Page 73 of Devoured

He hesitates. “Vanessa, you’ve never—”

“Vanessa!” Portia bursts through the door to her room, her eyes widening slightly when they fall upon me in Calix’s arms. “I thought I heard your voice.”

Calix dips his chin to her, and she steps aside in polite bewilderment, trailing behind as he enters, sets me upon her bed, and leaves without another word. That sense of loss only deepens with the click of the door behind him.

I’ll never know what he meant to say now. I’m not even sure I should hear it. Seeing Portia, I’m reminded of my wounds. Of revolution and war and loss.

“Vanessa?” Portia asks softly. “How are you?”

“And why the hell do you look like a science experiment gone wrong?”

That voice—as cold and smooth as a lake frozen over during winter—captures my attention instantly. The rest of the world falls away as Evelyn Lee crawls out from under Portia’s bed with an icy grimace, and I have never in my life been happier to see someone frown. “Do not ever,” she growls, “force me to hide under a bed again.”

26

VANESSA

IF YOU’LL RECALL, WE’RE NOT SUPPOSED TO BE SEEN together in public.” Portia falls onto a small velvet settee pressed up against a vaulted window. Her room is the only room that looks different from the others in the castle after Cora’s redecoration.

Emerald-green furniture fills the wide space, from her velvet bedspreads to the velvet curtains to the silk footrest beneath her vanity, while the greenest ivy climbs up her window and over the ceiling. Small flowers grow along the walls, almost wallpapered in effect but three-dimensional and sweet, flourishing in vibrant shades of pink and purple. Moss blankets the ground, her wardrobe, even part of her desk, as if she can’t help using her Earthcharmer powers on every inch of her life. It might be the most beautiful room in the entire world, and I can’t believe Cora let her keep it this way.

I’m torn between gaping at the magic and balking at Evie’s presence as she leans against a pink peony, crushing it beneath her shoulder. “Did they cut out her tongue too?” She flicks her wrist in my direction. Dirt cakes her nails, even her fingers, as if she hasn’t had a moment to wash since her arrival.

“Obviously not. She and Calix were happily chatting moments ago.”

“Ah. So perhaps she can only speak to buff, brooding generals.” Evie arches a perfect brow. “Rather exclusive of you, Hart.”

“S-sorry,” I manage, exchanging the curtain wrapped around my shoulders for Portia’s luxurious emerald comforter. “I’m just…” I shake my head. “Portia, your room is incredible!”

“That’s magic for you. At least… when it isn’t being used by a soulless maniac.” Portia laughs, a sweet sound I thought I’d never hear again, while Evie rolls her eyes.

Pulling out the vanity chair, Evie brushes off wisteria petals and sits down with a sharp sigh. “I’m fine, by the way. I wasn’t just stuffed in a flying metal tube with thirty sweaty werewolves—”

Portia ignores Evie. “Cora is desperate to keep Canada on her side. So long as her werewolves don’t find out, my room is allowed to remain as it’s always been.”

“So much for everyone shall be equal,” Evie mutters.

Tearing my gaze from the room at large, I turn to her. “You’re here.”

“Clearly.”

“No. I mean, you’re here in Portia’s room. Why—”

Evie glares daggers at me. “When I stumbled in yesterday, someone grabbed me by the elbow and yanked me into a broom closet to let me know that you were a traitor.” Evie crosses her legs with another sigh. “You told Portia everything. I’m only gone for a few days, and you can’t keep your mouth shut.”

“She was being tortured,” Portia interjects.

Evie doesn’t react. Her frown doesn’t so much as twitch. But I swear I see a shadow pass over her face. “I heard.”

“I’m sorry,” I say. “She showed up to free me and already knew everything. But it’s Portia. We can trust her.”

Portia smiles wider, her canines sharp. “Exactly.”

Evie finds a wisteria petal atop the vanity and pinches it between her fingers. “So you’re okay,” she says casually, not meeting my gaze. “You’ll recover?”

“That’s what they say. In a day, I’ll be fine aside from some scars.”

“Who healed you?” Portia’s brow furrows. “I wouldn’t trust Cora’s werewolves—”