“Imp’s damnation,” she cursed again, rubbing a hand over her face. That had been her mother’s favorite cup.
Was she destined to destroy everything that mattered to her? The thought settled deep, but it wasn’t despair that filled her. Inhaling slowly, she forced every lingering thread of doubt, every last shred of weakness, into silence. Self-pity wouldn’t serve her now.
She may have ruined her life, may have burned every bridge that could have led her to the future she once wanted—a life with her fated mate and love like her parents had found in each other—but that didn’t mean Caelith would walk away untouched. Not this time.
She traced a fingertip along the railing, calculating. If the Goddess had forsaken her, then fine. She would carve out her own justice. He had stolen from her. From Deyric’s sister. From who knows how many others. It was time someone took something from him.
“Lyra’s breath,” she whispered, the vow sliding over her tongue like a blade unsheathing. “I will make him pay.”
The moment the words left her lips, the wind lifted, and a hush fell over the Vale. It wasn’t unnatural nor abrupt, but a quiet that pressed in just enough to be noticed. The usual rustling of leaves stilled, and the ever-present hum of magic that pulsed beneath the city’s ancient roots seemed to soften as if something unseen had heard her.
A featherlight touch grazed her skin. Barely there, it brushed her cheek, soft as an exhale, warm as sunlight. Her heart jumped, and the wind danced around her, unseen tendrils dragging through her hair—not cruel, not kind.
“Goddess?” She raised her hand to her face.
But if the Goddess answered, it was only with agony. Another sharp, punishing ache lanced through her skull, searing behind hereyes. She sagged, gripping the balcony rail, gasping as the pain dug through her mind, tearing through the delicate strings of thought, leaving only raw, pulsing torture in its wake.
The wind picked up again, carrying the scent of damp earth and ancient woodsmoke, the stillness breaking as if the moment had never happened.
“He will be punished,” she panted. “Just… not today.”
She could barely string two coherent thoughts together, let alone plot revenge. But tomorrow—tomorrow, she would start. And by the time the Solstice Ball arrived, Caelith would wish he were dead.
If she let him live that long.
Chapter twenty-one
Ahardknockrattledthedoor, shaking Emmaline from sleep.
Pulling in air, she struggled to separate reality from the nightmares that had been plaguing her sleep. The room was bathed in golden afternoon light, dust motes swirling lazily in the glow.
Too bright.She squinted, trying to make sense of the new noise.
“Are you home!” Cassidy’s voice was muffled but distinct.
Emmaline pressed her palms against her temples as she sat up. The pain was still there, a dull, insistent drum, but the razor-sharp stabs had dampened. The fog in her mind was thin enough that she could string together a thought without wading through confusion.
“Emmaline?” This time, the voice was rougher, gruffer. “I can hear you stirring. Come let us in.”
It was Lara, Cassidy’s bonded Corgi.
Emmaline groaned and let herself flop back onto the pillow.Shite.
“If you’re dead and a ghost, you’d better have left a note.” Lara’s voice held the usual mix of impatience and disapproval.
Silence stretched on the other side of the door, too brief to be reassuring. Then Cassidy’s voice rang out again. “We’re coming in!”
Panic shot through her, and she lurched upright, gripping the frame of her bed for balance as the world spun in protest. Her gaze darted around the room, scanning for the robe she had worn after hershower. Had she draped it over the chair? Tossed it by the dresser? She couldn’t remember.
Had that been today? Yesterday? Two days ago? Her stomach tightened as a deeper panic clawed up her throat. What day was it? Was it Monday? Had she missed work?
Her breath came faster, hands fumbling as she searched for anything to cover herself, but even as her fingers found the discarded robe, another thought coiled, dark and bitter, beneath the panic.
Who the hell cares if I miss work?She clenched her jaw as something hot and ugly simmered beneath her skin.
She was just going to kill Caelith, anyway. Maybe even Isolde, too.
The thought wound its way through her mind, intoxicating. And the corner of her mouth lifted at the idea as she made her way to the kitchen counter, bracing herself against the hard surface just as the door handle began to turn.
