Текст книги "Throne of the Fallen"

Автор книги: Kerri Maniscalcol

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Текущая страница: 31 (всего у книги 35 страниц)

SIXTY-TWO

ENVY’S RAGE BALANCED on a knife’s edge, one step away from razing the whole Wild Court. A vast dichotomy split inside him, separating two warring halves directly down the middle.

One side was betrayal made flesh. Cold, unyielding.

An ancient hurt that knew no beginning and no ending. It was a snarling, two-headed beast that wanted to strike out, inflict pain. Tear and gorge and decimate. Like the wolves inked onto his skin, the monsters he kept on a tight leash wanted retribution.

Camilla had played the ultimate game, and he’d had no idea.

The other side was worried. Protective. Champing at the bit to see Camilla, to wrench her free of this court of nightmares. Her true home. With her true family.

That side worried him the most. It was cold but in a different way. The icy precision of calculation. Of plotting. And for once, it had nothing to do with game strategy.

The Chalice of Memoria would be delivered soon; then he was expected to leave the Wild Court.

He should leave.

He should never look back, never spare another moment of his existence thinking of the deceitful Fae. This had been the worst game of all. He’d fallen for the lie.

But Camilla… it wasn’t as easy as it should be to walk away from her.

How much she’d known, how deeply she’d been involved in the game remained to be seen. Envy wanted to jump to conclusions, toss her in with the rest of her deplorable family. But he hadn’t sensed any duplicity in her. She hadn’t wanted to paint the Hexed Throne.

Had refused him time and again. All part of her strategy, or genuine?

“Gods’ blood.”

This was what happened when someone mixed pleasure with what should only be business. Envy couldn’t tell if his sentimentality, his cursed fondness for the artist, colored his perception. Made him seek good when there wasn’t any.

Camilla was Unseelie. Daughter of the king and queen of dark Fae. Even with her magic bound, she possessed the ability to paint new worlds. There was no telling how powerful she was now that Lennox had obliterated the glamour mark and she’d regained her full magic.

Envy snorted. No wonder she’d been so confident the night she’d tempted him to massage her. She knew he wouldn’t find a glamour mark under her hairline.

Had regaining her true form been her ultimate goal? Had she finally agreed to help Envy so she could be restored to her full power? It would be tempting and understandable.

Perhaps he’d been a means to an end for her. A passing fancy.

That thought rankled. For centuries he’d been the one to leave lovers wanting more. Now those tables had not just been turned but had been upended on him.

But… her lust, her passion, that hadn’t been fake. He sensed how much she wanted him, knew it had nothing to do with any sort of revenge for her family. That was real.

It was also part of her true nature.

“Fuck.” He ran a hand through his hair.

He wasn’t sure whether she was his enemy or not.

Her father, though…

Envy put his fist through the wall, then yanked it out, watching the wound bleed before slowly stitching itself together.

Lennox was a master at chaos, feeding off it and the passion it stirred in those who devolved into the lowest common denominator when provoked.

Envy refused to spiral. He would not fuel that prick’s magic here.

He sat on the edge of the bed, forcing his mind to still, to think clearly. This was just another puzzle to solve. And he already had a good portion of the pieces. If he removed all emotion from it, he should be able to put everything together accurately.

“Facts,” he reminded himself. “List the facts.”

Lennox was Camilla’s biological father. But she had not called him that. He’d seen the love she had for Pierre when she spoke of him, the pride in his studio and its secret passages and entries. Saw the hurt when she’d recalled his death. He had not sensed any lies.

Envy was starting to think that Lennox’s inclusion of her had less to do with taunting Envy than with Lennox’s luring Camilla back to the Wild Court. She was one of the four Unseelie heirs; maybe her father wanted her to rule over one of the smaller courts. Or maybe he was just pissed off that her mother had stolen his trinket and wanted it back.

“Not my court. Not my problem,” Envy muttered to himself.

Lying to himself.

Camilla must have known. Must have figured out what her father was truly after. Yet she’d continued to help Envy, had come all the way to the Fae realm, knowing what lay in store for her, knowing how much Envy hated Unseelie royalty.

Though that wasn’t out of the goodness of her heart, as he’d just found out. The Hexed Throne had stolen her talent, driving her to follow the game until it ended. A detail Camilla hadn’t shared. One more Unseelie royal playing him for a fool.

Devil below. He’d fucked an Unseelie princess on his throne.

A sworn enemy, hated beyond anything, owned him in his court.

And Envy liked it. That was what needled him the most. He couldn’t even pretend that he hadn’t considered giving everything up, damning his whole circle, because he’d gone and gotten addicted to the clever, wonderful female who’d stood up to him time and again.

