Kingdom of the Wicked (Kingdom of the Wicked, #1)(78)

“Any other tips, adaptable one?”

“You live in a realm of free will—accept that and you’ve already defeated your foes. You always have the power of choice, even when those choices seem limited. Never forget that.”

“Oh, really? Always?” My anger flamed. “Did my sister have a choice to live or die? Because I’m pretty sure someone else decided that for her.”

“There are worse fates, witch.”

“Such as?”

“Living in my world.” He turned and headed for the door. “I’ll be back in a little while. If you get bored, check the dresser by your bed.” He paused in the corridor and glanced over his shoulder. “I don’t suggest leaving the palace tonight.”

“Why not?” I called after him.

He didn’t bother answering, he was already gone. I wondered about his clothing, about the way he’d combed his hair. He looked like he wanted to make an impression.

I got up and paced around the room, peered out the window, then plopped back onto the bed. I absently twisted a lock of my hair, thinking about everything he’d said about victors and victims. Then I started thinking about free will and choices. And then I started to get annoyed that he was being a hypocrite by infringing on mine.

I sat for twenty minutes, contemplating why, if I had free will, I was listening to him. I had important things to do and had wasted enough time. I dressed in a simple dark gray sleeveless gown he must have recently acquired, and stole into the quickly falling night.





Thirty-Seven

Candles of Darkness should only be used under the direst of circumstances. Light a navy or deep purple candle, sprinkle a handful of niter powder around its base, and call forth evil from the farthest reaches of the north and south.

—Notes from the di Carlo grimoire

Moonlight spilled like silver blood across the rooftops, and dribbled onto the streets. It was still early enough that quite a few people were out. Some carried packages from the market, others hurried along, looking tired and worn from a hard day’s work.

Thanks to the recharging nature of the elemental bath I wasn’t tired or drained anymore, but the last several weeks had taken their toll. When I’d stuck orange blossoms in my hair before leaving, I noticed the sharpness of my gaze, and the gleam of suspicion that hadn’t been present before. I was still the same Emilia, just a bit more cautious and on edge. I thought back to my sister’s final weeks and wondered how, if she’d encountered any of the princes of Hell, she’d hidden it from us.

Maybe she had been on edge, shaky. And maybe that was why Nonna had been pointing out all the signs from the goddesses. She knew the storm was coming. I’d been too focused on refuting fantastical claims to notice.

I hurried through the streets, grateful I wasn’t alone. I didn’t want to run into any demons, royal or otherwise. Remaining in the magically protected palace was undoubtedly wise, but I couldn’t hide from my many enemies forever. Staying there also wouldn’t help me hone my skills with watching people speak, and seeing if they lied. Each day that came and went could bring a new witch murder. When I’d finally shaken off the last of my demonically induced despair, I’d thought about something I’d missed before. Something that might not mean anything, or it could tie everything together. The monastery.

I couldn’t stop wondering why my sister had been there two nights in a row. After Vittoria had been passed up for preparing the bodies of the dead, she hardly ever stepped foot in there. I thought about the summoning circle located in the chamber where my twin died. If she didn’t set it up, that meant someone else did. Someone who might be responsible for summoning Greed and Envy. Maybe I could catch them in the act of making another circle. It wasn’t much, but it was something.

Thanks to Lust’s demonic influence, I’d lost the last two weeks and—

Claudia paced the small courtyard separating the dormitory from the monastery. Tears streamed down her face. She yanked at her hair, mumbling. Her skirts were dirty and torn, dark rusty splotches splattered her bodice. I rushed to her side; she didn’t seem to notice me. She was an absolute mess—which wasn’t surprising considering her cousin’s murder a couple of weeks ago.

“Claudia?” I cautiously reached for her. She refused to look up. “Are you all right?”

“They said not to use them. To never use them.”

“Use what?”

“Bones and black mirrors. Black mirrors and bones. Piles of bodies and ashes of the fallen. Bones of the dead, and the dead are dust because I’ve seen the raven’s wings beating against the crescent moon. The moon is a fang, waiting to sink its teeth into us all. Devouring. Devouring blood and bone until we’re dust.”

She dropped to her knees, unsuccessfully trying to pry stones up from the street. Dried blood coated the beds of her nails. They were cracked and torn to the quick.

“I hear it. It whispers to me and sometimes it’s so loud I can hardly think.”

I stared down, horrified to note the ground was scarred with several long, thin lines as if she’d been clawing at it for quite some time.

“Claudia, please.” I bent to place my hands over hers, but she craned around and hissed like a feral creature, her eyes void of recognition. I jerked away. “What happened?”

“Dust. Dust. We’re mirrors in dust. We’re skulls without flesh, bones without marrow. Death. Death would be welcome. None are welcome. And you”—her dark gaze shot to mine—“you’ll burn and burn, and the moon will have her vengeance, and the sun will swallow us whole and there will be nothing left. Stars. The stars are out, and they’re falling like feathers ripped from the mighty raven because he craves their meat and she wishes to feed him until he’s gorged, but he will never be satisfied. He is sin and is glad of it.”