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The king seemed to consider this. She’d heard rumors that he disliked the isles but wanted confirmation.“If you’d like to be banished there, in true Hell, be my guest.”
“You know,”she made her tone sound bored,“some believe six-six-six to be the sign of the beast. If I purge this memory, how am I to trust you won’t break your word?”
“You know full well it symbolizes balance. Natural order. Don’t feign ignorance, Sursea. I can scent your lies, and they reek of shit.”He called for a servant, then pulled a clear, smooth piece of quartz from inside his jacket pocket. Sursea did her best to not look surprised. The devil had come prepared to do battle. A moment later, that same servant reappeared with a contract and two blood quills. Unease trailed a finger along her spine as the king handed her the stone.“Purge the memory and we’ll sign the oath.”
The memory abruptly ended, and I was thrust back into the here and now. My clothes were soaked through, the water frigid. Yet I was consumed with an inner fire that had the air glimmering from the sudden heat. I glanced at my hand, at the pulverized crystal in it. The memory hadn’t stopped,I’dcrushed it in my fist.
Six years, six months, and six days. Wrath never mentioned a clock counting down our time to break the curse. But he had wanted me to swear a blood oath to him, for six months. And then Anir had also mentioned his having six months left to regain his full power. Then, of course, there was Sursea’s snide comment about time moving quickly in the throne room.
I swore, using every foul word and phrase I knew. Given Sursea’s glee, we probably didn’t have much time left.
I wanted to charge up to the castle and demand to know how long we had left, but that had to wait. I still hadn’t found what I’d been looking for. And now, more than ever, I needed to discover where the Blade of Ruination was so I could break the curse before it was too late.
“Where is the Blade of Ruination?” I concentrated on my question, fueled it withmyfury and my magic, and shoved my hand below water again. I grabbed a fistful of crystals, and each one that tried to suck me into a nightmare was crushed to nothingness. I had neither the time nor the patience to deal with anyone else’s fear. Iwasfear. And I was capable of being a nightmare. The Well of Memory vibrated as if it trembled from the surge of my raw emotions. “Show me who last saw the Blade of Ruination. Now.”
My fingers closed on a roughened crystal that drew blood. A hiss of pain escaped my lips right before I was dragged into the next memory.
As the scene sprang into place, I swallowed my surprise. It seemed the secrets the people in my life had been keeping hadn’t been completely revealed.
Until now.
TWENTY-TWO
“Demons are notcapable of love. I’ve told you that countless times.”
Her mother’s superior tone grated on Lucia. She’d been scheming for years to put an end to Lucia’s relationship and didn’t hide the fact she was thrilled by recent events. Lucia wished to curl into a ball on her side and weep, but she refused to prove her mother correct.
Mother had said the Prince of Pride was the worst rake of the seven princes of Hell. That he’d fallen into infatuation time and again, always leaving broken hearts in his wake. And it would be no different when his attention finally wandered from her, an immortal witch he had no business consorting with. And not simplyanywitch, as her mother often reminded her, but the eldest daughter of the First Witch, the all-powerful, sun goddess–descended Sursea.
For years her mother chided her over how Lucia ought to have taken more care to set a better example. To not be deemed a fool in front of other witches who looked to her for instruction on how to carry themselves around the denizens of the Seven Circles. Courting—and worse yet, marrying—a demon was the worst sort of example, especially one as notorious as Pride.
Lucia wasn’t naive enough to think Pride would change, nor did she wish for him to do so for her benefit, but nothing prepared her for the pain of watching him fall under another’s spell. His actions weren’t done out of malice; Lucia believed that with each piece ofherbroken heart. She’d seen his kindness, knew his affection for her wasn’t feigned. Her mother thought her a fool, but she’d heard the rumors well before she agreed to his courtship. Knew he might be infatuated today, but tomorrow was an unknown. He needed attention and adoration the way flowers needed sunshine and rain to bloom. She’d found his whims terribly exciting, never falling into predictability or routine. Being a guardian between realms, she’d had plenty of routine and hated the monotony of it.
When they’d first met, the charming prince had been taken with her name. Lucia was derived fromlux,the Latin word for light. Pride, Lucifer, was the Morningstar. The light bringer. He’d called it star-crossed fate, claiming they were from two opposing sides meant to hate each other, but instead were unable to deny their fated love. Lucia didn’t believe in fate, but she rather enjoyed bantering with him. His nose would crinkle in the most adorable way when she good-naturedly rankled him. For his part, Pride seemed to adore her for it.
It had all seemed wildly romantic at first. Capturing the attention of someone like that. Someone who she never should have spoken to, let alone fallen for. Pride had been correct on one account. Their love was forbidden. And like all things forbidden, it held greater appeal. A sense of danger hung over them whenever they sneaked off for one of their clandestine meetings. At any moment they might be discovered, might cause a scandal for witches and demons alike.
As a Star Witch, the first of her kind, Lucia was meant to guard the realm, to ensure the demon princes behaved. Her sole duty was to make sure they remained in the Seven Circles, playing their sin-fueled games with their wicked courts and left the mortals in peace. Then she methim.Like the morning star he was, Pride came blazing into her life, igniting her passions and waking her up from a mundane, duty-filled existence that paled in comparison.
Even when he’d asked for her hand, she knew it wasn’t always going to be as it was then. He burned too brightly, too powerfully for his fires to ever be contained. Truth be told, she wouldn’t ever want him to change. But she’d come to realize thatshehad. And that was the issue. Her discontentment began small as most troubles often do, a tiny seed that grew into something more over time. She wanted something Pride never could give or even be. At least, not with her. And that was the root of her heartache.
Pride had always remained true to himself; it was Lucia who hadn’t been honest with herself or with him about her desires. He’d called her on her lies, begged her to tell him the truth, but she’d refused.
In fact, they’d argued that very night. Pride asked her again and again to confide in him, to tell him why she was upset. He vowed to do anything to make her happy. He promised to miss the feast, to stay by her side, to work through whatever was troubling her. But Lucia believed happiness couldn’t come from another, it had to be found within first.
She knew Pride would do anything for her; he’d never speak to another in any romantic way. And eventually, he’d be as unhappy as she was now. No matter how much love there was between them, Lucia realized some people just weren’t meant to be.
Tears burned behind her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. Her mother watched her closely, disapproval written all over her immortal face.
“His first and only love is himself. That is the nature of his sin. Leaving was for the best, Lucia. In time you’ll not only believe it, but feel it to be true.”
“Of course it was.”
Mother spoke as if Lucia hadn’t been the one to choose to walk away. It hurt, beyond anything she’d experienced before, but she’d done it. While Pride openly courted Nicoletta of House Vengeance at the feast tonight, Lucia had feigned a headache and remained at House Pride. Once her husband had finally given in to her demands and left, she grabbed the trunk she’d packed earlier and raced to the portal on their lands.
Mother had been staying on the Shifting Isles, so before she could convince herself it was a bad idea, Lucia pictured her mother’s home—the charming cottage with a thatched roof that sat high on the bluffs in the isle’s version of Ireland—and stepped into the portal.
Now, as she sat primly at the small dining room table, sipping a cup of herbal tea, she half-regretted her destination. Part of her wondered if her own pride was clouding her judgment.