No wonder her passion was endless. It was her nature, seeking emotions that were large, feeding her own power.

That didn’t quite sit truthfully, though.

Logic told him that what they’d shared was real. The hurt he felt… that was also real.

A soft knock had him yanking the door open, ready to either kiss or kill—

“Wolf.”

The Fae’s eyes glittered darkly. “Expecting someone else?”

“Get the fuck out.”

Wolf folded his arms across his chest, staring down his nose at Envy.

The look was pure Fae arrogance.

Envy thought about punching it off his face, feeling the satisfying crunch of bone.

“I don’t like you,” Wolf said simply. Envy gave him a dark look. “I do like Camilla. I like her heart. Her creativity. And I love that sound she makes right before she comes.”

Envy’s jaw locked, his hand curling at his side. If he struck Wolf, Lennox might hold off on delivering his prize.

His court. He had to think only of saving his court now.

“Get to the point, Wolf.”

“I want her. I go after what I want. With gusto.” Wolf’s gaze flared. “But she seems to want you. Personally, I think she’ll get over it. Once upon a time, she liked me, too. When you’re gone, I’ll still be here. Comforting her.”

Envy silently counted backward. Focusing on his failing demons. On the monstrosity of his court. On the way it would feel to have Wolf’s blood spilling across his fist.

“And when she wants me to, I’ll be right back in her bed. Pleasuring her.”

Envy went to slam the door in the Fae prick’s face, but Wolf shoved his boot over the threshold, blocking him from doing so. There was a satisfying crunch, though.

“Would you like me to set up a parade?” Envy asked.

“When you walk out of this court,” Wolf said, “I want you to think about what you’re leaving behind. Who. And then I want you to remember that there are others who are far less foolish, who won’t simply walk away when things get hard and aren’t a perfect fairy tale anymore.”

“Any other words of wisdom?”

“If you hurt my princess,” Wolf quietly growled, “I’ll hunt you down, demon.”

“Your princess?” Envy’s sin ignited. “Camilla will never be your anything, Fae.”

“Ah, but I’ll always be her first.” Wolf’s expression turned mocking. “And now her father wants us together again. Who am I to deny the king? He suggested I escort her down to court, then take her in front of them. Remind her what fun we used to have.”

A thin sheet of ice shot around the room, coating the furniture, the ceiling, the walls. Envy’s internal meter was turning away from betrayal and landing solidly in the section of wanting to destroy anyone who threatened Camilla.

“What do you think of that, Your Highness? Should I remind her what it was like? Should I stamp out any traces of your demon taint upon her skin?”

Wolf cocked his head, eyes narrowing.

“Do you think that now that she’s unbound she’ll fuck more ferociously?” He whistled. “Two Unseelies going at it… you cannot begin to imagine the intensity. Passion feeds in a mirroring loop. I cannot wait for her pretty mouth to be filled with my come again.”

Wolf was goading him. Envy knew it. And he didn’t give a shit.

Envy took a step toward the Unseelie, allowing every dark thing that made him a Prince of Hell to roll off him.

“Camilla belongs with me.”

Wolf smiled.

“Then I suggest you pull your head out of your ass and go after her. Lennox will send for her soon. If I were you, I’d come up with a plan before then. The king is not kind to mortals—and Camilla is far more human in behavior than Fae.”

All amusement vanished from Wolf’s face.

“And my original message stands, demon. Hurt her, and I’ll make you regret it.” He stepped back into the hallway. “Now come, Your Highness. I’ll take you to her.”

Indecision warred inside Envy.

He didn’t want anything to happen to Camilla, but he wasn’t ready to see her. Envy had never been someone’s hero. Didn’t know how to be.

Wolf looked him over, a sneer forming on his face.

“You don’t deserve her.”

“Never said I did.”

Wolf was silent a moment, then said, “I might have forgotten to mention… Lennox has summoned you. He expects you in court in exactly thirty minutes.”

Without looking back, the Unseelie walked away, shaking his head.

SIXTY-THREE

CAMILLA STARED AT her reflection in the mirror, at once foreign and familiar.

Her face was mostly unchanged. If anything, her eyes were a bit more metallic, the silver polished to a gleam. Her hair shimmered with a brightness it hadn’t had before, like moonlight on a cold winter’s night.

Her ears… there was no denying what she was, no hiding. Any notion she might have harbored about returning to Waverly Green was gone now.

