Page 83 of Fortress of Ambrose
Cold pressed through Nore’s fingers, and it felt like holding something sharper than a blade. She brandished her hands, holding the chilled feeling slithering around her ribs. She’d never felt the dark magic in her like this. It had been hardly an inkling inside. It was certainly never something she could control. But something about the ancestors, and the Pact, had amplified its presence.
Her brother growled, jabbing with the dagger in his fist. Isla backed away, hiding behind the dead. Nore let the cold dark shadows curl in her grip. She hated the way using magic felt. She closed her fist and snuffed the darkness out. She didn’t need magic. She never had. And she wouldn’t start relying on it now. Yagrin unleashed his own toushana. It thrashed in his palm.
But as Ellery reached her, the dead formed around them once again. An impenetrable fortress of Ambrose between her and her brother.
“This is not the end of this,” he said. “I have allies with means at their disposal that would give thedeadnightmares.”
Words stuck in her throat. She’d never imagined herself standing in the shoes of her mother. She hadn’t expected to survive it. She hated the Order. She hated the way she’d never felt a part of her House, truly. But standing there with an army of dead at her back, she’d never felt prouder of her surname.
Nore watched as her brother departed, trying to swallow the lump in her throat, but it wouldn’t go down. The crowd was returning to assess the chaos. She scanned for Headmistress Oralia and spotted her in the distance, talking with her hands to someone Nore couldn’t make out. The someone boasted a tall diadem of warm amber stones. But the woman was resting on a walking cane. Nore craned for a better view.
“Beaulah,” Yagrin whispered in her ear. “We really should leave.Now.”
He was right. But where would she go? Back to Dlaminaugh? Where would Ellery go? Then it hit her.Shewas in charge, whether she liked it or not.
“Ancestors, go home. Keep Ellery Ambrose off the grounds.” She held her skirts tight in her fist, waiting to see if they would listen.
The dead rose from Begonia Terrace and swept away, holding the glass box: the seal of Nore’s Headship. As Beaulah Perl marched toward the dance floor where they were, Yagrin tugged harder at Nore to leave. They dashed off into the growing crowd, rushing toward the winding road the car had brought them down. Isla trailed behind them, hardly able to form words. Nore didn’t have the stomach for her mother’s sudden emotions.
Beside her, Yagrin exhaled. “I can’t believe you’re okay.”
The sound of his voice skidded down her spine like a serrated knife. The eagerness in his expression made her stomach curl. She glanced at the heart, in the box, held by her shadow escorts.
Suddenly she remembered her mother’s face before she’d fallen unconscious. There were tears, actual tears, from a woman who’d never even given her a hug…
Nore and Yagrin had been tangled around one another last night. Now the thought made her feel ill. Physically sick to her stomach. It was confusing. She wanted to be with him. In her mind, she understood that. But the only thing she felt looking at him now was pure discomfort. The truth jabbed her in the chest.
I can’t love Yagrin.
That part of her was sealed in a box untilher heirtook her place.
When they cleared the entrance gates, Yagrin stopped them.
“I’m going to try to cloak. Hold on to me.”
“Thank you, Yagrin. For everything.” She placed a hand on his shoulder and only grew more irritated. He held on to her. Too close. Too tightly. She should love it. Yesterday this was all she wanted. But she fought the urge to rip his hands off her skin.
As darkness swept to his fingers, he whispered, “To Dlaminaugh.”
Moments later, her home materialized around them, their feet crunching on snow. Several dead awaited her. Her mother ran to the concrete and glass palace ahead of them. Nore put distance between her and Yagrin. She wouldn’t tolerate any more lies between them, not after they’d just cleared the air. She had to be honest. She was a long way from having an heir.
He reached for her.
She moved out of the way.
“Nore?”
“Yagrin.” She held her chest. “I can’t love you back.” She pressed her hip bone, remembering the hemlock tattoo in the shape of a heart. A reminder that love wasn’t something she would ever have. This was just another form of defeat. And no matter how much it made sense to her brain, she felt nothing for him. It was wrong. But this was her curse. And she was frankly tired of fighting for hope. Love was an impossibility. He stepped toward her. She stepped back.
“Your heart, I understand,” he said. “But you’ll try, won’t you? After everything, you have to be willing to try.”
She scowled. He had proven trustworthy and helpful. Keeping him around could be practical. Before she could stop herself, futile words tumbled from her mouth.
“Sure, Yagrin. I’ll try.”
They hurried up the mountainside to the posterior gate. She had her coronation ceremony to plan and a brother who wanted to kill her still on the loose.
Thirty-Five
