I kept my eyes on him. “Rafaela, as I’m sure you know, was a princess of the Tulon Dynasty. She was born right here in this castle, when it was called the Abysmal Fortress.”
Baz had known. But from the ah-hah that flickered across his face, I suspected he hadn’t considered how much of an advantage my familial relationship might be.
“The castle—Mauldrene, then—is either alive or she isn’t. She can’t be both. If she’s alive, then you’re all fucked, ’cause she probably hates you all personally and is going to eat you. I’ll be fine, though, so good news there.”
Maybe not. Baz believed the castle liked me, but I hadn’t seen any particular proof of her affection for me—or, more likely, her tolerance.
“Bitch,” Aziza snarled.
Cold as the castle, I smiled at her. “Likewise.”
“Go on,” Baz said.
“If the castle, Mauldrene, isn’t alive—which she probably isn’t, since I’ve never heard of any other castles that are alive—have any of you?”
“No,” Baz said. The others, save Félix, shook their heads.
“If she’s not alive and she’s lashing out and eating people and, what else? I really do need to know. If she’s acting out, and she isn’t alive, she must be?—”
“Bespelled,” Night said.
“Cursed,” Aziza said.
“Whatever its cause, it’s gotta be sorcery. Dark faithum. It must be. I can think of no other explanation.”
“Nor can I,” said Félix.
Night looked to the elf. “Shit. Hate the stuff.”
I grunted. “I hate it too.”
“You do?” Baz said.
“Why wouldn’t I?”
“Well, I…” He grunted deep in his throat, went to glance away, then appeared to make himself stare into my eyes until all I could see was him. “I assumed you were a dark sorceress.”
My stomach squeezed but all I could think to say was, Thanks for nothing, motherfucker, and I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing he’d cut me.
I would never, ever, fucking ever resort to dark sorcery. Not for any reason. Not for any person. I owed it to my little sister, Isolina’s, memory.
My blood pulsed against the collar at my neck, my power wanting out. “What makes you think I’m a”—I swallowed a gulp of sour bitterness—“dark sorceress?”
“Your effect, of course.” Baz looked from me to his friends and back. Like whatever dark spell I supposedly cast over him was that fucking obvious. “On me.” His brows rose in a bit of a, Duh.
My fingers twitched with the need to smack him. I smiled as darkly as the parlor’s shadows—oooh, did those shadows just grow thicker and longer when I smiled? Maybe it was my imagination … or maybe Baz was right. Perhaps there was some sort of connection between Mauldrene and me…
My smile turned as frigid as my voice: “If you can’t resist me, that’s on you, not me. You’re a general, for fuck’s sake, one strong enough to command armies—practically a whole, entire fucking world! If you can do that, you certainly should be able to control your own impulses without blaming your failures on me. I am not a sorceress, or a witch either, before you ask—oh wait, no, it’s more like before you accuse me.”
“You did try to assassinate him,” Aziza said. “You remember that, right, or did the bloodlust scramble your brains?”
I spun so quickly that my collar rattled and Aziza flinched. While she tried to pretend she hadn’t, I hissed.
She hissed back and reached for her mordaris.
Baz stepped between us. “If it’s not sorcery, then what is it?”
“Wait,” Aziza said. “You believe her? Just like that?”
