The Four of Cups has him falling asleep instantly. I catch him, easing him down to the floor as I cast the Nine of Wands—no pain. I cast the Knight of Wands on myself, removing all doubt. This is one of the first times I’ve ever truly needed it.
The Prince of Swords shreds his heart from within. I wield the card so carefully that it doesn’t break the surface of his skin. He’s peaceful and as handsome as ever, even in death. Liam dies in my arms, so similar to how he did in my vision in the Chalice…yet so different.
He knew no pain. Life leaves him with a peaceful sigh. It was a better death than most of us could ever hope for.
But it was still too early for him. Unfair. I hang my head and share his last breath before easing his body to the ground. Just as I stand to leave, there is a sharp inhale.
I freeze and slowly turn my head.
A woman is there. No, not just any woman. My eyes make out the details of her features against the bright light from inside.
Liam’s wife.
Chapter 76
Her eyes grow wide with horror. Her breaths quicken, chest rising and falling against her tight corset. She lets out a piercing scream.
Fuck.
I lunge. Not at her, but away. I vault over the veranda railing, already hearing stirring from inside. They’re going to be on me in seconds. Now is not the time to hold back.
The Page of Coins crashes into my chest; my fingers shimmer with gold as I race toward then reach for the outer wall. The Ace of Coins sparks, and the stone of the wall comes to life, jutting out, making a sort of ladder.
“Clara Graysword! She’s here! She killed my husband!”
There’s a surge of movement, and enforcers round the house right as I vault over the top of the wall. I land hard, rolling, and then scramble back to my feet on the other side. A narrow alleyway awaits ahead. This was planned. Well, not the enforcers shouting in chorus with Alor as they begin to chase after me, but my getting away was calculated. I am wishing I brought a Chariot with me, though. Here I was,preserving the resources I have, thinking this little mission would be quick and tidy. Now I’m cursing that there isn’t one in my deck.
In the alleyway, stashed by a rubbish bin, is a small satchel of clothes. My fingers are already ripping off the hood of my cowl. The Ace of Swords slices through the seams of my shirt. The Five of Coins vanishes them as they fall, turning the fabric into an outline of gold that blinks out of existence before it can even touch the ground.
I’m in nothing but my smallclothes. But I don’t care. No one is around, and I’d rather look crazy and move quickly than worry about my modesty. In the satchel are a pair of plain trousers and a tunic. I slide both on. They’re way too loose on me but designed to be that way. Faster to get on. And a flick of my wrist has the Three of Coins tightening the seams, rendering them to a perfect fit with each hurried step away.
Footsteps pound the cobblestones behind me. Too close. I make a hard turn and head for River Park. There are fewer lamplights there, and it’s not uncommon for people to take nighttime strolls.
Enforcers shout, and I hear more running—too close for comfort. I dash down another road. And then break free of the buildings, emerging into the trees of the park. As soon as I do, I slow my pace, chest heaving.Run,every instinct within me urges. But I don’t. That will make me look more suspicious.
A man emerges from a different alleyway. A card rises over my shoulder on instinct. But it falls back into my hand as the man’s magic spikes in the air with a force so sudden that it has me halting instantly. The magic is familiar in a somewhat sickening way.
I don’t put away the card as I slowly shift my feet, looking over my shoulder, halfway angling myself toward him. My gaze locks on a tall, imposing figure standing just at the edge of a lamp’s glow.
Lord Moreus Ventall.
His golden eyes gleam coldly in the dim light. Three cards are held in an outstretched hand like a threat, as if to match my own. A deck sits on his hip, not unlike how I wear mine on my thigh.
But there are no enforcers with him. No Stellis. It’s as though he ran off on his own—separate from them.
His eyes drop to the card in my hand and then look back to my face. His brow furrowing.
“Can I help you?” My voice is steady, but I wear a confused expression in an attempt to throw him off.
His lips curve in something that might be amusement, if his eyes weren’t so pained. “I know who you are.”
I don’t respond.
“Did you think I wouldn’t recognize you?” He takes a slow step forward, leaving the nearest streetlamp’s glow and entering the veil of night. “Did you think I wouldn’t recognize her face in yours last year? Just like I can recognize her style on your cards.”
My grip tightens on the card in my hand, but I say nothing.
“Yes…You can try to change how you ink, but I see your mother in the way you craft the borders, the chipped edges on your Swords and stars on your Cups. And you’ve spent all year teaching that style to your sister without even trying. She so admires how you wield that she even mirrors your inking style.”
