Page 19

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S he wasn’t in the Dark City anymore. Her nose told her before her eyes could. The smell of torches burning had been replaced by wet, mold, mildew. Even the pillow and thin blanket on the cot she was lying on were damp. The stone blocks making up the walls were dripping with moisture, the tracks forming a myriad of colors—copper, blue, red.

A raw bulb overhead illuminated the space with a yellow glow.

Her canvas bag was gone, as was her jacket. She put her hand to her neck. The crystals were gone, too. She checked her other pockets, her boots, but everything that could have helped her had been taken. They’d known what to look for. Normal humans would have let her keep her jewelry.

The Sage of the Lybbestre Coven.

What did that mean?

Evelyn forced herself to stand, her muscles screaming with the effort. The pain in her head made her dizzy, and she braced herself with a hand on the wall, sucking in deep breaths.

She was going to kill him. She generally wasn’t prone to murderous fantasies, but Valen deserved every bad thing she could come up with. Tears threatened to spill down her cheeks at the memory of their last night together, her head on his chest, his lips pressed against her hair. She’d felt so sure of something that night. So sure of him. It hurt and embarrassed her to realize she’d let her guard down—reluctantly, she reminded herself—only to be betrayed in the end. She didn’t want to believe he was capable of that kind of deceit, but she’d witnessed it with her own eyes.

The door swung open heavily, the metal bars scraping against the stone floor with a screech that set Evelyn’s teeth on edge.

A young girl stood in the doorway, bare feet peeking out beneath a simple gray dress similar in color to Lynorra’s. Her red hair curled around her head in a frizzy halo. Bright green eyes regarded Evelyn with curiosity.

“The Sage would like to speak with you. Will you come?”

It was worded like an invitation, but it felt like a summons. Evelyn nodded reluctantly. As tempting as it might be to wallow in her own misery for a while, she wasn’t going to find a way out of this mess by staying in the dungeon.

“Follow me.” The girl turned and walked away, clearly expecting her to do as she was told.

The stone floor eventually gave way to stone steps and then smooth stone floor that had been polished to a velvety appearance. Evelyn almost wished she was barefoot too just to feel it against her skin. As they emerged from the lower level, she took in her surroundings. It looked like a medieval castle.

Just like the house where she’d stolen the book previously, it didn’t appear to be old and restored but actually freshly built. Up here, the stonework was unmarred by time or the typical damage that came with living beings moving around. No chips in the walls or grooves in the floor. Just fresh, precisely hewn perfection.

Evelyn took a deep breath, searching for the scent of books to tell her that she wasn’t in Oz after all. No such luck.

“This way.” The red-headed girl turned right, leading her through some kind of food storage area, like an ancient storehouse, and down a few more steps into a meeting room. A massive table filled the space. It appeared to be one solid slab of wood, no signs of seams or blending. Carvings cut deep into the side and featured birds, cats, flowers. High-backed chairs lined all four sides. At the far end of the room was a small platform with what looked like a throne. It probably was a throne, Evelyn reasoned. Seeing as this looked like a castle throne room.

Not that she’d ever been in one before, but she’d read about them. In books both shiny and dull.

“Wait here.”

Her guide left as abruptly as she’d arrived, leaving Evelyn alone in the room. Banners hung from the ceiling and draped from wall to wall, but the words written on them weren’t in any language she was familiar with. She didn’t even recognize the alphabet.

“I hope you will forgive the unusual nature of your invitation.” Lynorra had entered behind her soundlessly.

“Invitation? Abduction, more like.”

She made a sound that might have passed as a laugh had there been even a hint of mirth in it. “We do not abduct people, witchling.”

“Oh, no?”

Lynorra made the almost-laugh sound again. “Of course not. Why would we?” She gestured to the room around them as though it were self-explanatory.

Evelyn snorted. “I don’t know, maybe revenge for what happened in your house? Look, you have your book back. I didn’t even touch anything else. Let me go, and I won’t tell anyone about this whole ‘invitation’ situation. I’m no lawyer, but I’m pretty sure abduction is worse than stealing.”

“Breaking and entering.”

“I entered, yes. But I didn’t break anything. The door was unlocked and…” Evelyn hesitated, hedging her bets. “And the wards were down. But then you knew that.”

She bared her teeth in the almost-smile. “I did, yes. And I find it interesting that you were so certain they were down. How did you know?”

