Page 42 of Thief of Souls
I can get away,I remind myself. She can’t chase me through the shadows.
“Then thank Malechus.” Is there an edge to her voice? “He’s the one who’s hosting this entire mockery.”
Mockery?I cut her a look. “You care not for the Lord of Mistmark?”
“I care not for marriage.” Belladonna turns directly toward the wall of trees on our right and whispers something to them. The trees shift apart—they actually uproot themselves and walk—and then we’re facing a low stone wall, a little secret garden in the middle of the maze.
There’s even a door with a brass knob.
Belladonna pricks her finger on a needle she has tucked in her belt, and then presses the welling bead of blood to the handle. The door swings open, and she shoves me through into a walled garden filled with dozens of nocturnal flowers.
A circular pool dominates the little garden. The moon’s reflection shimmers there, and though gorgeous night-blooming blood lilies decorate its surface, I catch a glimpse of little foxfire lights dancing among their red petals.
I don’t dare go closer, just in case the flowers ensorcel me.
This is the Court of Blood, after all, andsomethinghas to feed them. Beneath the surface are bound to be yards of tangled vines. Hungry, strangling vines. It’s what gives the plants their name.
I face the princess. “What is going on? What do you want?”
“Poor, sweet Merisel,” she says, watching me with her back pressed against the door. “I’ve had my eye on you from the moment you arrived, did you know?”
I arch a brow. “Me?”
“I wondered what sort of woman had stolen his heart,” she says coldly. “I wondered what sort of woman had survived the plot that saw my sister killed.”
Ah. She wants to know how Narcissa died. “It was a terrible thing—”
“A terrible thing indeed,” Belladonna cuts me off. “I saw the horror in her eyes when Prince Keir had her body returned to us. And I know my sister. Narcissa feared nothing. And yet some sort of dream-forged monster stains her corpse with terror? I think not.”
I can see the wall again and those hands clutching for safety.
Narcissa was entombed alive and by the time Keir had her chiseled free of the marble, she was long dead.
I very nearly suffered the same fate.
The horror of that moment lingers still, like a phantom fright within my heart that needs only receive a single thought of remembrance in order to rear itself again.
“Your sister was brave,” I say softly. “But Calliope was… a monster.”
I don’t even know if that was the truth. I liked her. Until she decided to kill me, I thought we were friends. But from what she’d said, her mother had poisoned her mind. She spent years telling Calliope she was special, and that if she ate Keir’s heart she would be able to transform into “what she was meant to become.”
“You’re a liar.” Pushing closer, Belladonna suddenly digs her fingers into the barely-healed wound across my hip.
Despite years of conditioning, I hiss and grab her wrist.
Her green eyes light up. “Ah. Then Iwasright. What were you doing in Anissa’s maid’s room last night? Come to finish the job?”
“The job?” I push her hand away from me. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. And Anissa? The Lady of Withenwold? I barely even know her. Why would I be in her rooms?”
Belladonna’s lip curls. “I know you’re up to something, you poisonous little toadstool. I don’t deem it coincidence that you were there when my sister died, and last night I just happened to cut an intruder in Lady Anissa’s rooms with my magic. Show me your right side and prove it wasn’t you.”
Protest dies on my lips. If I refuse her, she’ll know for certain it was me. “Would I not still be bleeding if it was me that you’d cut?” The dress I’m wearing is a confection of black silk, with ample amounts of flesh showing. The fabric drapes around my throat, crosses in the front over my breasts, and then flows into my skirts. My lower back and navel are bare and there’s a gold collar around my throat that holds it all together. It took me two maids and a lot of guesswork to get into it.
And some inventive cursing toward Keir.
I tug one of the pieces of material aside, revealing the curve of my right flank. The skin there is pink and tender. “See? No cut. I bumped into the corner of the vanity this morning though, so I daresay I’ll expect a bruise.”
Belladonna traces a clawed fingernail down the phantom remnants of the wound, and I grit my teeth.
