Page 203 of Blood Curse

It kept moving.

The black cloth of Stellan’s coat tore across his chest. He forced one shoulder through, but the gate had his arm.

“Leave the coat,” I said.

He twisted out of it. I pulled the loose sleeve clear, and the iron gate struck shut between us and the covered walk.

Stellan stood in the garden in his torn shirt. Rain darkened the fabric and ran over the cut Mara opened along his cheek.

My body noticed him because apparently attempted murder had done nothing for my taste in men.

His eyes caught mine.

The heat lasted one second.

Then the Crown tried to drag me back to the gate.

I bent forwards, clutching the dagger against my stomach. Stellan caught my hips but didn’t pull in either direction. He held me steady while I forced one boot towards the spring.

The Crown used my spine, my knees and the old fear that I would reach the water only to fail again.

I used the fact that it had already shown me every one of those weapons.

The last attempt rose in sharp pieces. Cold water. Silver light. Stellan’s hand closing around a dagger because my stolen voice ordered it. The point breaking his skin before I tore the command back.

The Crown pushed the memory harder, trying to turn it into a prediction.

It left out the part where I stopped.

It left out Stellan stepping away after the chain broke and the spring rejecting the forced blood. The curse remembered fear perfectly and choice badly.

I remembered both.

One step.

Then another.

Elias took the path ahead of us and kicked fallen branches into the grass. Stellan stayed at my side. Behind the gate, Mara and the court forced the iron back along its track by inches.

The garden opened around us.

Wild grass slapped my wet trousers. Black roses bent under the rain. The dead fountain stood to our left, cracked mouth spilling nothing.

Ahead, clear water rose from the rock and filled the low white basin.

It still sounded like a leaking tap.

Thank fuck.

I didn’t want fire or thunder. I wanted ordinary water and the silver leaf carved into the wall.

The spring looked exactly as it did before. Age-darkened stone. Clear water spilling into the narrow channel. A circle of silver waiting near the bottom of the basin.

Last time, the carving dulled when the Crown forced Stellan’s hand. Now it shone through the rain as if the rejected offering never touched it.

The sight cut through the noise in my head.

We hadn’t been sent back to the beginning. We had reached the part where we chose differently.