Page 38 of Cursebreaker

The phantom force pries open my fingers, and the daggers clatter to the floor. Owen kneels to retrieve them, whispering, almost too low for even me to hear, “I’m sorry, Aster.”

So this is it. I don’t know why I ever thought this could work. I don’t know what I expected—that I would waltz right into Morana’s kingdom and demand blood? And then what? Fight my way out against an entire army of soulless, undead creatures? Mother was right. I don’t know what it takes to lead. I should have stayed on the Red Island.

But… Will and I had a plan, didn’t we? For some reason, I can’t remember it now.

At least I’m not alone. Will is here.

I have hope that Henry has boarded the train already, escorting Margaret and Jack to the safety of the Starchaser. Perhaps they can reach the Red Island before Morana launches her assault on the kingdoms of the Known World. Perhaps there’s still a chance that they can defend the island against the full power of the Lightbringer.

They’re going to be all right. I have to believe they will be all right.

I feel Will’s presence beside me just as I always have—constant, reassuring—held captive by the same force that keeps me pinned to the floor, a foot or so to my left.

We must have been wrong about Gabriel being the Shifter. Unless he somehow broke away from Henry and made his way to the Burning Lands. Whoever he is, he’s here. I can feel it. The venom in my blood begins to slow my heartbeat, making me sleepy, dulling my senses. Bile rushes to my throat, but I can’t even open my mouth to vomit. My veins feel like they’re on fire, my head heavy, my temples throbbing. Every muscle in my body aches, and I have the distant, muddled thought that I’m dying. Part of me almost wishes Will had killed me back on the Mythslayer. If he had, would the power of the Lightbringer have transferred to another one of my siblings, or would it have simply vanished? I’ll never know. Once I’ve transformed fully into a Shifter, will I even care?

“You’ve made your point,” Morana says, no longer using Annie to speak. Her snakelike voice slithers throughout the room, brushing against my eardrums in a booming whisper. “You’ve completed your task. I will honor your claim on the girl.”

I was right—the Shifter is close. I can feel him speaking to my blood, commanding my body to regulate, soothing the ache in my muscles.

Morana laughs, as if she’s just seen something humorous. “Welcome home, General.”

“My queen,” comes the deep, rasping voice of the Shifter to my left.

The pressure of the phantom force eases only slightly, enough that I’m able to lift my head and see Will kneeling before the throne, his eyes glowing red, his head, arms, and hands wreathed in shadows.

He cocks his head at me, smirks. “You really do look lovely when you’re surprised, Aster.”

William Castor is lying to you.

The room spins. Black spots edge my vision. I feel as if I’d been gutted, and I flick a glance at my stomach to make sure my entrails haven’t spilled out onto the floor beneath me.

Will stands, his wounds fully healed, and he transforms before my eyes. The translucent pallor of his skin shifts, his ivory face and hands appearing to glow silver from within, as if he had bathed in moonlight. He stretches, rolling his shoulders, seemingly shedding his frail, sickly stature, growing until he is at least one foot taller, broader, more muscular, his jet-black fingernails gleaming like polished obsidian in the firelight. Even his clothing morphs into a solid black ensemble bedecked in iron chains, until the figure standing before me looks more like a harbinger of death than a mortal man. Aside from his green eyes, the smattering of freckles across the bridge of his nose, and his coal-dark hair, I hardly recognize him.

Slowly, deliberately, he withdraws my father’s compass from his pocket. It sways back and forth like a pendulum in his grasp. He drawls, his gritty, rasping voice like shadows and smoke, “Looking for this?”

He drops the compass back into his pocket. Winks.

“Come,” Morana says, beckoning him. “General Azeron of House Viridian, Keeper of the Guild of Shadows, Lord of Chaos. Tonight, we feast in your honor.”

Will—no, General Azeron—ascends the dais, his back to me. When he takes his seat on the throne to Morana’s right, I realize I can no longer feel my hands. Hurt, betrayal, grief—they all fade beneath my immediate panic when Will winks at me, and I see it—the twinkle of amusement in his eyes. He smiles, revealing two sharpened canines, his laughter deep and rough.

“It’s good to be home,” he says, addressing the throne room.

The Underlings cheer. I feel like I’m going to vomit.

“You—” I feel the magic release my tongue, just enough that it’s still a feat to get the word out. Will. The boy who spoke to me with flowers. The boy who kissed me—who told me he loved me. The boy who asked me to marry him—who promised me he’d fight for our future together. “It was you.”

Will props his cheek on his fist, grinning. “What gave me away?”

This sets my teeth on edge, because nothing gave him away. Nothing at all. And I know why. I feel it—the instant he releases his grip on my mind. Something snaps, abrupt and final, jarring me back to myself with a rush of startling clarity that leaves me breathless and weak and yet more in control of my thoughts than I have been since the moment Will and I crossed paths all those months ago.

“You compelled me!” I don’t recognize the sound of my own voice. Tears burn my cheeks. I don’t care if the entire Underling army sees me cry. These are not tears of sadness. They are tears of hate. And with each one, I feel clearer. As if each drop of water cleansed my mind of Will’s influence. “All this time!” Disgust rises to the forefront of my emotions when I think of the kiss I’d given him on Holy Winter’s Day. Every tender caress. Every night spent in the conservatory at Bludgrave Manor. I hate myself for wanting to know, but I can’t help asking, “Was any of it real?”

Something flashes in Will’s eyes—something I can’t understand. A crease forms between his brows. “Of course it was,” he says, sitting up straight, gripping the arms of his throne. “It was all real for me, Aster. You just needed a little help to see it.”

My stomach roils. I remember every time Will has ever touched me, from the two weeks he influenced me to sleep aboard the Merryway after we were captured to just a few minutes ago, before we entered Morana’s throne room. Nothing I feel—nothing I felt—for Will is real. It was all a lie. A trick. A game.

But then an even worse thought occurs to me.