Arcana Rising (The Arcana Chronicles #4)(35)

So much for my little attempt at humanizing him.

“When I first got here, I snooped around,” she said. “And I asked Paul questions. We talked a lot.” She sounded as if she liked the guy. Paul was about twenty-six or so, with buzz-cut black hair. His blue eyes were widely spaced, and he had a toothy grin that made him approachable. “He told me Death calls this place Lethe, named after one of the five rivers in Hades, the river of forgetfulness. Do you know why?”

I’d called this place the castle of lost time, which hadn’t been too far off the mark. “It is close to lethal. But I don’t know for certain.” Aric was such a stickler for meanings and details, I could be sure he’d picked the name for a reason.

In the past, he’d told me he never wanted to forget my previous betrayals. But in the agonizing centuries between games, he’d smoked opium, had probably yearned to forget.

“The knight prepared this place for just about every catastrophe,” Gran said. “It’s out of the flood zone, and away from nuclear fallout sectors. There are thick metal shutters to cover every window. I even found copper plating in the walls to shield against electrical storms.”

With no sun and the temperatures dropping, this castle was a self-sustaining oasis. I pictured it as a spaceship on a barren moon, with the only life support around: crops and livestock, clean water, sunlamps, filtered air, and tankers of fuel.

Too bad it couldn’t withstand a helicopter missile attack. Or a volcano.

Gran reached for the teapot to top off her cup. “We’re not close to active magma, so if the Emperor attacks, he will have to spill blood to generate his own lava.”

Richter created it with his blood? “The way I generate plants when none are around?” The way the Lovers had created their carnates.

Circe had told me the Emperor’s hands bled lava. I hadn’t made the connection. No wonder he was recuperating.

Gran nodded. “Which drains your power.” She set down the pot, looking fatigued just from lifting it. “There’s another way to grow. I’ll show you—” She coughed, the movements racking her frail frame.

I leapt up to rub her back. “Did you sleep at all?”

When the fit eased, she smoothed her hair. “For ten hours. Woke up more tired, though. Stress must be catching up with me.”

I took my seat again. “Gran, what if you had a stroke?”

“Did Death tell you that?” The sudden venom in her tone startled me. “Next he’ll tell you that I’m losing my wits. He means to drive a wedge between us.” Her teacup shook when she raised it to her lips.

“Aric wouldn’t do that. He doesn’t lie. He could have a hundred times to further his own agenda, but he refuses to.” What had he told me and Jack? Lies are curses you place on yourself.

She set her cup down hard. “All Arcana lie. And feign emotion and betray. It’s the nature of the beast.”

In the past, I’d tried to seduce Aric, faking affection. Finn had disguised himself as Jack to seduce Selena. She’d lied to me, Lark too. Matthew most of all: Empress is my friend.

My denial died on my lips. Still, I didn’t believe Aric would. “He told me that you would know a great many things about the game, and that you might have foresight.”

She allowed the change of subject. “Nothing like the Fool’s precognition. But I get feelings about the future. They guide me, directing my movements. Right now I’m feeling you won’t be ready for the next stage of the game.”

“Why not?” I asked, revenge ever on my mind.

“Your powers aren’t mature. If they had been, you could’ve fought off those Bagman bites instantly. You need to practice, from your basic skills on up.” She dug in her pocket, retrieved three seeds, and set them on the tray. “Do you feel a connection to them?”

“I sense their potential.” And I could tell their species: pomegranate, climbing ivy, and wisteria.

“Now try to bring forth a bud without blood. Imagine them sprouting. Casting off their shells.”

Shells. Husks. A withered corpse planted in the dirt. Tess’s body was like a forever-dead seed. “I-I’ll try.”

“Once you master this, you’ll be able to sense buried seeds out in the Ash. Your arsenal will be anywhere on earth.”

I concentrated on the ones before me and pictured them growing. I sucked in a breath when they began to vibrate. No bloodletting necessary. A tiny sprout was budding from one seed, had gained only about a millimeter. I focused, beginning to sweat.

“You’re doing great. Look at you!” Her words reminded me of my childhood. I recalled how she’d praised me for finding colored eggs one Easter. I’d proudly held up my basket, and someone had snapped a photo of me, Mom, and Gran. Mom had held that picture as she’d passed away with Jack by her side.

She’d died because of Bagmen. We’d burned her body because of the Lovers. Jack had died without grace because of the Emperor.

Jack’s eulogy had been Richter’s laughter. Rage welled in me, as powerful as Circe’s tidal wave. Replace the Emperor’s laughter with screams—

The seeds cracked open; plants exploded outward to crawl and fork across the ceiling and walls.

“Good Lord, Evie!” Gran looked at me . . . with awe. “I think you could be the most dangerous Empress ever to live.” She surveyed the new growths.