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Eagerly.
My eyes crack open, my vision hazy with desire.
Through the blurriness, I see a cloaked form standing behind him.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
ROMERIA
Gracen looks so small and fragile, perched on the stone altar, as a hulking form leans over her.
Feeds off her.
Wait a minute. I know those short wisps of blond hair, those broad shoulders, that muscular frame.
Atticus is feeding off Gracen.
And any second he’s going to catch a scent of my Ybarisan blood, discover I’m standing behind him, and then what? I need to get out of here immediately.
I rush to thread my affinities together as Lucretia taught me.
Gracen’s eyelids crack open. She blinks to focus.
Panicked, I channel into the nymphaeum stone, and in the next instant, I’m back in Lucretia’s crypt.
“Holy shit.” I release a lungful of air. “Oh my God.”
Lucretia grins. “See? They are connected.”
“Oh, I saw.” Irritation settles over me. “You can’t just send me through wormholes like that.”
She frowns. “There are no worms in the stones.”
I shake my head. “I almost got caught by Zander’s brother!”
“But you did not.”
I couldn’t have been there for more than a few seconds. It all happened so fast. Too fast, I hope, for anything to register in Gracen’s mind. How Atticus didn’t sense me there, didn’t catch the sweet neroli oil scent of my blood, I can’t explain. Then again, he was preoccupied with his fucking fangs in Gracen’s neck. I grit my teeth.
“Her Highness seems troubled.”
“Yeah, because I saw something troubling.” Why is Atticus feeding off Gracen? She’s a baker, not a tributary. I rescued her from that lecher Danthrin so she and her family would be safe, not so she could be used as a blood bag again.
At least she’s still alive. I was afraid Atticus would have sent her back to Freywich—or worse, execute her—to punish me. But maybe this is his way of punishing me?
My anger flares at the thought of him using the poor woman like that. She’s been through enough. Now to be used by Atticus? I have to get her out of there. If only I could bring her and her family here to Ulysede, within the safety of these walls. Or at least out of Cirilea, away from Atticus. Was she still pregnant? I couldn’t tell, with Atticus hovering over her. But she must have had her baby by now.
I hit pause on that train of thought as I study the other rectangles of scripture with a new understanding. “Where do these all lead?”
“Most lead nowhere anymore. Once, to key cities within the lands. What you call Nyos and Argon and Shadowhelm. But their connections were severed by Aminadav when he broke the lands in two. They are no longer viable.”
“Will they ever be again?” If I could walk in and out of these places without the need to ride across country on a horse, the possibilities would be endless.
I could reach Queen Neilina, and end her dreadful reign.
“We shall see. Maybe they will heal when my masters return. But for now, this one offers you safe passage between Ulysede and Cirilea, where you can get the answers you seek.”
That’s what she said these were for: getting answers. I wish we’d known about it when Zander was here. “This is helpful, Lucretia, but I can’t walk around in Cirilea like this.” I gesture at myself. “The guards all know my face. I mean, I guess I could hide myself like I’ve done before.” The way I escaped the legionaries’ notice in the camp outside Norcaster, the way I used to steal diamond necklaces from unsuspecting marks. “I don’t know for how long I can keep that up.” Minutes, maybe?
“But no one knows this face.” A silver object materializes in her hand out of thin air, and she hands it to me.
I study the plain mask, featherlight, its silver gleaming in the nearby lantern’s flame. “This is a fates’ token, isn’t it?” Like the gold from my engagement ring was from Aoife, and the smooth ebony from the cuffs that trapped my elven abilities was from Malachi. “From Vin’nyla?”
“Forged from her wings,” Lucretia confirms. “It is quite old. As are all tokens I guard.” She waves a hand and the wall before me is no longer solid but a display case of sorts, with a dozen hollowed-out nooks within the stone.
Zander was scouring the vault for these. “Of course you were hoarding them all.”
“Not hoarding. Safeguarding for my masters.”
The chests of gold and jewels, the nymphs don’t care for. These, they value. “How do you have so many?” I count eight nooks, and in all but two, an object gleams.
“My masters negotiate well,” she answers cryptically.
What exactly did they negotiate with the fates for? A question for another time. I focus on the silver token in my hand. “How does this work?”
“Like any mask. You put it on.”