Not that she wanted to return anymore. After experiencing the Seven Circles and even the terrors of Malice Isle, Camilla had seen the breadth of the world. The idea of returning to Waverly Green without her family, without… anyone… no longer appealed.

But she wanted Bunny. Needed to go back and retrieve her sweet cat. Say a proper goodbye to Kitty, too.

She touched the soft tips of her elongated ears, now foreign to her.

The choice to be glamoured hadn’t been Camilla’s.

Not much in her life had been, in fact. She was a child when everything familiar was suddenly wrenched away. Her home, her family, her realm. One night she was a high princess of the Wild Court, the next she was a mortal child without magic in Waverly Green.

Her mother, Prim Róis Fleur, had kidnapped her from the Wild Court for reasons she would probably never fully understand. Ever since, Lennox had been trying to tempt her back. Wanting her to take her throne. To Camilla, it had been one of the worst games her parents had ever played.

But one piece still didn’t fit: Why had Prim Róis stolen the locket, and then left it with Camilla? And why had Lennox gone through so much to get it back?

More puzzles, more riddles, more deception. Such was the way of her family.

Not all had been a lie, though. Her mother had become fond of Pierre. Had even used her true middle name, offering him some honesty.

It hadn’t taken much magic for her mother to convince Pierre that the young child had been his—she’d given him false memories, of her being pregnant, of the first few years of Camilla’s life. Of him teaching Camilla how to hold a paintbrush nimbly between her fingers.

All lies, pretty little magical glamours.

But Camilla had truly loved him. Staying in Waverly Green, running Pierre’s gallery—that had finally been Camilla’s choice. With her human father, Camilla had learned how powerful love was. How fear could never hope to compete.

Camilla wondered, though, if her mortal father had known. If there had been a piece of him that could see through Prim Róis and her Fae magic. She feared that that was what ultimately drove him to his obsession and madness.

But perhaps it was also what led Pierre to fill her head with fairy tales. He’d been the one to warn her of the Fae and their bargains. He’d taught her about the vampire prince. And the seven ruling Princes of Hell.

Camilla did not believe in coincidences.

Her fingers brushed the soft curve of her ears again.

Would her mortal father hate this form?

No. He’d love her anyway. Pierre’s love was unconditional, without games or strings.

She dropped her hands into her lap.

Envy was not Pierre. He would not care for her now that her truth was revealed.

“Princess?” Wolf called from outside her door. “You indecent?”

His tone held a note of teasing, and maybe a little hope. He would wait for her.

He’d told her as much when he’d walked her to her bedroom suite. And that ought to comfort her, knowing she wouldn’t be alone. Envy was only ever going to be hers for one night. That was truer now than it had been before her deception was revealed.

“Princess? You’re making me think thoughts that are downright filthy.”

Camilla finally managed a smile, the first since she’d arrived here.

“Come in.”

He slipped into her chambers and gave her an appreciative once-over. “Bold.”

“I tried.”

She knew he didn’t mean the cut of the gown, which plunged to form a deep V to her navel in both the front and the back.

Camilla had chosen the deepest shade of green in the wardrobe she’d found in her suite. It might not matter, but even if Envy wasn’t there to see it, she wanted the Wild Court to know it hadn’t all been a lie.

Her father, however, would not be pleased.

She assumed he’d hate the emerald-and-diamond ring she’d strung on a necklace, to rest over her heart, even more.

Wolf’s gaze paused on the emerald. “He’s an ass.”

“He’s hurt,” Camilla said. “I should have told him who I was.”

Wolf snorted. “I’m sure he was nothing but honest with you.”

“I’m not responsible for anyone’s actions but my own.” Camilla exhaled. “My human father taught me better. I was afraid. I let fear of losing my talent forever rule my actions first. Then as I grew… closer to Envy, I feared how he’d react to my truth. He hates Unseelie royals.”

“I repeat, he’s an ass.”

“I imagine you aren’t here to discuss my love life,” she said, smiling weakly. “Has the king summoned me?”

Wolf nodded slowly, his gaze drifting around her private suite. Windows took up three of the four walls, and the ceiling was also made of glass, allowing the moonlight to cascade in like a silver waterfall.

When his attention came back to her, he seemed uncertain.

“Play your father’s game, Camilla. Or things will go very badly tonight.”

She’d already played enough of Lennox’s games, but she nodded to keep from speaking the lie aloud.

Wolf looked her over, a frown tugging at his lips, then escorted her to court.

“Good.” Lennox glanced at Camilla, his gaze narrowing on her gown. He didn’t miss the subtle to hell with your court and games of her color choice. “You’re right on schedule.” He motioned to the guards flanking him. “Bring her here. I’m ready to begin.”

