The glamor bleeds off her until Anissa is scrambling from the bed, wrapping herself in the sheets as she cowers beside her lover. “Violet? What are you doing here?”
I exchange a knowing look with Soraya. “Violet? Really? I meant to take you to task for that. Isn’t it getting a little old?”
She shrugs. “I retired Rose, and Iris was getting a little too well-known in the eastern courts.”
With every role she plays, she takes on an alias, and for some reason she likes flowers.
“Pretty. Potent. And sometimes deadly,” she once told me.
“I presume this has a point.” Belladonna’s voice drips ice.
I grin at the reluctant bride as her eyebrows hit her hairline. “This is what we call bait and switch.”
“You want to exchange me with my maid?”
“Technically—” Soraya gives her a little smile. “—I’m an assassin. Not a maid.”
Both she and Anissa grow pale, but Soraya saunters toward me, resting on the arm of my chair. “Oh, relax,” she says. “I was never here for you. You were just an easy way to get into the court, once I realized your previous maid was bundled away to the country. Not that you’d know anything about that.”
I feel like I’m missing a vital piece of information.
“The previous maid was working for Malechus.” Soraya reads me well. “So Belladonna removed her. She’s currently convalescing in the country.”
“Convalescing.” It’s an interesting word.
“I’m not the only one with a gift for poisons,” Soraya murmurs. Her eyes lock with Belladonna’s. “Although her ladyship’s a little less refined with them. You nearly killed her.”
Belladonna’s finger twitches as though she’d almost like to curse Soraya.
“Careful with that finger, my lady,” Soraya purrs. “You’re still recovering from what you did to Zemira. I’m very well aware of the extent of your powers, and you’re days away from recovering the strength to commit a second curse. But just in case, my knife will be in your throat before you can even twitch it again.”
She definitely hasn’t told me everything.
Belladonna’s eyes narrow, and she takes a long time before she sinks into the chair opposite me, crossing one smooth leg over the other. “I assume there’s more to this lovely little get-together than a chance to exchange threats.” She drags Anissa down beside her, somewhat protectively. “You have my interest. Proceed.” And then she smiles. “Give me one good reason not to detonate the curse twined around your heart.”
“Simple.” I toss the half-eaten apple back on the plate and lean forward. “Two words: Malechus. Dead.”
“In a way that cannot lead back to you,” Soraya adds.
“I’m listening,” Belladonna purrs.
The plan is simple.
Belladonna conceded Mistmark isn’t her true target—merely a means to sidestep this marriage, since her cousin insists she must go through with it—but she’s not interested in lifting the curse or allowing me to avoid the terms of it unless it’s done.
Mistmark must die before she’ll remove the curse.
She will not marry him.
Someone has trust issues, though I daresay I can’t blame her after spending over a week in the Court of Blood. The only hint of softness the lady reveals is when she looks at Anissa, and she absolutely refuses to allow even the slightest chance this marriage will take place.
Which means we’re back to the beginning—but then, I never expected otherwise.
With Falion hovering attentively over Mistmark like a mother duck clucking over its ducklings, Mistmark is out of reach. If Soraya can’t see a way to do it, then it doesn’t exist.
But there’s one person who can get close to him.
One person who is expected to get close to him.
Besides, sometimes I can be a little theatrical.
Soraya and I sit in the rafters overlooking the grotto where the wedding will take place. The servants are hauling in boughs of mistletoe and bloodstar. Snow dusts the grotto floor, hiding any lingering remnants of lechery.
“Exits.” Soraya points. “One to the right, one to the left, and there’s the antechamber Malechus likes to use for his more private entertainments.”
I rub my hands together. The snow started last night, followed by a light rain. It was enough to wash away the snow in the garden above, but here in the grotto the protective overhang of rock shields certain corners of the room, and the overall effect is a little chilly.
It’s pretty though.
Especially against the backdrop of scarlet leaves and berries.
“Think you can go through with this?” I mutter. “If you mistime it, then Mistmark is dead.”
“Oh, I know I can.” Soraya doesn’t move, her hawkish eyes surveying the room. “And if he dies, then I can tell father I succeeded in my task.”
She doesn’t even flinch. But I learned long ago that my sister can lock away her heart as easily as breathing. It doesn’t mean it doesn’t occasionally bother her.
“I know you won’t kill him.”
“What?” She cuts me a look.
I blow into my cupped hands. “He got to you. Somehow. And you got to him.”
Color blooms in her cheekbones. “What do you mean by that?”
“You haven’t said a word about the fact Malechus used you to blackmail Mistmark into marriage.” My voice softens. “If he didn’t care, then he would have told Malechus to toss you off a cliff.”
Soraya stares across the grotto for such a long time I’m starting to think she’s not going to answer. And then her lashes lower over her eyes. “Then he’s a fool,” she says, but her voice lacks the chilliness I think she’s striving for. “You can’t fall in love with a weapon. And that’s all I am. That’s all I can ever be.”
“Soraya—”
“And what about Keir?” Her voice hardens. “Since we’re speaking of complications. Is Keir going to be a problem? Because I know your heart is softer than mine.”
The problem with knowing someone as well as this is
