All the Stars and Teeth(88)

At the lip of the cavern, I turn over my shoulder to steal one more look at them all. “As I said, yell for me.”





CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE


The cavern’s darkness is blinding. A musty stench penetrates the air, thick enough to make me choke as I step inside.

Though the entrance is hardly large enough to fit one person, it widens the farther in I venture, expanding into a circular space just large enough to stretch my arms out. The only sound is the soft pattering of water droplets as they splash to the floor, and the only light is from strange translucent blue insects that hide in the far corners of the cavern’s jagged ceiling. A fog of light emits from each one, brightening the back space enough for me to get a glimpse.

Slabs of withered wood cover a small portion of the floor. Blankets of fur are tossed in heaps beside it, glistening with the fresh droplets of water. As I step closer, I notice that’s where the musty smell is coming from and scrunch my nose. But I don’t turn away.

Instead, I crouch to inspect the strange items littered across the insect-rotted wood. Sharpened metal scraps and makeshift knives are coated in thick layers of dirt.

I narrow my eyes on one knife in particular, rusted by blood and time, and the beastly magic within me pulses with longing. I try to ignore the magic that gnaws at my fingertips, luring me closer and closer. I know what it is without question.

This blade is one of legend and lore. One that saved Visidia; one that created it.

I have sworn on this blade and its owner time and time again—Cato’s skinning knife.

I forget how to breathe. How to stand. I sink to my knees, and set my hand atop it.



* * *



“I can’t do it!” the man snaps.

I’ve never seen the first king, not even in pictures.

King Cato ruled centuries ago, and though all we have to remember him by are the stories that have been passed down since he established the monarchy, I know without a doubt it’s him before me.

His complexion is a light olive and his build much slimmer than the grand figure I imagined. He sits cross-legged in front of me, only my body isn’t mine. This body has skin that’s several shades lighter than my own, similar to Cato’s, and her frame is petite. I know myself as Amora, but I’m also this young woman, living through her thoughts and memories. I have an abundance of dark curls plaited into an elegant braid, though a few of them have escaped, coiled tight behind my ears or hugging my forehead and cheeks.

I let myself sink deeper and deeper into this woman’s mind, until her thoughts are my own.

“You must relax,” I tell him. The words that escape my lips are soothing, though I’ve no control over them. “Curse magic isn’t as hard as you think it is, I promise. Just give me your hand.”

Cato nods as he gives it to me, but lines of worry embed themselves deep between his brows.

I draw his hand into my lap. “Think of what you want others to see. Think about it deeply, as if it’s a memory you’re recalling.” I press a needle into his finger. A small bead of blood bubbles to the surface, and I turn Cato’s hand to press his finger against a pebble laid before us on the stone floor. I dab the blood onto it.

Cato’s eyes squint shut as he focuses, only peeling his hand away after a hesitant moment.

“How did that feel?” I ask, and Cato’s lips twist into a small frown.

“It didn’t.” He warily eyes the pebble. “Did it work?”

I touch the pebble, waiting to see if a curse envelops me. When nothing happens, I fill my face with warmth and keep a small smile on my lips even as my shoulders slump, knowing this will upset him.

I don’t need to say anything for Cato to understand. He groans, fingers running through his chestnut hair and over his face as he pushes himself onto his feet.

“It’s nothing to get upset over!” I insist. “Plenty of people wield only one magic, don’t be frustrated.” But the truth is that his frustrations are something I’ll never understand.

When I was young, I discovered I had the ability to see souls, a magic no one else had yet discovered. And I learned that I had an affinity for other magics, too, like curse magic and the ability to heal.

For weeks I’ve been trying to teach Cato curse magic, but the only magic he’s been able to learn is the one I taught him when we were children—soul magic. Back then we kept the magic between the two of us, a bond shared between best friends. He used to love the idea of a magic only the two of us practiced, and begged me to never teach anyone else. But in recent months, our magic has stopped being enough for him. Now he craves more.

I try to set my hands atop Cato’s arm, but he jerks it away with a grunt.

“Says someone with an abundance of magic,” Cato scoffs. “If a woman can master more than one magic, it makes no sense why I can’t.”

I reel back as if struck, confusion twisting my face.

“You say woman like it’s a dirty word,” I tell him sharply. “Remember that I’m the one who taught you soul magic, Cato. I’m the one who discovered it.”

Cato takes one look at me and his shoulders sag. He steps forward, cups my face in his palms, and kisses my forehead. My skin warms from the softness of his lips, and I relax into him.

“I’m sorry, Sira.” His voice softens several degrees as he drops his forehead against mine. “You know I didn’t mean it like that. I just want things to be better for us.”