Kingdom of the Cursed (Kingdom of the Wicked, #2) (25)

“You want to discuss what happened back in the cave now?”

“Not particularly, no.”

“We’re going to have to eventually—we might as well do it now.”

“Fine.” He crossed his arms against his chest. “You may start by explaining your decision.”

He spoke as if I actually had a choice, his voice tinged with barely suppressed anger. I was so surprised, I stepped back, examining him carefully. A muscle flickered in his jaw and his gaze was hard enough to make diamonds jealous. Wrath wasn’t just angry, he was incensed. I could practically feel the heat of his fury radiating in the space between us.

Clarity washed over me. “You wanted me to refuse Pride.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to.” For once, his emotions were written all over his face. My shock quickly gave way to annoyance. If only he’d confided in me that night, things would be so much different. We could have come up with a new plan. Together. Anger unleashed my tongue. “Tell me why. I demand to know why you wanted me to refuse him.”

“Stop pushing, Emilia. This conversation is done.”

“No, it’s really not. Will he hurt me?”

The shelves nearest us vibrated. “Do you believe I’d permit that?”

“I don’t know,” I answered honestly. “I don’t know what’s real or fantasy or part of your newest scheme. You brought me here, to this realm, to marry your brother.”

“Do not confuse your choices with my actions.”

As if I had any good options. “Was I supposed to stay home and watch demons tear my world apart? Murder or torture my family and friends and continue ripping hearts from witches? You keep alluding to the fact I had a choice, but I didn’t.”

“You always have choice.”

“Not with the clock ticking down and the gates cracking. Signing the contract with Pride was my best option to stop the carnage. I made a decision with the information I had. If I made a mistake or if you’re not pleased—for whatever reason—maybe you should have actually talked to me that night. Instead you stood there, cold and furious, and didn’t say a word!”

His gold eyes narrowed. “Has it occurred to you that I couldn’t?”

“Couldn’t what? Talk to me?”

“Interfere.”

“Through magic or a demon edict?” I searched his face, but he’d replaced his annoyance with that emotionless mask he wore so well. I reined in my temper, not wanting to fight. “I thought the devil was the only one who’s cursed. Are you implying that’s not true? Is there something I need to know about you?”

His hands flexed at his sides. He looked like he wanted to rush away to a sparring ring and work off his frustration. “Perhaps that’s a question you should have asked your mortal family. They certainly seem to have selective gaps in their storytelling. Have you ever wondered why, witch?”

“How dare you speak of my family—”

He magicked himself away in a cloud of smoke, leaving me reeling with confusion. My family wasn’t keeping any secrets. Nonna shared stories all of our lives about the Wicked and their lies and manipulations. She warned against the dark arts and the payments demanded from that type of magic. All of that was true.

I paced the aisle of books. Wrath was wrong or he was lying or omitting more truth. Nonna told us about the blood debt between the First Witch—La Prima Strega—and the devil, about how he demanded a blood sacrifice for something that was stolen from him.

The Horn of Hades, the two amulets my sister and I had been given at birth, turned out to be those objects. His horns. Wrath collected them the night he brought me Pride’s contract. He’d used them to lock the gates of Hell, just as he’d promised, then hidden them from me.

Fury rose in me but quickly gave way to confusion. Nonna had known about Star Witches and the devil’s horns and she hadn’t told us.

I’d found out about the horns through my sister’s diary, and Star Witches from Wrath and Envy, though that wasn’t the name they’d used. Envy had called me a Shadow Witch.

Nonna didn’t admit to knowing about either right away when I’d confronted her.

Which made me wonder how many other things she hadn’t been forthcoming about. We learned the bare minimum of earth magic; how to cast simple spells aided with herbs and objects of intent. Charms of protection. Sleep spells and harmless spells that manipulated the dew on a glass to slide it across a surface. Things that hardly required much skill.

A Latin phrase or word here, a pinch of this there and a spell was cast, aided with our magical blood. What else was there about the curse that I didn’t know?

Or our magic, for that matter.

I walked in an agitated circle. Now that I was questioning things, I couldn’t stop finding more gaps in our lives. Nonna spent so much time teaching us the ways of demons, only to stunt our education regarding our own abilities. I couldn’t help but wonder if there was a reason for that. Nonna was much too smart to have forgotten valuable lessons.

Surely offensive magic was just as important as our defensive spells of protection. But she never taught us those kinds of bold spells. In fact, she seemed determined to keep that magic from us at all costs. Was there something dangerous about us using it?