Evelyn kept her mouth shut. She didn’t like to talk about what she could and couldn’t do, magically speaking. She’d learned long ago that most people didn’t believe in magic at all, and those that did—well, they only believed in it according to their own rules and understanding. Evelyn didn’t fit neatly into any of that. Never had. Telling a scary witch about her ability to see magic wasn’t on her Sunday night bingo card.

When Evelyn didn’t answer, Lynorra waved off the question. “It does not matter. The important thing is that you were correct. And now here we are. Do you know where you are?”

“Your evil headquarters?”

More mirthless laughter sounds. “Close enough. Some might call it Castle Lybbestre. We prefer Lybbestre Keep. Would you like to know why?”

“Not really.”

Her black eyes flashed at that, her patience thinning to match her translucent skin, the dark veins even more visible in the brightly lit room. “You would do well to watch that tongue, witchling. I am extending you a great deal of kindness in this moment. You would be wise accept it. With gratitude .”

“Kindness?”

“Have you never heard of Lybbestre Keep, witchling? Or those who reside here?”

Evelyn shook her head. Almost nothing was known about the Lybbestre from the outside. They were ghosts.

The Sage glided over to the throne and sat, slinking one long thin leg over the other, the slit of her dress riding up to reveal more dark-veined, translucent skin. “The words written above your head. Do you recognize those?”

Evelyn shook her head again.

“Interesting. We have been known by many different names over the years. Perhaps if you gave me access to that fascinating little mind of yours again, I could find the answer we both seek.”

Evelyn blinked. She hadn’t realized the labyrinth was still in place. She immediately ran through the barricades in her mind, looking for chinks in the mental armor, confirming that her true mind remained well hidden behind layers of deception and false mirrors. The rage was still there, too. Maybe it was time to let it out to play.

“Perhaps not. Disappointing.”

Evelyn tilted her head to the side. “You know, I can’t decide.”

Lynorra straightened, tensing like a predator ready to pounce. “Go on.”

“Whether you really are as important as you are making yourself out to be or whether this is all some very elaborate charade.”

“Shall I help you decide?”

Evelyn flinched. Lynorra was no longer seated on the throne but standing directly behind her left shoulder, practically whispering in her ear. How did she…?

“Or shall I just tell you?”

The voice came from the right side this time. Then Lynorra said it. The word was a whisper, but it echoed through the room, bouncing off the walls and hitting her ears over and over again. The most dangerous word Evelyn had ever heard spoken aloud. A word of death and curses. A word few lived long after hearing.

The game had changed. Again.

Evelyn turned and looked directly into the black pupilless eyes.

“I’m listening.”

“I see by the change in your demeanor that you know this word.”

“I do.” Evelyn stumbled over her words, fear coursing through her veins like rivers of ice. “And I’m listening.”

“I am glad you understand now. Have a seat at the table.”

There it was again, the order couched as an invitation. Evelyn hesitated. She didn’t know a lot about the Lybbestre, but what she did know was terrifying. Lynorra had just proven that by uttering one of the unspeakable words. Even after everything she’d experienced in the Dark City, this felt like the gravest threat Evelyn had ever faced.

As one of the oldest covens in the known world, the Lybbestre’s true origins were impossible to trace—though Evelyn had been careful in even reading about them for fear of drawing attention. Over the years they’d been known as witches, sorceresses, heathen priestesses. Always among the most proficient of magic users, they were said to continue the old ways, utilizing magical arts, charms, and herb-chants long lost to the rest of civilization. Whether they had taken the name, or it had been forced upon them was unknown, but the root of it lies in poison, drugs, charms—tying them forever to the infamous female poisoners of every age.

There were five unspeakable words that were generally accepted among magic-wielders. The fact that Lynorra just spoke an unspeakable word without hesitation did not leave them on very comfortable footing.

Granted, she had also given Evelyn her name. Well, a name. There was no certainty that Lynorra was her true name or that it held any power over her. But if it did, and the Lybbestre Sage surrendered it without qualms, that suggested her power went beyond knocks and whispers, above wards and deceptions. Name magic was nearly as old as blood magic, and twice as costly.

Evelyn didn’t sit. She didn’t dare. Disobeying an order (or an invitation, in this case) was risky, but not as risky as signaling an agreement by taking a seat the table.

“What is the agreement?” she asked instead.

