Kingdom of the Cursed (Kingdom of the Wicked, #2) (61)

According to Nonna, it wasn’t uncommon for magic to continue developing throughout a witch’s lifetime. It would also make sense that my newfound use of Source unlocked other magic. Latent talent or not, it wasn’t important. I shook myself back into the now.

The room was cavernous, enough for our steps to echo as we quietly moved to the foot of the first sculpture. A man wearing a winged helmet, bandolier, and not a stitch of clothing stood with one hand extended, holding the severed head of Medusa. A sword was gripped tightly in his other hand. Something about it made me sad.

Envy strolled over to the scene, his expression softening. “Perseus and Medusa. There are similar pieces in the mortal land, but nothing as exquisite as this. The sculptor captured his downcast eyes, his refusal to be turned to stone and cursed.”

“It’s stunning craftsmanship, but horrid.”

“Not all stories end happily, Emilia.”

I knew that. My life had taken unexpected twists, most of which weren’t ideal or for the better. We all had bones, if not full skeletons of heartache, in our closets. It hit me suddenly. I subtly looked at the demon prince. Envy was deeply hurt. I wondered who or what had broken his heart so thoroughly. He caught my eye and gave me a hard look. Questions about his heartbreak would not be welcome. For some reason, I allowed the opportunity to interrogate him while he was compelled to answer truthfully slide. Not all secrets were meant to be shared.

We moved in silence to the next statue. This one was magnificent. My favorite by far. An angel—with a powerful body sculpted from war—arched back, his wings extended, arms tossed behind his head, as if he’d been shoved from a great height and was cursing the one who’d taken him down. The feathers were so detailed, I couldn’t stop myself from reaching over and stroking one finger along them.

“The Fallen.” Envy’s tone was quiet, reverent. “Another fine piece.”

I studied the great warrior angel. His body was similar to Wrath’s. I wouldn’t be surprised if the artist had been inspired by him. “Is it meant to symbolize Wrath or Lucifer?”

“It’s my interpretation of my cursed brother.” Envy’s lips twisted into a grin. “Right before the devil lost his precious wings. And we all followed suit shortly after.”

“Why would you have such a moment memorialized?”

“To always remember.” His voice was suddenly as hard as the marble statue. He shook his head, his expression once again indifferent, as if he’d replaced a mask that had accidentally slipped. “Come. There’s another room filled with objects you might find more interesting.”

We were halfway through the next chamber, decorated with paintings and sketches and mirrors in various ornate frames, when I noticed the bookstands.

I drifted over, drawn to one in particular. A strange, familiar humming started in my center. I knew that feeling. Recognized it. Though it was not quite as I recalled. There were no whispers or fevered voices rising and falling in a cacophony of sounds. Only that subtle hum. I’d experienced it in the monastery the night I’d found my twin. And then again when I’d confronted Antonio. Back then I hadn’t known what it was or what it wanted.

I paused at the open grimoire. A glass case enclosed it, but I knew, without seeing its cover, what it was. It was the first book of spells. La Prima’s personal spell book.

“How did you get this?” My voice was too loud in the smaller room. “It was with me the night I—”

“The night you nearly killed the human sycophant?”

I spun on my heel, glaring. “It disappeared that night. I thought… an Umbra demon.” I inhaled deeply. “You sent one to spy on me, didn’t you?”

“Spy is a nasty word. Not to mention, it was watching the monastery. You happened along. Wrong place, wrong time.” He stuck his hands in his pockets and strolled over to the next stand. Another open book. “What you call the first book of spells is not a complete manuscript. It’s one third of a grander, more elaborate text.” He nodded at the book. “The Mother and the Crone are in my possession; the Maiden has gone missing. Goddesses are tricky beings with even trickier magic. And to cross one…” He whistled. “That’s inadvisable.”

“The first book of spells belonged to the First Witch, not the goddesses.”

“My dear, I don’t know what the witches who raised you claimed, or why, but these books were written by the goddesses. Your so-called First Witch stole the book of the dead, the Crone’s book of underworld magic. I can tell you the Crone was not amused.”

He spoke as if he knew the goddesses. “Where is the Crone now? Perhaps I should speak with her myself.”

“By all means, if you find her, please send my regards.”

I blew out a frustrated breath. Something wasn’t quite right with this story. Envy not only had a book of spells that could enchant skulls, he’d practically used the phrase one had uttered verbatim. He had to be the mysterious sender, but for whatever reason, he wasn’t admitting to it.

“Are there spells on necromancy?”

“The Crone is the goddess of the underworld. Her spells reflect the moon, the night, and the dead. Amongst other things, like darker, more violent emotions.” He watched me closely. “Bloodwood Forest is a spectacular sight. It lies between my land and Greed’s. No demon house may claim it; therefore, you don’t need an invitation to travel there. The trick, however, is gaining passage through the territories that border it.”