Page 17 of Enthralled

“You knew it was supposed to be me all along,” she says. Her face is so twisted, not even glamour can disguise its hideousness. “I was meant to be your heir, if only you’d had the foresight to see it. Now?” She sweeps a hand, her pink sleeve fluttering delicately. “Who is there left but me?” She bows over him, pressing more weight into her foot. Bone crunches, and Lodírhal gasps. “Not to worry, Uncle.” Estrilde snarls softly. “I will take up the crown of Aurelis. I will fulfill my destiny and reign as queen for a thousand turns of the cycle.”

Lodírhal’s lips move as though trying to form some last words. But Estrilde presses harder. There’s a terrible crack. A last, horrible gasp shudders out from the king’s desiccated body. Estrilde stands upright then, throwing back her head and holding wide her arms. She breathes in deeply, waiting to receive the inflow of Aurelis’s magic. The power of a queen. It is her right as Lodírhal’s only remaining heir. No one is left who can stop her.

But nothing happens. Estrilde’s brow tightens. She is so golden and glorious and powerful, but the majesty of Aurelis does not descend upon her. She is no queen. Which means . . .

“Castien,” I whisper. He’s alive. He must be! And when his father died, the power of Aurelis passed to him. Will it be enough to carry him through the void now that the gate is broken? Enough to get him to Vespre? The searing pain in my heart redoubles with the sudden agony of hope.

Estrilde sucks a sharp hiss through her teeth. She turns, her eyes vicious as they fix upon me. “So,” she snarls. “He’s still out there somewhere in the worlds.” She flicks her wrist, and another long knife appears in her hand. “But there’s an easy solution.”

I scramble to my feet, backing away. I’m so small, so bare, stripped down to my undergarments, helpless before her.

“If I kill his Fatebound,” Estrilde continues, “he will die soon after. The sundering will be too much for him, vulnerable as he is. He will die, and the power of Aurelis must pass to me. A simple fix.”

“No, Estrilde!” I protest, raising one hand. The other clamps down around my stomach, an instinct of protection I don’t even realize I’m doing. And a mistake.

Estrilde’s gaze drops to my hand. “Ah, yes! The little heir. Yes, that one must be dealt with as well. But it’s all so easy—”

She breaks off with a cry as something hits her from behind. A book lands on the floor behind her, and she whirls, searching for the source of this missile. Thaddeus Creakle stands behind her, staring up at her through his spectacles, his face pale. “Run, Miss Darlington,” he says without breaking Estrilde’s gaze. “Run while you can.” And he hurls another book straight into the princess’s face, knocking her glamour askew.

I have a split second to decide—either I abandon Thaddeus in a bid to save my own life, or I stay, and we both die together. But if I run, perhaps Estrilde will pursue me. It’s a faint hope, but in that moment it’s the only hope either of us has.

Whirling on heel, I dive in among the library shelves. Estrilde utters a wolfish howl, but I hear nothing from Thaddeus. Did she kill him? Did she gut him on the spot for daring to thwart her? I cannot stop, cannot let myself wonder. I can only flee. I find the spiral stair and descend much too quickly for safety. Estrilde is on my heels, and I haven’t a prayer of outpacing her. Survival instinct drives me. I skid on the polished floor of the atrium, aware of just how exposed I am, and dart in among another set of shelves. This library used to be my haven, a place to get away from Estrilde, my cruel mistress, and all her capricious whims. I found shelter here among these volumes and companionship with Thaddeus and the other librarians. Now it is a hunting ground. And I am the prey.

“Come out, little wretch,” Estrilde calls, her voice echoing across the atrium dome. “Come out and face me.” There’s a terrible scraping sound, like she’s running her blade across stone. “Are you really such a coward here in your final moments?”

I grind my teeth, my gaze darting in search of escape. Unless I’m much mistaken, Estrilde stands between me and the entrance doors. What other options do I have? This library is many stories high, the windows overlooking sweeping views of the palace gardens. I would need wings to escape. My breath pants in my fear-tightened lungs and seems to echo in my ears. I try to hold it, afraid of giving away my position.

