“I’d rather not be unravelled.”
“Then don’t give up your secrets,” said Kite, leaning forward and reaching over Tav for the perfume bottle. Her skin brushed against Tav’s, and she could feel the ice and fire burning in their veins. The dark stain of frostbite spread down Kite’s forearm from where the two had touched, the skin mottled purple and blue for a moment before fading back to bluegreen. Kite shivered, but not from the cold. She drew back, the pink vial clutched in her hand.
“If you keep the Witch Lord curious, you may still be alive when the children come with their justice. Don’t let her get bored with you.”
White teeth. Dark eyes flashed gold. “I’m never boring.”
Another shiver. The desire to be burned by them. Kite brought the pink bottle to her mouth and licked the tip. Bitter coated her tongue and reminded her why she was here.
“Let’s get you dressed for your audience with the Witch Lord.” Kite dropped the vial and enjoyed the cacophony as it smashed on stone. Then she knelt down and gathered up the pieces, using her magic to knit the broken glass together with velvet and copper and spiderweb. She had always enjoyed making things.
“Why isn’t Clytemnestra sending you?” asked Tav. “Wouldn’t the Heir be an enigma?”
Kite stilled, like a raindrop halting its slow descent down a windowpane. “I can’t.” The Beast cowered between her legs. He didn’t want to see the Witch Lord, either.
Flashback of agony and cruelty. The way her mother had torn her from her body, had touched her essence. I can teach you …
Promises of power and promises of pain. Kite remembered the helplessness of lying in the dirt at her mother’s feet. Not once, but many times. Many small wounds, many needles pricking a skin and telling it to become numb. But nobody was ever truly numb. Even skins that souls could slip out of like nightgowns had memories. Kite’s body remembered the lessons her mother had taught her. Those lessons had sent a little girl running into the Labyrinth, hiding out in the walls.
The Witch Lord had underestimated the children, had underestimated her own daughter. The Witch Lord had been lonely for so long that she could not comprehend what companionship might feel like. Kite hoped Cam had found companionship in rock. He had seemed so lonely when she had found him on a sea of black glass, as discarded and forgotten as all the lost things in the wastelands.
Kite wondered if she should tell Tav that she had dinner with Cam, but as soon as she had the thought it slid across her mind like a water skimmer on a pond. Then it was gone, and there was only here and now.
“Did it tempt you?” she asked lightly, wanting to understand this human. She rose with the vest she had made, black with gold embroidery and glass buttons. It smelled of crushed orchids and fruit.
“What?”
“The Heart. Did it tempt you?”
“No.”
Kite heard the lie and was surprised by it. Humans thought lies made them safe.
Witches knew how to wear the truth as the brightest and strongest shield.
“Magic requires sacrifice,” she told them, helping them slip into the sleeves. She crouched in front of them and slowly buttoned up the vest, listening to the song of their heartbeat harmonizing with every exhale. “You will have to decide what you are willing to give up.”
“I’m not going to sacrifice anyone. Or anything.”
“Then you’ll die.” Kite’s fingers brushed the thin fabric of Tav’s shirt and felt rough skin and hair underneath. Bluegreen lights danced along her fingertips and across the back of her hands.
“I’m sure the Warlord would be pleased.”
“No, she likes you.”
Tav laughed, short and harsh. “Yeah right.”
Kite frowned, confused by their response. “Of course. She loves puzzles.”
“And what about you?” Tav looked down and their gaze met bluegreen pupil-less eyes. They ran one finger along the edge of the obsidian blade strapped to their forearm. Behind the sliver of black glass, leaves and petals were marked into the skin with faded blue ink. “Do you love puzzles?”
Kite reached out, a wave caressing the shore. Her hand on Tav’s wrist, the skin damp and soft as seaweed. She felt the bite of fire, and then her hand was on the blade, and she pressed the pad of her index finger against its ravenous tip.
The blade wouldn’t cut. Kite’s body ebbed away from Tav, the ghost of a smile playing across her face.
Eli’s blade had refused to harm her.
“Me? I prefer stories.”
THE HEALER
Tav’s smile grew.
“There’s one more thing you need,” said Kite.
“Better armour?” Tav fiddled with one of the glass buttons.
“Yes.” Kite pulled out the final piece.
“It’s a masquerade?” Tav stared at the twisted metal dangling from Kite’s finger on a copper spiderweb.
Kite’s laugh was like church bells ringing underwater. “Every day is a masquerade in the City of Eyes. This is just the prettiest poison. Are you ready to play?”
“No.”
“That’s the right answer.” Kite smiled, and behind the gleam of white teeth Tav could almost smell the dead animals that had willingly crawled into her mouth. They half wanted to offer their own throat to the luminous creature. A bite like hers would make you forget a thousand touches. “Now, close your eyes.”
“I’d prefer to keep them open.”
“Then you don’t like to be surprised.”
Tav allowed Kite to approach them, to lift the mask and tie it gently around their face. “You are ready to kill me,” Kite observed. “I can see the intention in your twitching liver.”
“I don’t want to kill you,” said Tav, wondering if that was the truth.
“Then I hope you don’t have to.”
Kite was right: they were ready to kill. Tav wanted the Witch Lord dead. They felt the bloodlust rising behind their eyes, staining the world wine red. Power, sweet as candied almonds, spilled over their tongue.
Purple
