I count twenty before we make it to the old library, the only place in this wretched palace that is ours. The blanket is still where we left it. I lay Aurora down on top of it, fetching a stained pillow for her head. If I breathe deeply, I can still catch our scents twined together. Appleblossom and woodsmoke. My stomach flutters.
But we aren’t alone. Footsteps stampede down the corridor, shouts ringing back and forth as the palace guards follow my trail of dead servants. Swords sing their way out of sheaths. But they will not reach us. No one will separate us again.
With unbelievable ease, my magic finds the hearts of forest in the books and sends them flying off the shelves and piling in front of the open door. Torchlight bobs along the walls outside, the guards closing in. I am ready. I coax that leafy, loamy magic out, melding the flimsy hearts together until they are strong and sure. And then I set it free.
Fully grown trees erupt from between the pages of the books. Not the green-leafed saplings like those beyond Briar’s gates. But black, spear-limbed things that roar toward the ceiling. I push harder, thickening the trunks. Bidding spiky, poison-tipped thorns to pierce through the bark.
I remember a lifetime ago, when I was a different person altogether, and had wept because I could not heal Duke Weltross. Because I could only craft darkness and death.
What a fool I was.
These trees, their slick skins, twisted to form a deadly barrier at the library’s entrance, are the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen.
A guard rounds the corner. There’s the sound of flesh separating from bone as he’s greeted by my thorns. I laugh, Mortania’s power surging through my blood and filling my lungs with the scent of molten steel and dark wine.
Swords hack against the other side of my trees, little better than needles against stone. They’ll never break through. I let the guards tire themselves and turn back to Aurora.
She sleeps so peacefully, unaware of the chaos surrounding her. I run my fingers through her silky hair. Trace the shape of her lips. The dip of her collarbone. The curve of her neck. Was it only days ago that we shared the night together here? I can still see her, luminous and soft and so perfect it makes my chest ache. She told me I was beautiful. Held my hand while her parents berated us. Risked everything to be by my side.
And what had I done?
Colluded with the Shifter who had helped murder her family. Believed his lies. Cursed the spindle that nearly killed her.
The tears come again, swift and brutal. I press my forehead against her knuckles. Plead for her forgiveness. For her to open her eyes and let this nightmare fade away.
I should let the prince wake her. Watch her velvet eyes cloud and darken when she thinks of me, the Vila who held her captive. Let her live a life with children and a throne and every other happiness while I waste away in some faraway place. As good as dead without her—the one person who was ever mine. It would be a fitting punishment.
“DARK GRACE!” I recognize the king’s bellow as it reverberates through the barrier. “You will release my daughter at once and answer for your crimes!”
My crimes. Yes. I have plenty of those. There is a trail of bodies outside, soaked in my magic. Every patron cursed from my elixirs. And then Laurel. She would tell me to give up. That I cannot win against an army of the king’s best men, plus the Etherians. I rub my thumb absently over the back of Aurora’s hand.
“I warn you, Dark Grace. When we tear down this wall, my soldiers will rip you limb from limb. Your head will sit on the palace gates. The birds will peck out your eyes!”
“What of your plans to invade Etheria?” I volley back, wondering how far away the High King’s army is. “Have you no more need for your weapon?”
A barrage of steel on wood answers me.
My magic shudders as an echo of Mortania’s voice whispers through me. Is this the man I will allow to care for Aurora? I recall her hard-edged fury when she spoke of her suitors. How she did not falter when her father threatened her very life if she crossed him. And then there are the lives of her sisters, yielded for Tarkin’s greed.
Aurora would not want her throne. Not like this.
“Bring down this wall!” The weapon strikes become more frantic. “You are nothing! NOTHING! A beast who needs to be put down. I will—”
But I am no longer listening. A glimmer on Aurora’s bodice has caught my eye. A piece of embroidery on her neckline, so delicate and small I thought it was a floral pattern. A trail of forget-me-nots or a lily chain. But it’s something else entirely.
Dragons. I trail my fingertip along the golden stitching. A horde of dragons in flight. One tumbling after the other, twisting and soaring, breathing fire. Magnificent, terrible beasts.
Just like me.
Yes. Mortania’s rasping voice again. Both mine and not mine. A shadow dwelling in my soul. And an idea unspools from that darkness. Mortania’s magic heightened my Vila power, making me stronger than I could have dreamed. Had it done the same to my Shifter abilities?
Using the magic I find in the books, in the shelves, in the tables, I create a bed for Aurora. It wraps underneath her, gently lifting her up, then winds over her head, melding into an intricate cage, the slats so close together that I can barely detect the slow rise and fall of her chest. Thorns spike out in every direction, ready to defend her against anyone who draws too near. The star-chosen prince, Elias. The king. Any fool