All but the new head guard descended on her. He hung back, holding an object under a velvet cloth, surely something nasty to threaten her with if she didn’t do as her father said.

She felt Wolf stiffen beside her, didn’t dare to look in his direction. Her father was watching her every move, the cunning gleam speaking volumes. She hadn’t failed to notice that no one else was present in the Crescent Court now. An oddity. When she was a child, the room, shaped like a crescent moon, was always filled with Fae.

Now it was still. Silent, save for the handful of guards, Camilla, Wolf, and the Unseelie King. Perhaps they were all still indulging outside on the terrace. That didn’t feel right…

She glanced around again, her unease growing.

The silver floor had been designed to reflect the moonlight streaming in through the glass ceiling, but for some reason her father had had the roof covered.

Another ominous, foreboding sense of worry gnawed at her.

The Wild Court worshipped the moon, bathed in its light, celebrated it. That her father had covered its magic… didn’t bode well for her.

She allowed the guards to usher her to her father’s throne. An easel and a small wooden table had been set up near the foot of the dais, holding a strange assortment of art supplies.

A paintbrush, charcoal, silver paint. Black, gold, and iridescent Fae colors not available in the mortal world. The Fae colors drew her eye, made her drift closer despite the prickle of trepidation she felt.

“You will paint the key and locket together.”

Lennox held the portal key up in one hand, and the silver locket swung in his other fist.

Camilla’s heart raced. Pierre had become obsessed with that portal key. It looked so much like a regular skeleton key, with an emerald set in its base, but to her it had become so much more. She wanted to steal it back, hold it to her chest, and promise her mortal father that she’d never let it out of her sight again.

“Camilla.” Lennox’s voice was laced with disapproval. “I thought the mortal adoration was an act earlier. Tell me you don’t actually harbor feelings for that pet your mother played with?”

Wolf’s warning fluttered through her mind. Play your father’s game. Camilla bit the inside of her cheek, stopping herself from snapping at the king.

Instead, she stared at the portal key and the locket, trying to puzzle out why he’d want them painted together. What nefarious plot had he hatched now? Asking him outright would only enrage him—the Unseelie King’s orders were to be met with obedience.

Still…

“How are they meant to be painted together?” she asked, the question innocent enough.

Lennox’s hair shifted from silver to white to black, his mood rapidly changing.

“A chain, a rope, a ribbon of silk,” he said, shrugging. “Your talent will guide you. All that matters is that the two are bound.”

Camilla knew exactly what she wouldn’t paint, then. But her defiance…

She swallowed hard, then picked up the paintbrush, her gaze once again drifting to the shimmering, ethereal Fae colors. One—lavender, blue, silver, undulating in iridescent waves—was magic in liquid form. She dipped the tip of her brush in it, then accepted the portal key and her locket, laying them both on the little wooden table, on top of each other, her pulse suddenly racing.

“Oh, one more thing.”

Lennox’s voice was a dagger dipped in poison, pinning her in place.

“Should you not do as I say, I’ll destroy this.”

He motioned to his head guard, who unveiled what he’d been holding. It was meant to torture her, all right. Except it wouldn’t simply hurt her. It would destroy Envy’s court.

There, clasped in the guard’s hands, was what had to be the Chalice of Memoria. The cup was etched over with runes, the magic dulled but waiting.

Camilla swallowed the sudden lump in her throat. Her father hadn’t let Envy leave yet. Hadn’t yet ended the game. No matter that she didn’t want to bind the portal key and the locket together, she couldn’t harm Envy or his court again.

Lennox watched her closely, the corner of his mouth tipped up. He loved it when his plan unfolded perfectly, had bet she’d fall into line.

And worst of all, he was correct.

Outmaneuvered, cornered, and without choice, Camilla dove into that well of magic, the talent that came from other worlds, just like her.

She closed her eyes, allowing her muse to take over, to show her how the object wished to be bound. Thin Fae-colored chains spiderwebbed around the key and the locket.

Giving herself fully to her talent, Camilla painted each thread in the magical color, going so far as to add little droplets, like dew on a spider’s web. The stem of the portal key slowly fused with the locket, the silver liquefying and seeping until the two objects melded into one.

It wasn’t a painting, but a new tangible object.

A shocking, horrible truth broke free, tossing Camilla backward in a magical blast. Her body flew several feet across the throne room before she crashed and fell into a heap, her head smashing against metal bars.

She could scarcely see the here and now; she was still half lost to that strange power. Last time, Envy had been there, shaking her back to reality. Now she was on her own.

