’t have wolves.
“No one knows where the wolf came from,” Marisol said miserably. “The physician told us it’s a miracle Luc survived. But I’m not sure he really did. He was badly mauled.”
Evangeline’s legs lost their bones. She tried to open her mouth, to say that at least he was alive. As long as he was still alive, it would be all right. But the way Marisol spoke, it was almost as if he were dead.
“It’s been weeks, he still hasn’t left his house, and—” Marisol’s words turned choppy, and the lovely cake in her hands quivered until a dollop of cream fell to the carpet. “He refuses to see me. I think he believes it’s my fault.”
“How could it be your fault?”
“You heard Mr. Knightlinger. Everyone in Valenda has been calling me the Cursed Bride. Two weddings and two terrible tragedies within a few weeks. Mother keeps saying that it’s not a bad thing, that I’m special because when the Fates returned, I was the first to capture their attention. But I know I’m not. I’m cursed.” Tears streamed down Marisol’s pallid cheeks.
Until that moment, Evangeline had been fighting hard not to regret her choices. It might have been a coincidence that Luc had been attacked on his way to the wedding, but it seemed far more likely Luc’s assault was not just the work of a wild wolf. Jacks had told her he’d stop the wedding, and he’d clearly kept his word.
Evangeline should have never made the deal with him.
She wanted to blame Jacks completely, but this was her fault as much as it was his. She knew as soon as she saw the statues in the garden that she’d made a mistake. She thought she’d fixed it with her sacrifice, but she should have never sought out the Prince of Hearts for help in the first place.
“Marisol, I have to tell you—” The words stuck to Evangeline’s tongue. She worked her jaw to get out the confession, but she knew it wasn’t the sudden tightness she felt that caused the problem. She was afraid.
Evangeline was trembling, just as hard as when she’d first heard the news of Luc’s engagement to Marisol. Her words had also stuck in her throat that day when she’d tried to talk to Marisol about Luc. She’d been so convinced it was some sort of curse. And she still wanted to believe that. But Evangeline could no longer ignore the possibility that maybe she’d been mistaken.
Maybe the real reason Evangeline had never been able to talk to Marisol about Luc wasn’t because of a spell. Maybe it was fear that had paralyzed her tongue. Maybe, deep down, Evangeline feared that she and Luc weren’t actually cursed, but he was just an unfaithful boy.