“And while we’re on the subject of being honest, you knew Atticus wanted to be king. He brought all those soldiers, loyal to him, into the city. Was it for protection, or was it so he could overpower you?”
“Possibly both,” He admits, continuing forward.
“How could you not see what he would do?”
“Because he is my brother! And because it seems I cannot see anything clearly when you are around.”
“So this is my fault? Even though I warned you not to trust him?”
He sighs. “I think we’re past the point of blame. But I wager Ybaris got what it wanted.”
“Who poisoned Quill? Was that also Atticus?”
“I do not claim to know anything anymore. Whoever the culprit, they did so to keep people afraid of the Ybarisan princess set to be queen. Atticus has been seen with Adley and the others. I don’t doubt now that they have been whispering in his ear notions of claiming the throne, convincing him of the righteousness of it. And then today happened, and he saw his chance. It could not have been more perfect, really, though it seems the priestesses have had their own hand in plotting, independent of everyone else. It does not matter anymore, does it?”
Atticus’s accusation loiters in my mind. “Do you even want to be king?”
“No, I do not,” he admits, shocking me with his resolute answer. “Which is why I must be.” He pauses. “So this story you fed me, about not remembering anything—”
“A lie. My name is Romeria Watts. I’m from New York City, where mostly everyone is human and there is no talk of fates and casters and immortals. An elemental named Sofie tricked me into helping her save her husband, only to stab me in the chest with a token horn from Malachi. I woke up in this body, which is exactly like my own body, with people accusing me of murder.”
Behind me, Elisaf curses.
“Except you’re not human. You’re a key caster.”
“Apparently, but I had no idea. I don’t know how it all works. I never felt anything until I took this ring off the other day.”
“You tried to tell me,” Zander says, more to himself.
“Yes. But that didn’t work out well for me.” God, it feels like a concrete block has been lifted off my chest.
“And how are you supposed to save Sofie’s husband?”
“I don’t know exactly, but I think he might be imprisoned in the Nulling.” Sofie said Elijah was trapped somewhere and it sounded like Malachi was the one who sent him to that place. When the fold was torn, the monsters who escaped were from the Nulling, sent there by the fates. It would make sense then, that the two are the same. Though, the last time I saw Elijah’s body, it was in a stone coffin in Belgium. “Malachi sent me here to try to open the nymphaeum door, which I obviously am not going to do. And I’m not going to help Sofie. So that leaves me with learning how to be a key caster.”
“Until people find out what you are. As if they didn’t already have reason to kill you,” Zander mutters.
“How do you know you can trust Gesine?” Elisaf asks quietly. They’re the first words he’s spoken to me since we crawled through the tunnel.
“I don’t, but if they wanted to kill me for being what I am, they had a thousand opportunities to do it.”
Silence drags on as we trek along the path. I ache to know what’s filtering through Zander’s mind right now, but he isn’t saying anything.
We arrive at the end of the corridor and meet a solid stone wall that I’ve come to learn means nothing in this world of secret passageways.
“How close will this bring us to the apothecary?” I ask.
“A few blocks away.” Zander puts his finger to his mouth for quiet. He listens for a moment, before reaching above his head to press on a block. A telltale click sounds and the wall moves out.
And the tiny thrill skates through my mind. I was made for this kind of world.
“Your childlike fascination with these things continues to amuse me,” he murmurs, obviously sensing my reaction.
“I was a thief in my former life, so sneaking in and out of places was sort of my thing.” It feels oddly liberating to admit that.
Zander shoots an incredulous look my way before we step into a cramped room full of dust-covered crates. “It’s a storage cellar,” he whispers. Moving for a wooden door, he pushes against it. And curses.
“Padlock?” Elisaf asks.
He nods. And then falters. “We will have to move quickly once we leave here, as soldiers will begin scouring the city, if they aren’t already. I will get you to the apothecary and then, if this Gesine is who you think she is, then that is where you and I must part ways.” In the glow of my lantern light, his hazel eyes carry a myriad of emotions I can’t discern. “I haven’t thought clearly since the day you marched into my life, before or after the attack. If I am to take back what is mine, I need all my wits about me.”
I swallow against the ball that swells in my throat. I’m not sure what is more startling—that I’ll be alone in this strange world, or that a man I’ve come to care for deeply is abandoning me at a time when I need him most.
But I’m used to being abandoned by those closest to me, and I’m not about to beg him to stay.
Pausing a moment to listen for passersby, he barrels through, splintering the wood. We step out into an alleyway. The lower streets are deserted, save for the odd figure that darts from one corner to the next. No royal guards sit on horses, no market revelers linger. Yet I feel eyes on us as we move along, silent and hidden within our cloaks.
None would guess that it is their king and the Ybarisan princess, fleeing in the night.
Up ahead, the apothecary is dark, its windows shuttered by thick curtains.
“She said tonight?” Zander stalls in the shadows.
“Yes.” My eyes scour the corners around us, every nerve ending on edge. Movement in an alley catches my attention. A figure in a black cloak. They shift into the cast of the lantern just long enough for me to catch the strands of strawberry-blond hair before shifting back. It’s Bexley. She knew I would be here. After what happened in the square, she can’t be here for my side of our deal. She’s either here to see me off, or to kill me.
The side of the curtain moves.
“There’s someone inside,” I whisper.
“Yes. I saw that.”
As one, we cross the street.
“I will keep an eye out.” Elisaf disappears into another shadow. There are so many to slip into in this world.
We’re four feet from the shop when a click sounds, and the door creaks open an inch.
Disquiet grips me.
Zander slips in first, his hand clutching the hilt of his sword. The surrounding lanterns flare, and I assume it has something to do with his affinity. I’m momentarily envious.
“Shut the door behind you,” a serene female voice says.
I do as instructed, throwing us into darkness.
“I sense the flame burning inside you, King of Islor. You are powerful for an Islorian.”
“As I’m sure you are, even with that collar around your neck, High Priestess,” he says, equally calm.
My eyes frantically search for a hint of what Zander sees.
A faint glow erupts in the room, a ball of light that floats in the air, swelling until it illuminates a woman in a charcoal-gray cloak, with long, inky-black hair and pale-green eyes, just as Kaders described her. A simple gold collar encloses her delicate neck.