His gaze never leaves mine.
“It’s you, Maxine.”
The words land with terrifying certainty.
“You are the crimson flame born to purify us all and sever rotten, invisible threads that would otherwise last forever.” He raises a brow. “Like curses...or wedding vows.”
Beside me, E goes rigid. “Max could break my curse?”
“Maybe.”
“Would that bring back my memories?” E sounds genuinely worried, and his father answers with a grimace of his own.
“That’s a good question. Without knowing how the curse was phrased, there’s no way to know. And even then, the effects of a curse can be incredibly obtuse. Contradictory, even.”
Butterflies scatter through my stomach.
I’d love for E not to be invisible anymore.
Do I really have that power?
Little old me?
Ethan continues, clearly more interested in high-level Fae politics than in seeing his son restored to the visible spectrum. “With your help, we can free my son from the clutches of a woman who has inflicted her pain and suffering upon millions of others. A woman who wants to destroy the world as we know it.”
“But he married her, didn’t he?” I ask. “She can’t have been that awful if he married her.”
I want to believe that.
Ethan slams his wineglass down on the table hard enough to make me jump. His eyes flash with anger, but he exhales through it before speaking again. “That was a long, long time ago.”
His voice is measured now, but only just.
“Willow Summers locked every Fae royal in a room and destroyed the Eternal Chalice, likely expecting to be the only survivor. She plunged our world into chaos. She created the conditions that allowed the Mist King to rise from the grave and infect the sceawere. She made the in-between dangerous to travel and crippled our defenses.”
Disgust curls his lip as he rises from his chair.
“And the first step toward bringing her down is stripping her of the magic she stole from my son.”
Chapter 42
Dessert
E
Dessert is served.
The rich taste of venison still lingers on my tongue, chased away by wine and too many questions. Lanterns burn brightly overhead, their bluish glow powered by something other than combustible oil. Max is tense beside me, her fingers curled tightly around the stem of her dessert wine glass.
“Those lanterns are so beautiful,” she remarks, her eyes angled toward the ceiling. “What are they made of?”
The King of Light follows her gaze, and a serene smile curls his lips. “Souls.”
Max chokes on a mouthful of wine. “Pardon me?”
“Those lanterns contain the souls of those who were not fit to meet the gods,” Ethan explains.
Max raises a brow, her bottom lip wet and shiny from her drink. “Because they were too damaged, you mean?”
