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Juliette yanks at me again, tries to shove me away from the wheel. When that doesn’t work, she starts kicking the wheel. She smashes one of the bobbin boxes and shoves the broken chunks into the wheel, trying to block its motion, but the wood is sucked into the spell and transformed. The bobbin to my right is swollen fat with gold thread. When it can hold no more, lines of gold spill onto the floor and pile up in a glimmering heap.
She’s sobbing openly now, my sweet girl… leaning in, kissing my motionless lips and stiff cheeks over and over. Her mouth is wet with my blood. “Please,” she whispers. “Please, please… please stop. Please tell me how to make it stop.”
I’m paralyzed, fused to the spell and the wheel, feeling the last dregs of life flow out of me in a merciless stream.
Juliette is crying and holding me, urging me to breathe, to break free, and she doesn’t hear the door open. But I do.
She doesn’t hear the measured steps of men entering the room.
But I do.
And I know, in that moment, that she and I have grossly underestimated the King.
19
Someone else is moving in the room. Sauntering past me, leaning over Rupert, inspecting his paralyzed face and glazed, bleeding eyes. I cling to him, anguish and anger whirling inside me.
It’s the King, Lady Kessalif, and a few guards. And they don’t seem surprised to find Rupert in here with me.
They know.
Mixed with my terror for Rupert is the sickening realization that our ruse is at an end. Our scheme has failed. It’s over.
“You were right, Kessalif.” The King flicks Rupert’s forehead. “The lying bitch had help. But he looks human to me. He’s that guard with the wandering eyes, the lech who desired Meldrid.”
“It’s an illusion, Majesty,” Lady Kessalif responds. “A clever one. He has charmed himself to look like a servant of the House. He’ll have the totem somewhere on his person—we have only to destroy it, and his true identity will reveal itself.”
She stretches her hand over the spinning wheel, and the spell ceases instantly. The glittering gold light fades, the motion stills, and Rupert sags backward, his head lolling, his body toppling from the bench toward the floor. I intercept his fall and catch his head in my lap.
“What did you do to him?” I seethe at Lady Kessalif.
She gives me a look of mingled amusement and pity, then pats the spinning wheel. “One of my best curses yet. It traps the spellcaster within the spell until their life energy is completely drained. He’ll live... barely. But he is so thoroughly depleted that he cannot act against you, my King.”
She bends, reaching toward Rupert, but I knock her hand away with a savage hiss.
Lady Kessalif nods to the guards, and they surge forward, seizing my arms and pulling me away from Rupert. I twist down and bite one of the male hands clutching me—I buck and kick, wrench and claw, fighting to break free.
“Such an animal,” says the King. “A real tigress in bed. Too bad you are also a liar and a traitor, child, or you might have made a fine queen.”
At least he doesn’t realize the cupcakes were spelled; he really thinks we had amazing sex. I’m on the brink of telling him the truth, just to spoil that memory, but something holds me back. Any ignorance on his part is power on mine. Besides, it doesn’t seem wise to clue him in to the possibilities of targeted magic in his food.
The King waves his hand to the bobbins full of gold, the gesture encompassing the leftover straw as well. “You thought you could trick me? Trick Kessalif? Pretend this gift was yours, while hiding the true caster?”
He pauses, maybe expecting a response, but I’m focused on Lady Kessalif, who is bending over Rupert.
“Don’t touch him,” I snarl, lurching against the guards’ grip.
She looks up at me for a second. Then she runs her hands over his body, into his pockets, along his chest. “Such a fine strong body, brought so low by his own foolishness and my skill. Ah, here it is.” She pulls out a tiny round jar, stoppered with a cork. Placing it on the floor, she smashes it with her heel and grinds the contents into a pasty mess.
Even with the jar broken, Rupert looks the same to me—but by the way the King inhales sharply, I know the illusion has shattered. Everyone in the room can now see Rupert in his true form.
“A Half-Elf.” Lady Kessalif cups her hand under Rupert’s jaw and lifts his face, turning it for her inspection. “It is as we hoped, Majesty.”
The King rubs his hands together, a pleased smirk stretching his toadlike mouth. “Do you know his true name, girl? Is that why he assisted you?”
“Why do you want his name?” I counter.
“Learn the true name of an Elf, and you receive one wish, granted freely,” says Lady Kessalif. “Just one wish. But for Half-Elves, the will of the Kin is weakened with human blood, so they may be subjugated more fully. Learn the true name of a Half-Elf, and you control their magic for the rest of their lives. You may command them, and they have no choice but to obey.”
