“Retrieving the tower is going to be… an issue.”
“What kind of issue? You’re in trouble?”
“Me? No,” he said, with the audacity to smile. “But the chaos I caused freeing the Cursed probably attracted the witch patrols, and?—”
“YOU DID WHAT?”
How could he cause so many problems in so little time?
“You’d have approved,” he assured me, his sharp features sculpted in shadow, exuding nothing but cold certainty. “They were caged and starved like slaves. I slept in those kinds of cagesmyself to control my urges when I first turned into a stag dragon. I wouldn’t wish it on anyone.”
His gaze darkened slightly. A muscle worked in his jaw. My stomach clenched. That witch, Zelda… had caged him? I gripped my broom so tightly that, if I’d had the strength, I’d have snapped it like her cursed neck.
“You’re still breathing? Or worse, still angry?” The sorcerer sighed, running a hand through his hair, as if what he’d just confessed were the most ordinary thing in the world. “You needn’t fear the Cursed. Your people don’t understand them, but being born of dark magic doesn’t make one evil.” His eyes met mine. The sharp gleam was gone, but something darker swam there. “They’re fed sucremort to grow stronger, to evolve into higher categories. Tortured until they obey, until they lose themselves. Zelda uses them to build an army.”
Something tightened in my chest. A knot. I nodded. “You did the right thing. But you… you’ve tasted sucremort, haven’t you?”
Arawn turned away, a twitch in his throat.
“You can trust me,” I whispered. “If our partnership is to work, I need the truth.”
A breath.
Another.
“I… I am its source.”
My mouth opened. A gust of wind tore between us. The ground slipped from under my feet.
“She draws the sucremort from my heart.”
My fingers curled into the fabric of my skirt, so hard I thought I’d tear it. A heart born from the world’s darkness. Zelda didn’t need an army. She only needed him. If she truly owned him, if he let his cursed form consume him, then all would be lost.
Only a confectioner’s heart stronger than his could kill him.
A flawless heart.
My temples throbbed. The sucremort was the sworn enemy of every confectioner. It was Evil itself. But I refused to make Arawn my enemy. He was on our side.
“I’m just… very angry. But not at you.”
He tilted his head slightly. For a moment, he almost seemed surprised. “Interesting. I thought I was the only one who could rile you up like this.”
I rolled up my sleeves, drew a deep breath, and met his eyes. “I think this is the first time I’ve felt so many… murderous urges. I feel… hateful. It’s awful. How do you even deal with it?”
His smile sharpened. “You’re askingmefor advice? Now that’s new.”
I glared, nostrils flaring, my heart pounding furiously.
“You can’t. Either you let the rage out or it eats you alive. I could find you some wretch to practice on, if you’d like to torture?—”
I screamed. I screamed with everything I had. Raw, primal, tearing from my throat all the frustration burning me inside. Dozens of birds burst from their nests in the mountain’s hollows. My breath came ragged, my shoulders trembling. Tears stung my eyes.
“Or… you could do that.”
I didn’t answer. I grabbed a rock and hurled it over the cliff, watching it ricochet against the jagged walls.
“ZELDA! I’M GOING TO KILL YOU, YOU DEMON WITCH! THIS ONE’S FOR ME!”
