Queen of Myth and Monsters (Adrian X Isolde, #2)(47)

“I was valuable enough to die.”

“You were valuable enough to start a witch hunt,” she said. “And that gave him power for years after your death.”

I had yet to process how I had been used by Dragos, but the thought brought Ana’s words to mind.

I do not wish to be a weapon, she’d said.

I understood what she meant, and yet I still wanted to be a weapon.

I touched the spines of the books with the tips of my fingers. Their energy was varied—some light and airy, others dark and heavy. I wanted to hold each one close to my heart. I wanted to mourn each one as they deserved, but neither of those things brought justice.

None of them allowed for vengeance.

“Does Adrian know about this?” I asked.

I turned to watch her reaction, but her expression remained stern.

“I…never told him,” she admitted.

“Is it because you feared he would use you?”

“He would,” she said. “Without question.”

I frowned. I wanted to argue with her, but instead, I said, “I will not keep secrets.”

She nodded, and while she seemed sad, she also seemed resigned.

“I suppose you will have to tell him if we are going to learn spells,” she said, and my heart rose into my throat. It was strange to feel emotional about the thought of speaking a language, but this one was etched in my soul, and in truth, I never thought I would again. “I have been thinking about what you said, and perhaps we can find a counterspell for the crimson mist. It would be a first step toward what we really need.”

“What do we really need?” I asked.

“To summon Ravena,” she said. “And bind her magic.”





Fourteen





Isolde

Leaving the small library felt like coming out of a cave, and when I emerged from its darkness, I felt changed in a way I could not really explain. I had stood among tomes that had belonged to witches who had existed before me, witches who had crafted their realities with words and intentions. I felt overwhelmed that so much potential was at our fingertips and deeply worried that I would not be capable of harnessing any of it—at least not in the way I’d been able to as Yesenia.

I just hoped Ana would be powerful enough to cast the spell.

I went in search of Adrian. Despite telling Ana I would keep no secrets from him, I thought of how she had worried that he might use her and found myself wondering if she was right to be afraid, given Dis’s connection to Adrian.

Just how much influence did the goddess have over him?

The fact that I did not know made my stomach turn.

I headed for the garden. The castle bustled with activity as the servants prepared for tonight’s Winter’s Eve celebration. Blackthorn branches were draped over the threshold of the entrance to the great hall and the Red Palace, and thistle hung in the windows. As I left the courtyard, a fire blazed, smelling strongly of garlic.

I found Adrian in the snow-covered garden, at the edge of the pool where he usually stood and watched his fish swim. He had laughed when I called them his pets, but he visited them often, especially on days he sought peace. Except today, they did not seem to bring him the same comfort, because he stood with his hands fisted at his sides.

“Is everything…” I started to ask, but then my eyes fell to the pool where his fish were floating, bellies exposed and bloated.

They were all dead.

“What happened?” I asked.

“If only I knew,” he said, not looking at me, jaw clenched. “If I had to guess, I would say someone poisoned the water.”

Poisoned?

“You think this was intentional?” I asked, hoping instead that he was wrong and it was only a tragic, natural occurrence. But as I studied the fish, I doubted my idealist rationalization. They were all discolored, their gills bled, and red streaks ran down the soft parts of their bellies. There was a strange odor too, something acrid and sharp.

My thoughts at first went to my poisoner, who remained unidentified, but I had to admit that killing Adrian’s fish seemed almost insignificant in comparison. This was something that only served to hurt Adrian, a fact I found appalling, though very targeted, and I wondered whom he had angered.

I reached for his hand, which was curled into a fist even at my touch, and kissed his white knuckles. He did not look at me, but his shoulders dropped and his hands flexed as the tension fell away from his body.

“We can bury them,” I whispered, still holding his hand, still watching his face.

His jaw popped at my comment, but he said nothing. I knelt and began to dig into the snow and the earth, uncaring that it was cold or that the frozen dirt tore at my nails as I raked across it, trying frantically to break the ground.

I did not stop until Adrian knelt before me and took my bandaged hand into his.

“What is this?” he asked.

“It’s nothing,” I said. There were far worse things happening right now.

I tried to tug my hand away, but he did not let go. Instead, he pulled my poorly wrapped bandage from my hand, exposing the cut I had sustained during Sorin’s training.

It was bleeding again, likely from my attempts at grave digging.

“Did this come from Sorin?” he asked. Finally his sharp gaze cut to mine, and I was frustrated that he chose this moment to look at me.