And what she’d seen…

“Hexed object.” It was all she could manage to whisper. On their own they’d been just a portal key and her locket. Bound, they became something more, something other.

Camilla commanded herself to focus, to find her reality.

Cool metal pressed against her palms.

No. She was sprawled on a metal floor. The Crescent Court’s floor wasn’t metal.

She blinked, trying to force herself into the here and now.

A clang rang out, drawing her attention up.

“No.” Her voice shook. He’d caged her. And hung her far above the throne room, where her cage swayed dangerously with each of her movements.

It was a fine prison. A mockery of a cell.

“Let me out.”

Lennox didn’t bother to look at her; he strode down to where she’d left the bound key, plucking it up and turning it over.

“Do you have any idea what this is now capable of?” he asked.

Nothing good, clearly.

Camilla’s hands wrapped around the metal bars, burning from the iron. She wrenched them back, then tried again, shaking the door. For doing as he’d commanded, her father had imprisoned her in iron. It was unfathomable.

“You cannot cage me.”

Lennox gave her a pitying look. “I just did.”

“Why?” she asked, uncaring that she wasn’t meant to question the king. “I did as you asked!”

His hair turned black and his eyes gleamed white.

“Is that what I did… ask you? Like a nice mortal friend. A loving, human father. Or did your king give you an order? One you would have refused had I not given you a reason not to?”

He advanced on her, his gaze steely and void of any pretense of civility.

“You mistake your place in my court, daughter. You were invited to come home. Twice. First with a friend I sent for you, in case you needed one of our kind. Next, I sent Wolf. In case you required a mate. You chose to stay in that mortal cesspool, lowering yourself. Pretending you were a human.”

Anger unleashed her tongue. “I didn’t choose to leave in the first place. Or have you forgotten your little game with Mother? You made me a changeling. Then you condemn me for choosing to stay where I’d been just another game piece. I never would have left the Wild Court.”

“The queen stole you,” Lennox snapped. “You should have proven your loyalty to our court when I summoned you the first time.”

“My loyalty? It seems like I am simply your little pawn, moving around your game board based on your whims.”

His smile was crafted of nightmares. He held the key up. “This is the Silverthorne Key, little pawn. Do you know what it does?”

Camilla felt as if she’d taken a hit. She slowly shook her head, an awful realization emerging. Puzzle pieces clicked into place. Pierre’s obsession with the portal key, with keeping it in Waverly Green. The locket her mother told her never to let go.

Silverthorne Lane. The dark market in Waverly Green. The place where Unseelie solitary and exiled Fae bargained with mortals.

Somehow, some way, the key and the dark market were connected. And if Camilla’s growing fear was correct, she had likely created a direct link from the mortal world to this court.

“No.”

Lennox’s gaze turned ebony again, his hair shifting back to its godlike silver-white curtain.

“I see you understand perfectly well. Silverthorne Lane is a realm line. This key? It unlocks that doorway and leads it straight to…”

He walked to a silver mirror leaning against the wall, oversized, wide. Large enough for even the tallest human to pass through.

“Here.”

Lennox stuck the key directly in the center of the mirror, the glass rippling like liquid as he twisted the hexed object. Camilla stared, trapped in her cage, as the mirror flickered. Shadow and light, light and shadow. Images played across it, too fast to see clearly; then came sounds. Birds, people, carriages… the sounds of Waverly Green’s bustling streets.

“No,” Camilla said, again, rattling her cage. The iron burned, the pain a wild ache in her bones. “Please. Leave them.”

Lennox glanced over his shoulder, his expression one of egregious delight.

“One by one, little pawn, I’ll lure everyone from that city here. We’re in need of fresh fun in the Wild Court. And once Waverly Green falls, we’ll move on to the next. Now be silent.”

He cocked his head, then ran a hand over his clothing, magicking a new suit before her eyes. If Camilla hadn’t known how dark and twisted he was, Lennox would have looked like a fairy-tale prince. Except this prince was a diabolical king and this cruel king wasn’t interested in stealing hearts at all—he wanted to break souls. Beaming with false kindness, he turned back to the mirror as the first few mortals stumbled through, bright-eyed and dreamy.

Widow Janelle, the Lords Harrington and Walters, and several other regulars from Vexley’s circle stepped into the throne room.

Camilla pressed her hand to her mouth, biting back a scream. She knew these humans. Had attended parties and gatherings with them.

And they did not deserve the fate that awaited them here.

Their gazes swept around the chamber, then paused on her, on her Fae ears.

Camilla looked at them and screamed, “Run!”