Page 60 of Godsbane
“My place,” I turn to face Rollins head-on now, “is a position of power. And I plan on being there for longer than you’ll be alive.”
I push past him, forcefully bumping his shoulder as I stride towards the open doors that lead out to the courtyard.
The night air is cold, but that doesn’t deter the couples sneaking around in the maze, desperate for a taboo tryst amongst the shrubbery. I walk the outskirts of the plant-lined walls, careful not to disturb the lovers in their act. I trail my fingers along the petals of the winter roses that grow thick in the hedges, wishing not for the first time that I could freely use the power I hide, that I could wrap magical vines around the throats of every vile man who seeks only to degrade and destroy me.
But instead, I hide it. Too terrified of becoming their weapon to become their reckoning.
“Searching for a partner?” Kieran’s voice cuts through the dark as his moonlit form takes shape just ahead.
“Hardly.” I clench my fist, the rose beside me wilting into dust.
“Can I offer you a drink?” His outstretched hand holds a stemmed flute full of the sickeningly sweet wine.
“The last time I accepted a drink from you, you slipped poison in it. I think I’ll pass.”
Anger floods through me alongside the memory of that night 10 years ago. The saccharine liquid and heated kisses that led to blood, headache, and heartache.
“Fair.” Kieran deposits the glasses on the tray of a passing servant who quickly scurries away. “I can see that you dressed to piss off powerful men tonight.”
“I dressed to make a statement. Pissing men off is an added bonus.”
Kieran moves closer to me. To anyone standing on the expansive porch off the ballroom, we might very well look like lovers ourselves. I step back, creating distance between us to ensure this conversation isn’t misconstrued by any watchful eyes.
“Selene would be proud of you.”
All sense of decorum leaves my body at the sound of my mother’s name on his lips.
“Keep her name out of your vile mouth.”
Footsteps sound rapidly behind us and Kieran moves with lightning speed to cage my head between his strong forearms, pressing my back into the wall of hedges. My hands reach for the dagger, the tip coming to rest against the soft underflesh of his chin.
His voice is low, his lips mere inches from my face as he speaks. “I can give you a way out of all this, Ivy.”
“What makes you think I want a way out?” I bite through clenched teeth.
The heir chuckles deeply as a single drop of his blood snakes down the alloy blade. “We all want a way out.”
Giggles carry from the other side of the shrubbery, sounds of smacking lips and moans of pleasure following. Kieran searches the dark, pulling me away from the hedges and deeper into the shadows.
“When Marks makes his offer later, you should at least consider it.”
I don’t have time to ask what he’s talking about before he turns and heads deeper into the hedges.
A frozen wind sweeps through the courtyard causing my entire body to shudder and carrying away any ounce of curiosity to follow him with it. Spring is beginning to bloom around us, yet the air lends itself more to snowy conditions, and anyone spending time out here is likely to fall ill. I rush back to the warmballroom to escape the abrupt change in the weather, my senses going into overdrive at the onslaught of sight and sound.
Sparkling wine spills neglectfully from too full glasses as nobles spin haphazardly around the crowded dance floor. Orchestral instruments play a cacophonous melody that ends with the loud clanging of cymbals. The room appears more like an offering to Bastin than a noble ball.
A crushing sense of dread sours my stomach, like the air is too thin and all of the exits are blocked. My ears ring and my vision tunnels as overwhelming panic starts to attack my every sense. Time moves backward. Reality shifts.
Something is very wrong here.
“What luck to catch you alone, Lady Ivy.” The owner of the icy voice needs no introduction. Lord General Marks steps into my line of sight, his gloved hand extended in my direction. “Dance with me.”
My heart hammers against my ribcage, my blood revolting at his presence. I would sooner die than dance with him, but my body operates of its own accord. I watch through confused eyes as my hand lands in his waiting palm. The dark leather gloves covering his hands are smooth and warm. Too warm, like fire runs in his veins rather than blood. Invisible vines wrap themselves around my brain and squeeze tightly, forcing me to bend to Marks’ will.
I am a puppet, and Marks is the puppet master.
Unnatural shadows foxtrot across the walls as we begin to move. I follow the dark that dances around the edges of my vision, focusing on anything other than the wrongness of living within a body that no longer belongs to me.