Movement drags my gaze to one side. My heart stops. Estrilde appears at the end of the aisle. She looms seven feet tall, terrifying as a vengeful demigoddess. Madness sparks in her eyes. “I’m going to bleed you dry, Clara Darlington,” she says and brandishes her blood-stained blade. “I’m going to hang your husk from the highest gate arch so that all who look upon it may know—”

Her voice is cut off as a sudden burst of brilliant light strikes her in the chest. In the gentle glow of Aurelis’s eternal dawn, it’s like an apocalypse of flame. Estrilde hurtles backwards, strikes the far wall, and collapses, momentarily stunned. I whirl about, a scream frozen on my lips. Someone stands at the opposite end of the aisle, in the open atrium. Shining wings spread wide from her shoulders, and in her hands, she holds a small, whirling sun. She brings her palms together, snuffing out that light, then lifts her golden eyes to mine. My mouth drops open. “Come, human,” she says, her voice cold with disdain, even as she holds out a hand to me. “Come, if you want to live.”

Estrilde’s ragged laughter bursts behind me. “You’re too late!” she cries, picking herself up from the floor and pulling her glamours back in place. “You’re too late, Ilusine! Your lover is gone. What loyalty do you owe him now that you would protect his wife?”

The Princess of Solira’s gaze fixes on Estrilde. “I owe Castien nothing,” she says. “But I will save him nonetheless.”

With a shriek, Estrilde throws herself forward, coming at me. I have no choice. I sprint to Ilusine and her outspread arms. She catches me, wraps me close and, with a pulse of her wings, shoots straight up into the air. For a moment I fear we will crash through the glass dome of the atrium. But no—there is an opening, so small, her wingspan cannot fit through it. Just at the last moment, Ilusine gives a great pulse, tucks her wings close to her sides, and we dart out into the open sky beyond.

I close my eyes. Whirling air and the rush of wings fills my head until I’m sure I’ll be sick. Gritting my teeth, I tuck my face into Ilusine’s shoulders as she wheels and darts across the rooftops and between the towers of the palace. Somewhere a warning horn sounds. When I dare lift my head, I see the palace guards on their winged mounts taking to the sky, pursuing us. Though their numbers were decimated in the Noswraith attack, there are still so many of them, far more than we can outrace.

“Brace yourself, human!” Ilusine shouts in my ear.

The next moment, we’re plunging straight down. I’m sure I’ve left my stomach somewhere midair, far behind. I dare to look forward, try to see where we are headed with such speed. One of the Between Gates appears before me, the air beneath its arch stirring. I could almost swear I see Lyklor, the old gate guardian, standing by at the dial, gazing up at me with his baleful eyes. Then my vision is entirely made up of churning realities, cracking apart. I just have enough time to wonder,Where is she taking me?

The Princess of Solira dives through the gate. Once more I’m plunged into the awful sensation of being skinned alive, shaken out, and reformed inside my own carcass. I scream, my voice spread across worlds and realities. Then we burst through the other side. The princess lets go of me, and I tumble, rolling across a hard surface. When I come to a stop, my vision is momentarily dazzled, bursting with sparks. I blink and blink again and . . .

The chipped face of a porcelain shepherdess looks down at me from the dusty mantel overhead.

Before I have a chance to grasp what’s happened, blazing heat explodes at my back. I turn. A portal between worlds churns in the middle of my kitchen, and Ilusine stands before it, arms and wings outspread, a figure of tremendous glory in this small, humble space. Magic channels through her body, sparking from the very center of her being. The void seems to bubble, and something hurtles through, taking on form even as it emerges. A knife, long and sharp, plunges into Ilusine’s shoulder.

A burst of white light erupts in my mind. Then the world goes black.

The dark of oblivion clings with greedy fingers. Part of me doesn’t want to resist it. It would be nice to sink back into those black depths and stay there a while. Maybe forever. It would be nice not to face the reality waiting for me when consciousness returns. A reality of both recognition and loss, neither of which I can bear to endure.

Little by little my vision clears. I find myself staring up at the familiar wooden beams of my family home, dust-covered, trailing spider webs. Mama used to keep them polished within an inch of their lives. She would be so sad to see how everything has crumbled since her death. She would be so sad . . . so sad . . .

The truth hits me like a club.

Sis. Calx, Dig, Har.

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