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“We all have a part to play in the Curse, my dark rose. The Curse is the very breadth and being of Talahn-Feyal, of this whole world, knit into its fabric for centuries. We all may loathe it, but open war with the gods was no longer an option. And now...” His hands rove downward, but I twirl at the last second to face his mask, to capture his cheek in an able ruse while my breath hitches from the end of his statement, “...all I am is thankful. After five hundred years and a thousand brides, you have survived, you have saved me. No, I will never be worthy of you, my bride, but I hope you may accept your role in the Curse so we may live and not simply survive.”
His words pierce my heart, and I am thankful...for the mask which hides the remorseful heat tingling my face. Whether or not he’s right about how we all have a role to play in the Curse, I refuse to play it. Whether or not I can run from the gods, I must try. I respect Allysteir’s desire for peace, for the existence beyond the ruinous corpse he carried for centuries—and all the deathly brides haunting him. He deserves more, more than I can give.
When he presses his lips to mine, warm and hungry, I shudder and almost tell him, almost ask him to come with me, to escape. But I’ll never forget his words:I mean to keep you with me here for all eternity.
Allysteir’s heart already followed Finleigh’s beyond the ends of the earth. He won’t follow me beyond the Underworld.
“If I may have the honor of dancing with her Royal Highness, Queen Isla Morganyach.”
At first, the King wrinkles his nose in disgust at the Sythe Queen. But I light a hand on his arm and remind him, “It’s a night of celebration and union, Allysteir.”
He eyes Narcyssa, fingers digging into my waist through the rib cage bodice, but after I stare him down for a few seconds, Allysteir finally relents. His hand retreats from my waist. Narcyssa and I share a grin while Allysteir issues an Ith growl as a warning when she closes the distance between us.
“Be nice,” I scold him and welcome Narcyssa’s hand.
The Sythe Queen’s alluring aroma from her High Goddess permeates my nostrils the moment she swings me closer to the Royal table as if to goad the other sovereigns.
The heat in my belly twirls when Narcyssa leans in, her breath of honeysuckle wine contrasting her rich and seductive gown of blood rubies. True blood since these gems were mined from the ichor valley of blood falls. I recognize them from some research in Master Ivory’s library.
“From what I’ve learned, the former Corpse King is celebrating much tonight,” mentions Narcyssa while tugging me closer, two fingers tapping in succession down my spine. “But from what I scent, you have far more to celebrate, don’t you, lioness?”
I part my lips, wincing from her fingers journeying lower to cross my Nether-mark, which blazes with a lustful heat. When the Queen tips me back and pauses with her lips hovering above mine, I lean into the heat on my lower spine. I use it as a touchstone to thwart her, “It depends on what you are implying...Narcyssa.”
She raises a brow as if stunned by my informal address, but considering her lioness title, however affectionate, one good turn deserves another. I shouldn’t keep my answers so vague, but Narcyssa has aided me before, and her Goddess is the highest next to Kryach. Outside Talahn-Feyal, Narcyssa could prove to be an ally and not simply a curious party flirting with me from time to time.
“You are the Tenth Bride to survive the God of Death, but you have come out wholly unscathed, have you not? No claws clipped. No fangs ripped from their roots. I would state my compliments are in order, but we both know it was not solely your doing,” she adds as if baiting me.
I screw my brows low. “Oh?” I call her bluff, wincing when she snaps me upward, brushing her lips across my cheek, lighter than an eyelash.
“Why, love of course. As we discussed at the Royal supper. Love as strong as Death.” She gestures to Allysteir who lingers at the head of the sovereign table, drumming his fingers impatiently.
Grateful for the mask to veil my cheeks which pale when I know they should blush, I somehow lift my chin. “Of course. Love.”
After one more twirl, Narcyssa cups my shoulder, her thumb nudging my neckline as if seeking. When her pupils expand, blacker than Nether-trenches, I don’t shrink. I lean away. Her hold grows stronger.
“Why? Is there something else for which I should offer my compliments, little lioness?” She digs in her thumb. I swallow the lump in my throat. How could she know of the mark, much less how I carved it off?
Before Narcyssa may latch onto my vulnerability, and before Allysteir may charge from the Royal table, Franzy proves to be my rescuer. Except she doesn’t ask for permission. I breathe a deep sigh when she harnesses my waist and drags me from the Sythe Queen, pressing her lips to my cheek and whispering in my ear, “My turn to save you for a chance, leyanyn. You were pale as a spirit.”
I bind my arms around her neck and dip my forehead onto her shoulder. More shameful knots gather in my chest. Emotion wells in my throat.
“Why, Franzy?” I moan into her neck, end with a whisper, “Why?”
She stiffens, understanding I’m referring to the mines. But a Cryth River spirit billows around us, interrupting, laughing cold and airy, trying to join our dance. Franzy rolls her eyes and sweeps me away from the spirit, further from the Royal Table, further from the River, closer to the center of the Court. Most give us a wider berth, recognizing the Crown Princess and the Queen of the Underworld. A Queen for a short time longer.
“When did you lose faith in me, Isla?” murmurs Franzy, brow furrowing in confusion.
I open my mouth, but no words come out. Especially when she cups my cheek, fingers traipsing across several tiny skulls while she leans in to match her emerald eyes against my amethyst ones. Except hers seem far more royal. It’s the first time I balk. Only Franzy has the power to bring me to my knees.
“Please, Isla. I know you wouldn’t have stopped trying. The herb. But you stopped sharing with me. You stopped coming to our suite. And now...” her fingers are steady as she lifts my mask so she may behold my whole face. My blanched cheeks, the tears streaming from my eyes, my lower lip trembling. “You avoid me, but when I saw you earlier in the secondary hall, you looked like you were ready to spread wings and fly right out of the Underworld.”
I bite my lower lip over a shameful huff, then wrench my eyes to hers because she deserves no less. “Franzy, you were right. We relate to the Underworld in different ways. But after tonight, I won’t relate to it anymore.”
As the minstrels lull their instruments into a slower tune and the spirits collect in pairs to mirror the romantic music, Franzy purses her lips and nods before tipping her brow to mine. “I am sorry, leyanyn. I understand why you stopped coming. I swear I never meant to drive you away. I had a very good reason for my reactions. But what I said to you on your wedding night is every bit as true tonight as it was then.”
When Franzy cups my shoulders, her palms nudging the raw wound, I cringe, unable to help myself. Knitting her brows together, she tilts her head to the side before folding back the neckline. I suck a gasp through my nose, but it’s smothered by Franzy’s shriek. She hurries to right my neckline before pulling me close.
“Isla, leyanyn, please don’t tell me you’re...” she trails off, glances around at the dancers as if waiting for a lower god to pop up at any minute before seeking my eyes beyond my mask. I lick my lips, not answering because I don’t need to. Franzy knows me enough to determine my plans.
