Kingdom of the Wicked (Kingdom of the Wicked #1)(67)

“Now.” I refused to budge on this. He stared up at the sky and I wondered, if he was praying, why he hadn’t glanced down instead.

“Fine. If I answer your questions, will you agree to stay in the palace?”

“No. But it will help me decide. How about that?”

He drew in a long breath and slowly released it. I waited. After fighting some inner battle, I saw the exact moment he decided to confide in me.

“In order for the curse to be fully broken, a consort needs to sit on the throne and help rule House Pride.”

“Anir said the last consort was murdered. How?”

“Her heart was torn from her chest.” He looked at me, but I had a feeling he wasn’t really seeing me anymore. “Along with a few of her royal ladies.”

“Did the First Witch really curse Pride?”

“Yes.”

I allowed that information to settle in with all of the other tales I’d convinced myself were just stories. La Prima Strega was ancient—she’d begun the first line of witches. Or so the old stories went. Supposedly, she was the source of our power and belonged only to herself. No light magic, no dark magic. Just raw power slightly diluted from the goddess who’d birthed her. She predated human La Vecchia Religione—and the Old Religion was old.

At times La Prima was idolized, and at others, feared. Daughter of the sun goddess and a demon, she was created as the perfect balance between light and dark. We were told she was immortal, but I’d never seen her and didn’t know anyone else who had, either. I always believed she was no more than a creation myth or legend.

“Why did she curse him?”

Wrath hesitated. “It was punishment for what she thought happened between her firstborn and him.”

I sat up straighter. Claudia had mentioned this. “So, what, he stole her soul and La Prima took her vengeance?”

“Witches would believe that, wouldn’t they?” Wrath scoffed. “Pride didn’t steal anything. He didn’t have to. Her daughter willingly chose to wed him. They fell in love, despite who they were.”

I thought about what Nonna had started telling me about Stelle Streghe, about how they were tasked with being guardians of the Wicked. “She was a star witch?”

Wrath nodded. “She was meant to be a guardian between realms—think of them as wardens of the prison of damnation. Her daughter should have known better, she was supposed to be a soldier first. La Prima, as you call her, commanded her daughter to give up her throne, and return to the coven, but she refused. The First Witch used the darkest kind of magic to remove her daughter’s power and banished her from the coven. It had unforeseen effects for other witches, too. It’s why some give birth to human daughters.”

I mentally sorted out the story. “What you’re saying is . . .”

True. I stared at him. Our whole lives we’d been told stories about the Wicked, and their lies. Yet Wrath couldn’t directly lie to me because of the summoning magic. I’d tested it and knew it was a fact. What he was saying, no matter how impossible it sounded, had to be true.

Or at least he believed it was.

“Why are you helping him break the curse? If he’s trapped in the underworld, I don’t see why that concerns you or any other prince.”

“Several human years ago, something fractured the gates of Hell. We’d been told it was part of a prophecy. Pride, being who he is, laughed it off. Then his beloved wife was murdered. His powers dampened. He was trapped in Hell, and lesser demons began testing us by trying to slip through cracks in the gates.”

Aside from the curse, I couldn’t believe Hell’s second biggest problem was a rickety old door. I squinted at Wrath. I had a growing suspicion he hadn’t revealed the worst part. “And?”

“Creatures that don’t feel like facing trials in the Portals of a Thousand Fears have slipped through. The gates are continuing to weaken, despite our best efforts. It’s only a matter of time before they completely break. We’ve tried keeping them away, but some things have already arrived in this world.”

“Such as?”

“A few lesser demons.”

“The Viperidae?”

“Not likely. They are summoned.”

It wasn’t exactly comforting. Demons were starting to invade our world. And I had a terrible feeling it would get much worse before it got better. “Anything we should be concerned about in particular then?”

“You should be concerned about the Aper demon, for one.”

“The . . . what?”

“Aper demon. Head of a boar, tusks of an elephant. Huge reptilian bodies, cleft hooves. Dumb as an ox, but they’ve got a particular fondness for witch blood. A thousand tiny teeth in double rows make them very accomplished with swiftly draining a body.”

Wrath’s growing smile was positively wicked as he glanced over my shoulder. A wet snuff near the base of my neck had me breaking an instant sweat. One hoof clattered on the cobblestones, followed by another. The ground vibrated beneath whatever had taken those two mammoth steps. A shadow fell across the table. Sweet goddess above, I so did not want to turn around.

“Whatever you do, witch, don’t run.”





Thirty-One

There is no greater threat to a witch than a demon who craves her blood. Once its thirst has been provoked, it will relentlessly pursue the cause of its addiction, stopping only when the source has run dry. To ward against this dark energy, pin a sachet of dried yarrow inside your clothing during each new moon.