Kingdom of the Cursed (Kingdom of the Wicked, #2) (63)

I was at a loss regarding her obvious contempt.

I studied the demon from under lowered lashes, feigning sleep. Her deep red hair was coiled into intricate knots around the crown of her head, while the lower portion was a set of long, perfectly styled curls. A muscle in her jaw feathered, as if she was entirely aware of my scrutiny and was biting back a string of admonishments. Maybe her simmering anger was simply a marker of the House of Sin she belonged to and I was reading too much into it.

I shifted my attention to the window. For some reason, she’d pulled the drapery shut before we set off. I moved it back and she glared. “Keep it closed.”

I drew in a deep breath through my nose, centering my growing annoyance at her curt attitude. Arguing with her would serve no purpose. And I did not need one more enemy to watch out for. “What’s your name?”

“You need only address me by my title.”

Though I noticed she refused to call me by the title Wrath had demanded his court use. It didn’t bother me one bit. I was no noblewoman. “Very well, Emissary. Where is Wrath?”

Her cool gaze slid to mine. “His highness is occupied.”

There was no mistaking the edge in her tone, or the warning that more questions would not be tolerated. I laid my head against the plush carriage wall. We steadily moved down a mountain and I tensed to keep myself pressed against my seat and not slide forward. In what felt like eons, we finally began climbing again before eventually clamoring to a stop. Heedless of her ire, I drew the drapery aside and swallowed a gasp.

I’d never seen the front exterior of House Wrath. When I’d first arrived, it had been delirious in Wrath’s arms, and we’d entered through a mountain. His castle was massive, with a gate house, turrets, towers, and an enormous wall that spanned the entire perimeter. Pale stone with black tiled roofing. It was a magnificent study in contrasts.

Vines, frozen solid, clung to the walls.

We passed through the gates and rolled to a stop in a half-circular drive. The emissary waited for a footman to open the coach and then accepted his assistance out. She left without a backward glance, her duty to collect the wayward fiancée done.

I stared after her, wondering why she’d been so cold and if I’d done something to offend her. I knew I hadn’t. Aside from my surprise at seeing her instead of Wrath, I’d been friendly.

An uncomfortable suspicion slithered in about her relationship with Wrath, but I shoved it aside. I refused to let it matter.

The footman handed me down and I took my time walking up the stone stairs to the front door. To my right, tucked near the wall, was a garden hidden within a hedge. I made a mental note to visit it once the weather warmed.

If the weather ever warmed. As if on cue, snow began lightly falling, dusting the castle in a fine layer of shimmering flakes.

I hurried inside and brushed off my traveling cloak. Aside from the footman, who was seeing to my trunk, there were no servants waiting to tend to me, for which I was relieved.

I made it back to my bedroom suite without running into anyone. No servants cleaning the castle or its many rooms. No Fauna or Anir or Wrath. I was immensely grateful I didn’t see any of the other noble occupants, like the now tongueless Lord Makaden or overly talkative Lady Arcaline.

As the afternoon wore on, I grew restless, though. I was not used to having so much idle time. Back home I was always in the trattoria, or working on my craft in our home kitchen, or reading when I wasn’t falling into bed, bone tired from a hard day’s work. I was also rarely alone—my family was always there, laughing and talking and warm. Other nights I’d comb the beach with my sister and Claudia, sharing secrets and our hopes and dreams.

Until my twin was murdered. Then my world irrevocably changed.

Unable to bear the morbid twist of my thoughts, I marched down to Wrath’s suite and knocked. No answer. I considered testing to see if the door was locked but refrained. When I’d intruded on him after his violent outburst at dinner I’d had a valid excuse.

I trudged back to my room and decided to work on finding Source again. I closed my eyes, concentrating on the inner well of magic. A few seconds later, I tunneled down into my center, then crashed. It felt as if I’d collided with a brick wall.

I tried to muster up the energy to locate it again, but I was more exhausted than I’d thought. I’d spent the better part of last night awake in bed, fearful of Envy returning in a rage. And the previous night I’d barely slept because of Wrath’s confession. I imagined to harness Source I needed to be well rested. And I was anything but.

I pulled out the journal on House Pride I’d borrowed from Wrath’s library and slowly flipped through each page in hopes of something being written in a language I knew.

My efforts were wasted. There weren’t even drawings or illustrations for me to decipher. It was just page after page of small, handwritten notes in what might be demon script. My attention kept straying to my trunk, to the object I’d smuggled from Envy inside it.

I didn’t want to remove it from its hiding place just yet. I had a feeling someone might come looking for it soon enough. I couldn’t believe it had been so easy to snatch. Too easy, really. Part of me expected alarms to sound and Umbra demons and vampires to swarm in the moment I’d lifted the spell book from its case. Nothing happened. I’d simply walked to my room, sewn it into the inside of my trunk, and waited for a reckoning that never came.