The almost-smile returned. “As I said before—clever girl. You do know something of our ways, then. Very good. The agreement is a simple one. You agree to use your skills to benefit our coven, and we agree to let you live.” She walked around Evelyn, looking her up and down. “Not a particularly original idea, I admit, but a convenience to us both. We benefit from a mysterious stranger with a very particular set of skills, and you get to remain alive. It is, as they say, a win-win.”

“For how long?”

“You know how long.” The almost-smile shifted to near-sneer.

“I want to hear you say it.”

“This life and every one after it.”

Evelyn wanted to refuse. With every fiber of her being she wanted to scream no and run from the room. But the Sage knew the unspeakable words and had spoken one aloud without flinching. She would find her. And she—or one of her countless minions—would kill her. Or worse. There were so many things that would be worse than a swift death, and the Lybbestre had been accused of all of them.

“I request time to consider your offer.”

She arched one perfectly white eyebrow. “Time to consider?”

“Yes.”

“You do understand the extreme generosity I am now displaying?”

“Yes.”

“I could end your life in many different ways.” Lynorra trailed her fingers over Evelyn’s collarbone, the touch both intimate and chilling.

“Yes.”

“Yet I am offering you another option.”

“At the price of my freedom.” Evelyn fought to keep her composure. She wanted to lash out, to defend herself, to get rid of the creepy feeling where Lynorra had touched her.

“You would choose freedom in death over servitude in life?”

“Maybe. I haven’t decided that yet. I need time to think.”

The sound that wasn’t laughter made Evelyn shiver. “Fine. I am in a good mood. I will grant you this temporary leave to consider your fate. I hope you make the right choice.”

“Thank you.”

“But on one condition, witchling.” She stopped at the doorway and looked back over one bony shoulder. “You must submit to a sentinel.”

“A what?” Evelyn asked.

“A sentinel. He will watch over you.

“I don’t need a babysitter.”

“Then do not behave like a child. These are the terms, do you agree to them?”

One breath. Two breaths. She could only choose between two yeses. The only no on the table led to death. Or worse.

“I agree to a sentinel.”

“Excellent. I know just the one. Follow.”

She glided out of the room, her free-flowing gown waving behind her. Evelyn hastened to catch up, then almost bumped into her when she realized who was standing just outside the door.

His large frame blocked her view of the rest of the hallway and any possible escape routes. The dark blue cotton shirt pulled taught around his thick arms, hugging his chest before falling to his hips. Dark blue jeans and heavy black boots. She’d seldom seen him in any other uniform, yet it was like seeing him for the first time. He scratched one side of his short beard and met her eyes, the expression in his pleading. For what, she wasn’t sure and didn’t care.

“You.” The word came out more breathlessly than she’d hoped, but then breathing was taking more effort these days. What with the betrayal and all.

“Sage.” He bowed his head respectfully.

“Valen. I hereby assign you as Evelyn’s sentinel. You are to remain by her side until she either agrees to our most generous offer or willingly submits herself to the punishment she has clearly earned. Do you understand?”

“I do. Leave her with me.”

“You are so capable.” She traced one sharp fingernail down his bicep, raising gooseflesh down his arm. “So strong. You know I value you highly, do you not?”

He nodded with a barely concealed grimace, his eyes never leaving Evelyn’s face.

“I will await your decision, witchling. And I would be remiss if I didn’t remind you that it is not only your fate to be considered here. You had help in the Dark City, and I know who. They are safe—for now. I imagine you would like for them to stay that way.”

Evelyn and Valen stood silently staring at each other—sorrow in his eyes, fury in hers—as Lynorra brushed past him to continue down the hallway outside the throne room. The red-haired girl appeared momentarily, her arms full of Evelyn’s possessions.

“Thanks.” Evelyn slipped on her jacket and slung her worn canvas bag across her body without ever taking her eyes off Valen. The pit in her stomach was cold and heavy, but the rage in her blood burned hot. He’d betrayed her. Worse, he’d befriended her and then betrayed her. He was the reason she was facing a lifetime of servitude or death. Why her friends—whose only crimes were trying to help her survive—were being threatened.

“Does Denmark know you work for her?” She ground out the question between clenched teeth.

Valen shook his head. “No. As far as he knows, I work only for him.”

“So you’re just lying to everybody.”

He scowled and started to reach for her arm, but she pulled back reflexively. He let his hand drop with a shrug. “I never lied to you.”

“Oh, my bad. You just set me up.”

“I didn’t…”

“You did. And she said you have to watch me. She didn’t say I have to do what you say. So do your best to follow orders, I guess. Watch me walk away.”