Like the forest, Merrywood Village was also returning to life. The air smelled of fresh-cut lumber as Jacks entered the square. It was an old square, built around a large well that had once upon a time been surrounded by shops—a smithy, an apothecary, a bakery, a butcher, a candlemaker—and the daily fruit and vegetable market.
For a second, Jacks remembered sneaking out at night and meeting his friends on the apothecary’s rooftop. They’d lie back, watch the stars, and brag about all the things they would do someday, as if their days were guaranteed instead of numbered.
He looked up, not expecting to find Castor on the apothecary rooftop now, but he also wasn’t surprised when he did.
One of the downfalls to being immortal was a propensity to remain tethered to the past, to the time before the immortal had stopped aging. No matter how many days Jacks lived, those days when he was a human were always the clearest to him and never seemed to fade with time. It was another downfall of being immortal—these endless, haunting memories that always gave humanity the illusion of being far more vibrant than immortality. It made Jacks hate humans at times, but he imagined it made Castor want to become one.
“Are you going to come down or do I need to set the apothecary on fire?” called Jacks.
“That threat might work better if you actually had a torch,” Castor replied. A second later he easily dropped down to the ground and casually leaned an elbow against the wall of the crumbling old apothecary. With the helm off and his family back, he was more like Castor, the noble prince without a care, than like Chaos, the long-suffering vampire with a helm, who couldn’t feed.
For a second, Jacks felt a pinprick of envy.
“What has put you in such a foul mood?” Castor asked. “Were you watching Evangeline again?”
“I’m not here because of her,” Jacks snapped.
“Well, you’re certainly snippy about her.”
Jacks glared. “And you’re in a disturbingly good mood for someone who just slaughtered an entire family.”
Castor’s expression immediately darkened. Heat seeped into a gaze that looked less like hunger and more like a threat.
If Jacks had more regard for his own life, he might have been frightened. But Jacks wasn’t feeling much these days unless the feelings involved Evangeline, and he was trying his best to avoid those at the moment.
Anything that helped take his mind off her was pleasant in comparison—except for maybe this. Castor was his oldest friend, so Jacks didn’t want to hate him, but when he looked at him, he could still see his teeth in Evangeline’s throat as he ripped her life away.
Castor had no idea that version of their history even existed. It wasn’t entirely fair to judge him for it. But Jacks hadn’t cared about being fair for a very long time.
“If you’re here to lecture me,” said Castor, “I don’t want to hear it.”
“Then I’ll keep this short. You need to control yourself. Or your parents are going to find out and maybe this time, instead of placing a helm on you, they’ll just place you in a grave.”
Castor worked his jaw. “They wouldn’t do that.”
“They’re still human, Castor. Humans do a lot of stupid things when they’re scared.”
Jacks had. And the worst part was, he’d thought he’d been doing the right thing. As when Castor had died.
Jacks had been the one who’d told Castor’s mother, Honora, to bring him back from the dead.
Castor and Lyric had been Jacks’s best friends, more like his brothers. Lyric had just died, and Jacks couldn’t lose Castor, too.
He hadn’t thought about what it would cost to return him to life. He hadn’t imagined how much blood would be shed. One of the reasons Jacks had allowed himself to be turned into a Fate was so that Castor wouldn’t be alone. Then he’d started the rumor that Castor was Chaos and that Chaos was a Fate, so that the world wouldn’t figure out he was the last remaining Valor.
“I’m just trying to look out for you,” Jacks said. “You finally have the helm off and your family back. I don’t want to see you destroy this chance.”
Castor scoffed. “I’m not the one about to destroy my life.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I talked to my sister. Aurora told me what you want and what you’re willing to exchange for it.”
“Your sister—” Jacks stopped himself. Even he knew better than to insult the twin of a vampire with control issues. Although it was tempting. He could feel his hands clenching into fists, but Castor wasn’t the one he really wanted to punch. “I know what I’m doing.”
The vampire gave him another hard look. “If Evangeline ever gets her memories back, she’ll never forgive you for this.”
“At least she’ll be alive to hate me.”
Chapter 22
Evangeline
The Hunt . . .”
“。 . . the Hunt.”
“。 . . the Hunt . . .”
Normally Evangeline did not hear her guards talking, but these two words kept sneaking through her door, as if just the name of this hunt had more power than other, more ordinary words. She’d heard mention of it before, but she’d thought it had just been a reference to the hunt for Lord Jacks. Now she wasn’t so sure.
She would have asked her maid, but Martine had stepped out to return her luncheon tray. After all that had happened last night, Evangeline had slept half the day away.
As she sipped a cooling cup of starmire tea, she reached for that day’s scandal sheet, hoping it might have an answer for her. And it did—only it wasn’t an answer to her questions about the Hunt.
Evangeline turned the page. This time there was no shadowy image. There in freshly printed black and white was a drawing of Archer. He wore a devil-may-care grin and tossed an apple in one hand, looking nothing like a murderer—and everything like what Evangeline secretly wanted.
“No,” Evangeline breathed.
No. No. No. No.
“This can’t be,” she said, her words coming out more frantic this time.
This had to be a mistake.
Maybe Archer just looked like Lord Jacks. Or perhaps this was the wrong drawing. Archer couldn’t be Lord Jacks. He was a guard. He’d saved her life—twice.
“Your Highness,” said Martine as she stepped back into the room, “you look a bit pale in the cheeks.”
“I’m fine. I just saw something in the paper that alarmed me.” She held up the page for Martine to see. “Is this really what Lord Jacks looks like?”
“That is him, Your Highness. I can see why you’ve gone all pasty. He’s just awful, isn’t he?” But her voice came out like a sigh, and Evangeline swore there were hearts in Martine’s eyes as she looked at the black-and-white image, which was anything but awful.
Jacks looked like a happy ending that was just out of reach, and Martine was clearly bewitched by him. Just like Evangeline had been, only she was afraid her feelings for him had been a lot deeper than bewitchment.
Even now she could feel things just looking at this picture.
She didn’t want to believe it. Evangeline still wanted to think the paper had gotten it wrong. Archer—rather, Lord Jacks—had been with her last night.