Page 19

Steadying myself, I clutched at my throat, unbuttoning the high-collared dress. All day I’d felt as if I could barely breathe.

I looked around.The area where I stood was deserted, thank the Bloodmaiden. I’d come out of a side door, one few even knew existed.Above me loomed Bloodwing, the castle’s towers rising into the night like sharpedged teeth. I glanced upwards at the highpaned windows glowing faintly with candlelight, blurred slightly by the falling snow.The wind howled past my ears, and I shivered. I’d left my cloak behind in my new office. But I didn’t mind the cold. I took another deep breath of fresh air. Before me, across an expanse of flat white snow was the cliff ’s edge—and beyond that, the endless night of a cold, merciless, black sea. I could hear the waves churning from here, crashing onto the rocks below. Hungry and restless. I stood on a small terrace, bordered by a low stone wall. Slowly, I crossed the snow-covered flagstones, my footsteps muffled, my breath sharp in my chest as I drew in cold breath after cold breath.

When I reached the wall, I lifted a hand, pulling pins from my hair and letting it fall. The wind caught it instantly, whipping it around my face and shoulders, lashing the strands across my cheeks. I lifted my head to the wind, letting it have me. My lungs already ached from the cold, but I still drank in more of it, greedy for something so fresh and so pure, so untainted by Viktor. Free of his scent, his voice, his hands.

I shuddered. The day had been all I’d expected. To think I’d believed myself prepared for it! What a fool I was to think power alone could save me from what Viktor really was.

I forced a laugh; the sound was brittle and cracked. I coughed, the cold wind sliding down my throat, pushing at my back. The wind wanted me. The sea wanted me. I could feel them pushing me, pulling me, drawing me into the darkness.

My first day as queen of the castle. My first day as headmistress of Bloodwing. It should have been such a triumph. So why did I feel as fragile as the flowers covered with snow? Twisted and frozen. Like a corpse.

A corpse.

I closed my eyes.

Viktor had commanded me, and so I’d tried. But I hadn’t been able to do it. I had the power. But when I went to summon the thrallweave, nothing would come. The blightborn woman had stood there, blinking, terrified. Waiting. It should have been swift. Practically painless. Nearly merciful. I’d said the words. I’d condemned her. I was her judge. I was supposed to be her executioner, too. But I’d been useless. Paralyzed.

Before anyone could even notice what was happening, Viktor had done my job for me.

I unwrapped my arms from myself, then slowly lifted up the edge of my shirt. I hissed. The bruises there were fresh and ached dully. The marks were red and purple now. Soon they’d darken to green in some places, lighten to yellow in others. There were more on my upper arms, all over the inside of my thighs. More would be bestowed tonight, no doubt.

Pretty little blossoms, Viktor would croon. He’d lay beside me, a monstrosity of scarred, naked flesh, and stroke his handiwork. Look how beautifully you bloom for me, pretty girl.

Pretty girl. It was what my father had always called me. I was his pretty girl, his darling.

This was the cost of being pretty. Men wanted you, and it was exciting to be wanted. Flattering.

But when you were a little girl, no one told you that what the men wanted was to devour you whole. To break you apart with their hands. To rip you up into the pieces they found palatable while they threw away everything else.

Shaking, I leaned forward, placing both hands along the rough stone wall. The cold wind scorched my skin. But in a few moments, I’d be numb, unable to feel anything at all.

How had this happened to me? I was supposed to be the golden girl of Drakharrow. Blake’s consort. The most popular girl at Bloodwing—and the most powerful. I hadn’t needed Viktor to elevate me: I’d already been riding high. Then it had all come crashing down. In the course of one year, my life had somehow become a waking nightmare. I wouldn’t say I hadn’t gotten what I’d deserved in some ways, or that I had no regrets whatsoever … because that would have been a lie.

But that didn’t mean I didn’t feel sorry for myself now, even though I knew no one was coming to rescue me—and certainly no one else was coming to this little pity party. Not even my own family.

I closed my eyes, letting the snow soak my face and settle on my lashes. Just a few moments, I prayed silently. Please. Just a few.

Better to be out here in the cold than in there with Viktor’s weight above me, his hands guiding me, punishing me. Petting me like a dog one moment, beating me brutally the next.

Could the Bloodmaiden hear me? Was she a merciful goddess? Considering how we asked the blightborn to serve us, I doubted it. Highblood ways were cruel and self-serving. Kindness was for the weak.

So did the Bloodmaiden want me to keep carrying on exactly the way I was? Did she just want me to be strong?

I brooded, staring out to sea. I knew what my father would say: that the answer was staring me in the face. It had happened because I’d shown weakness. Because I’d been too soft. Because of her I’d lost my place. My home. Blake.

Father had wanted me to kill my fellow consort in the Games. So I’d tried. But by the last trial, something happened. Something … changed. I didn’t have the heart. Or was the truth even more humiliating? Medra Pendragon had saved my life that day. Then she’d ended my triad and taken my archon. I’d been discarded like an old gown thrown on the waste heap.

But even then, I hadn’t killed her. I hadn’t gone straight for her throat. I’d tried to move on, tried to tell myself something better would come along

A great choking laugh filled my throat again, tinged with rage and sorrow. Something better. Gods, just look at me.

Stop. Enough.

I squeezed my eyes shut more tightly. Just one moment of stillness, of quiet, of peace. One moment where no one was watching me. One moment where no one was telling me what to do, who to be. Not even myself. It worked. For a minute at least. I felt slightly calmer. More at peace. When I opened my eyes, I saw a flash of white in the distance. Standing at the far edge of the clearing, near the cliff’s edge, was a wolf.

The creature was massive, larger than a horse. Silver fur gleamed in the moonlight, pale and ghostly against the dark, damp with melted snow. The wolf stood, looking out at the sea. Its breath came in slow puffs, so steady and so calm. It was beautiful. So beautiful that I didn’t even think about what a beast like that might do to me. The wolf was a part of the landscape. As perfect as the snow itself, as natural as the wind. As I watched it, some of the horror of the day fell away, like snow melting off a rooftop. I expected the wolf to slip away at any moment, to vanish back into the night like some dream I’d conjured up.

I closed my eyes again, half expecting the wolf to be gone by the time I opened them. But instead, when my eyes reopened, the wolf had begun to change.