The Blood Spell (Ravenspire, #4)(54)

She was telling the truth.

Which meant Dinah’s plan was once again falling to pieces all around her. Her head swam, and a faint ringing sounded in her ears.

Sixteen years of planning. Of living for the revenge she was so justly owed. Of flattering and pretending and living next to those who’d taken the wraith from her and, with it, the power that Dinah had sacrificed so much to get.

“If that’s all, then you’ll be on your way.” Riva stepped closer, and Dinah’s eyes were drawn to the beads of sweat that dotted the witch’s brow. The way her pulse fluttered rapidly in her neck. The tremble in the hand that held the wand.

Riva was afraid.

Dinah cast about for a reason, searching through their conversation until she found a thread that didn’t belong.

Riva had known all along that the person who’d created the lock was dead and couldn’t undo it or share its secrets with Dinah. So why had she insisted that Dinah leave it alone? Why had she lied about being the one who made the lock in the first place?

The answer hit Dinah, a wave of sickening relief that nearly brought her to her knees.

Maybe the original creator of the lock was dead, but someone else still knew the secrets. Someone else still had the power to open the wraith’s prison. And Riva knew it.

The queen had said Valeraine de la Cour helped Riva lock the wraith into the Wilds. If Riva hadn’t created the lock, then it must have been Valeraine, which meant she had the potion written down somewhere in her shop or in her home.

Dinah smiled as she turned to leave the cottage.

Maybe Valeraine and her talent were out of Dinah’s reach, but she had something nearly as good.

She had Blue.





TWENTY-THREE

KELLAN WAS CORNERED. Flanked on both sides by girls from rival families, his back against the south parlor’s wall, his tea coat itching in the miserable summer heat that rolled in through the open doors that led to the veranda. The girls’ parents weren’t far from their daughters, their eyes trained on every move the prince made, even as they exchanged pleasantries with the queen and each other.

His smile felt permanently carved into his face as he offered each girl his arm and led them toward the tea table in the corner where dainty apple puffs, fig twists, and tiny bolla jelly sandwiches were arranged on plates the same color as the warm summer sun.

“I’ve been stitching my own ball gown for your birthday party,” Marisol Evrard said as she let go of his arm in favor of picking up a small plate and filling it with food.

On Kellan’s other side, Jacinthe Chauveau’s pretty lips twisted into a sneer. “Why would you do your seamstress’s job?” She kept her arm tightly laced through Kellan’s.

Marisol frowned. “Stitching a gown is slow, careful work. It develops patience and attention to detail, both of which are important qualities for a queen.”

Kellan gave Marisol a real smile. “I can attest to the depths of both my mother’s patience and her remarkable ability to keep track of every single thing that happens in her kingdom.”

Marisol grinned and popped an apple puff in her mouth.

Jacinthe leaned against him. “I think I’ve shown remarkable patience with you already, Prince Kellan.”

His brows rose. “Is that so?”

She gave him a pretty little pout. “I’ve entertained you twice in my home in the past few weeks, and I’ve attended four functions at the castle, and you’ve barely danced with me.”

He gave her a slight bow. “A grave oversight on my part.”

“And one you can remedy now.” She gently pulled him in the direction of the veranda, where a trio of musicians played stringed instruments. The soft melody wrapped around the thick summer air, a ribbon made of song.

He paused and turned back to Marisol, who looked suddenly bereft. Winking, he offered her his other arm. “A dance with one pretty girl is lovely, but a dance with two makes me the luckiest boy in the kingdom.”

Jacinthe’s grip tightened painfully as Marisol set her plate down and reached for Kellan. He led them past the small clusters of people talking, catching Gen Gaillard’s eye as he reached the doorway that led to the veranda. She assessed his situation with a quick glance and hid a laugh behind a raised hand.

Oh, she thought it was funny that every head family representative in the room was watching the prince with microscopic intensity and that he didn’t dare give more attention to one girl than another, did she? He stopped walking halfway out the door and turned back, earning murmurs of confusion from both Jacinthe and Marisol.

He’d danced with more than two girls at a time at the academy. No reason he couldn’t do that here as well. “Miss Genevieve,” he called, silencing the conversations directly around them. “Would you do the three of us the honor of joining us in this dance?”

Jacinthe’s grip felt like claws digging into his arm as Gen’s eyes widened. She couldn’t possibly refuse, though. Not without infuriating her parents, who watched eagerly from behind her. With a gracious smile, she made her way to Kellan, Marisol, and Jacinthe.

“Of course, Your Majesty. Though I’m not sure how you’re going to accomplish this when you have but two arms.” Gen was still laughing at him, and he gave all three girls a cheeky grin.

“Ladies, there’s enough of me to go around. Shall we?”