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“Just put it on.”
“Yes.”
“And you don’t think a person walking around the castle wearing this will raise alarms?”
She laughs. “They will not see the mask. They will see the face you wish them to see.”
Her meaning sinks in. “I can change my face with this.”
“That is its power.”
“To any face I want?”
“To anyone you can picture.” She cocks her head. “Who would you like to be?”
I smile.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
ATTICUS
It’s a careful balance, between taking what I need and not more than Gracen can give. I already feel my strength returning, the ache in my head dissipating, the gnawing hunger abating. And yet my need for her only grows. I could easily lose myself in this delicate mortal body and all its feminine and supple curves. She’s pliable, willing. I could part her thighs right here and show her how I thank my tributaries for their gift.
Suddenly, Gracen stiffens.
I pull away in an instant, letting my incisors slip back to their hiding spot. “What’s wrong?” She seemed to be enjoying it, but something changed.
She studies the empty space behind me. “Nothing. I thought I saw someone standing there.”
“Where?”
“Right there.”
I glance over my shoulder, at the empty space between us and the stone wall. “My senses are usually quite strong, and I didn’t notice anyone.” Though feeding does temporarily dull them.
She shakes her head. “I was obviously seeing things. In a haze, I guess. I’m sorry. Do you still need to … I mean, do you need more?”
I graze her cheek with the back of my knuckles. She’s so soft, so delicate. I can’t get enough of touching her. “No.”
“Are you sure?”
“I am sure.” Sure that I don’t regret killing Danthrin. Sure that I want to slaughter every male who’s ever harmed her and would be riding to Freywich tomorrow to do so, had Zander not beat me to it.
A tiny line of blood trails down her neck from a puncture wound. I lean in to catch it with my tongue, lapping at her skin before kissing the tiny marks. I was extra careful. They should be gone by tomorrow.
Her body shudders.
“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” I whisper against her ear.
She turns in, nuzzling her nose against my jaw. “It wasn’t bad at all.” She smiles sheepishly, tugging her collar up.
“Allow me.” I fasten each button, wishing I was working in reverse instead, and pulling every last bit of clothing off her body so I could lay her down and take everything I want from her. But it’s cold out here, and she will need to get back to her infant.
Her fingers test the fabric of the cloak. “This is very fine. I’ve never felt anything like it before.”
“It’s yours now.” As is anything else she might want. I’ll have to look for better quarters for her and her family as soon as we’ve gotten a handle on the poison within Cirilea and the risk to her is diminished.
Will there even be a need to, though? What if what Romeria said is true, and Hudem brings the end of the blood curse? The entire tributary system will come crashing down in days, and then what will Gracen be, besides the castle baker and a mortal I can’t shake from my thoughts?
I think I will still want her.
“I … thank you, Atticus.”
“Come. I’ll walk you back.” I help her down off the altar and lead her through the quiet, empty gardens, reveling in the feel of her clinging to my forearms and the quiet contentment that seems to surround us. With Gracen, there is no scheming, there are no lies. It is a relief.
The clock tower gongs the midnight hour as I spot the first of many guards.
And I know I am not ready to say good night. “Come to my chamber after you’ve fed your baby.” I didn’t mean for it to sound like a command, so I add softly, “Only if you want to.”
She gazes up at me, and I sense her mortal heart begin to pound with excitement. “I want to.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
AGATHA
It is midnight by the time our ship eases into Argon’s port, the docks lit by countless lanterns. Only the outline of the grand castle shows. “Wait until you see it in the daylight, girls. The jewels will wink at you from a thousand angles.”
Beatrix and Cressida peer out from beneath their deep cowls at their new home, their gazes wide with a mixture of excitement and apprehension.
“We’re not ready, Master Scribe,” Cressida whispers, her hand smoothing over her forearm, where the emblems of Aoife and Aminadav glow—badges she does not deserve, since she has not yet mastered the affinities—after the Prime insisted on sending her off with them.
“It will inspire her,” Lorel had claimed. Fool.
I pat the girl’s shoulder, offering her what I hope is a motherly smile on my wrinkled face. “Do not worry. Your elemental sisters will guide you where your trainers have not had the opportunity. Learn, practice, and—most important—uphold the guild’s laws, and you will do fine.”
