Kingdom of the Feared (Kingdom of the Wicked, #3)(70)

I held my hands up in a gesture of peace, and the werewolf resumed his forward trek through the neighborhood bordering ours. Unwittingly, Domenico had given me two answers I’d been looking for. If Vittoria was really hell-bent on creating a larger rift between wolves and demons, killing a pack member would have been a prime opportunity. And the alpha had a large emotional reaction to Greed’s name.

My focus shifted from my twin and the wolf issues and latched onto the road we’d just turned down. I stopped walking, unable to pick one foot up and place it in front of the other again. Near the end of the street sat our family home.

Vines curled up and around the trellis, the pale stone gleaming in the moonlight. It was beautiful. Untouched. It had continued on as if nothing had changed at all. My mouth was suddenly parched. Of all the places Vittoria could go, this carved deep.

“My sister is in our house.”

Domenico shook his head. “Look closer.”

“I don’t—” The corner of our house shimmered, lifting slightly at the edges. Like an invisible page had been placed over the whole structure and had come loose in a breeze. My pulse pounded, and I stepped back, shaking my head. “No. No, no. Not this, too. Please.”

Vittoria was suddenly in front of me, her hair blowing from that same magical wind that was now tearing pieces of our house away. “Demand to see its truth, Emilia.”

“I cannot—”

“Yes. You can and you will,” Vittoria said. “Look at the truth.”

My eyes burned as tears prickled behind my lids. This was the final blow, and I refused to allow one single tear to fall. Enough. Something inside me snapped. I was tired of sadness and devastation. I was over all the endless lies and manipulations and days and nights spent crying. My twin was right. I deserved to know the truth, to see it once and for all.

My spine straightened as I set my attention back on our unassuming home. I called forth my magic’s source and aimed it straight at the shimmering part. “Show me the truth.”

My voice echoed with power just like when I’d cast a truth spell. Magic whipped out and sank into the exterior walls like claws, shredding and ripping apart the illusion. I watched impassively as the facade was stripped away, revealing a stone temple.

Our home was glamoured. And I’d never known, never sensed the magic that had been used. Because Nonna kept us ignorant. The truth didn’t break my heart this time; it made me furious. There was no coming back from this deception. A line of demarcation had been drawn—the Emilia before her entire world shattered, and the goddess of fury after all had been revealed.

“What else?” I demanded, gaze fixed on our so-called home. “What else has been an elaborate illusion? A fucking lie.”

“I’ll leave you two.” Domenico quietly entered the temple, not sparing either me or Vittoria a second glance. I braced myself for the final betrayal I sensed was coming.

“This is not truly Sicily.” Vittoria exhaled. My attention finally left the house that wasn’t our home to settle on my twin. For once, she seemed pained. “Welcome to the Shifting Isles.”





EIGHTEEN


I flinched as if I’d received a physical blow.

I’d thought I’d felt the worst sting of betrayal when I’d learned my grandmother used dark magic to murder innocent witches to bind us. This was agony. Unrelenting, torturous, emotional agony. Vittoria said nothing as the initial shock slowly began to wear off.

“The Shifting Isles.” This was why she told me to meet her here, that night in the spirit realm. I glanced down the street, stomach twisting. It was all a lie. Every last part of it. Down to the very world I thought I knew. No wonder Wrath hadn’t wanted to say more when I’d asked about the isles. It was something I had to discover on my own. I was grateful no princes could travel here now. I needed time and space to reconcile just how much had been kept from me without the demons around.

I’d once asked Wrath where mortal souls were sent, and he’d vaguely spoken of an island off the western shore of the Seven Circles. Given the map lesson my sister had shown me the last time I saw her, this location definitely fit that description.

“This is where mortal souls are sent.” I didn’t ask, but Vittoria nodded. “The prison of damnation.”

“Yes.” My sister’s voice was quiet, soft. As if she sensed my power was searching for anyone to latch onto. To punish. Or maybe there was some human part of her left after all. A part that understood how deeply this particular wound went. “Some would consider this to be the worst of the circles. The island shifts time and place. Becomes the reality you choose it to be. Or the reality someone else chooses. For a time.”

“And do the mortals here know? That this is…”

“No,” Vittoria said softly. “Most mortals are entirely unaware that this isn’t truly the city or country they believe it to be. Only select supernaturals know the truth. And some souls that escaped to the demon realm and fight for a chance to return here.”

“I see.” Hell. That’s what it felt like. Not the Seven Circles where the demons ruled. Not the devil’s elegant castle. Or in any of the Houses of Sin where vice and debauchery reigned above all. Here. In the place I’d once called home. This isle was where hell truly existed. “We’ve never been part of the mortal world.”