Pasting a smile on his face, he prowls into the gathering, but he’s clearly looking for someone.
Now I know who is he is.
He’s the Lord of Mistmark’s assassin. He has to be.
Every court has one, and while they’re usually less… visible, Mistmark would want to keep his well in hand in an enemy court.
And he somehow saw right through my shadows.
8
Two hours later, there’s no sign of Keir.
What is he doing?
I pace the party, trying to hold my own with people I don’t care about and trying to avoid both Falion and Mistmark. Someone laughs about how “Malechus is keeping such a close eye on dear Anissa,” and the group I’m passing all exchange secret smiles. I slip among them, hoping for more information, but the only other thing I glean is that with Belladonna marrying, Malechus’s stakes as a bachelor just increased.
And that’s when I finally see Keir, surrounded by a flock of pretty fae woman.
Our eyes meet across the garden.
This was my idea. But I hate the way it feels to see him with a pair of handsome blondes practically perched on his knees.
Stop it, I tell myself. They’re hardly perched upon him. And they’re gigglers. He hates gigglers….
It doesn’t matter if he hates gigglers or not, because he’s doing exactly what you asked of him.
“Stop staring at him. Stop staring at him. Stop staring at him,” I whisper under my breath, and turn to intercept another servant with a tray of iced lemons.
I’ve eaten three already.
But I should have been watching my back, instead of Keir.
“The Lady Merisel of Greenslieves,” Belladonna purrs, linking her forearm through mine as she slips out of nowhere. “Walk with me.”
Clearly, there’s little choice. “An honor, Your Highness, though are you not busy with your forthcoming wedding?”
“For you, I’ll make time.” She cuts me a smile and leads me toward the maze.
What is with this maze?
If I were Malechus, I’d send a dozen dryads into it to hide, and I’d have every secret that’s available at this bloody court.
The thought makes me look closely at every tree in the row. Not a single face is revealed in any of the trunks, but a shiver runs down my spine regardless.
And then my mind helpfully conjures a recap of Mistmark and Falion’s conversation.
Not helpful.
It’s a big maze. It’s not as though the beast will be lurking near the party….
You can always throw Belladonna at it….
“The wedding celebrations have been lovely thus far,” I say, though I’m terrible at small talk.
And who needs to make it right now?
Clearly, she’s not dragging me in here because she thinks I’m a stimulating conversationalist.
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, and something has 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 I was right. 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
