Misrule, page 23
She looks at me, lips swollen from our kiss. Eyes shining. “Will you really shut me out? For her?”
I cannot hold her gaze. The hurt blazing within it threatens to undo me. And the worst part is that I want to love Regan like she wants me to. I want this stubborn heart in my chest to change, those chambers reserved for Aurora ossifying as if they had never been. But deep in my soul, deeper even than where Mortania dwells, I know that it will not. The kiss between Aurora and me broke one curse and began another. One I will carry until the day I die.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper.
Regan clears her throat and straightens her jacket. “One day you will see what’s in front of you. But I’m not your plaything. Or some consolation prize. I will not wait for you forever.”
And then she’s gone.
* * *
—
I spend the rest of the night huddled in the mess I made. Sleep comes in fits and starts, filled with distorted images of Aurora’s outrage, and Derek bolting away on his steed, and Neve’s conniving smirk. By the time dawn breaks, my very bones ache.
I start back to my rooms, hoping Malakar has returned—though I haven’t heard any sentry blasts. My eyes are so tired that I have to Shift to keep from smacking into walls in the dank and cloistered corridors. But the distant glow of a candle is bright as it trickles through the crack in a semi-concealed door. I halt in my tracks. Hardly anyone else ventures this deep into the palace. I tiptoe closer, curiosity piqued, and position myself so that I can just peek through the slit in the panel. The room beyond is vacant and relieved of most of its furnishings, but someone is examining the remains of a tapestry.
Aurora.
The door hinges squeal, drawing her attention. And I freeze, caught.
“I— What are you doing here?” Even I cringe at the question, one spoken like a jailer.
Her candle flame flickers in the draft. The events of the last day have taken their toll. There’s a weariness in her posture that does not suit her, and I worry again about the effects of the curse lifting. I should search Rose’s room for the finished elixirs. Or perhaps see if another Grace in the Garden can accomplish the task.
“You of all people should know how good I am at evading my guards,” Aurora replies. “They’re sound sleepers.”
She wants to be alone, certainly doesn’t want me, but I can’t convince my feet to reverse their course. And after the total disaster of last night, I crave her company. Which I realize is insane, seeing as most of the disaster occurred between us. But Aurora says nothing as I approach, only continues her inspection of the tapestry. The scene depicts Leythana. She stands at the helm of one of her legendary dragon ships, their flared and taloned wings repurposed into sails and wide jaws open at the bow in a jagged-toothed cry.
Aurora’s fingertips brush against the threadbare embroidery. A few strands still glint.
“The Imps could repair it, if you like. It might not look exactly the same as you remember.” They might decide Leythana looks better with horns. Or a wolf’s maw.
“No. The damage is done.” She picks at the fraying images, lingering over the dragon bowsprit. “You look a mess. What happened to you?”
Regan’s kiss still burns on my lips. “I didn’t sleep well.”
The silence is oppressive, and I grapple for something—anything—to fill it. The only subject I can think of is the one I’d like to avoid entirely. But it looms like one of the Demons in their shadow forms. And I won’t be able to outrun it forever.
“About what happened in the throne room,” I begin, vainly attempting to clear the awkwardness in my voice. “With Rose, and what I said to the court. I’d like to explain.”
“Why? Your excuses will be as inadequate now as they were then.”
I suppose I deserve that. “Please—”
“And I think,” she interrupts, “deep down, that I always knew.”
Wind whistles through the cracks in the walls.
“You…knew that anyone could break your curse?”
“No. But there never seemed to be anything special about Derek. Not in the way of curse-breaking anyway. He wasn’t my true love.”
Shivers race down my spine, and I dare let myself hope that the title still belongs to me.
“I knew there was something you were keeping from me,” Aurora continues. “When Rose said what she did…it all made sense.”
That Grace would be wise to never return here.
“Please understand that I—”
“Will you let me speak for once?” She waits until I nod. “When you broke my first curse, I was willing to sacrifice everything for you. I stood before my parents and named you as my future wife. Future queen, to rule beside me. I didn’t care that you were the Dark Grace, or what the council would say, or even how the realm would react. You had the same opportunity to stand beside me last night, and you didn’t take it. Worse, you lied about us—again.”
I feel about the same size as the mice Callow brings me. “I’m sorry.”
“I don’t forgive you.”
Tense, horrible silence descends on us again. Even Leythana, nearly indiscernible, seems to be glowering at me. But I cannot leave. I fear that if I do, we’ll never speak again.
But I can’t endure this oppressive quiet, either. I gesture at the tapestry. “Did you ever find out what she offered the Vila in exchange for Oryn’s staff?”
It is an excruciatingly random question, and I think I hear her let out an annoyed breath.
“No,” she answers tightly.
“I wish I had more books or papers to offer you,” I blunder on. “I’ve always been curious about Leythana’s early life. There isn’t even anything left in the crypt, like the mementos of the other queens.”
Aurora traces the stitching of a taloned, dragon-wing sail, which shines in the flickering candlelight. “It’s a shame.” Her shoulders soften in the slightest. “I want to know more, especially about the dragon ships. The palace was so stifling, and sometimes I yearned to just…fly away.”
She still does. I can see the desire written on her face. And as much as it pains me that she would want to leave here—leave me—I have an idea.
“What if I could show you what that might have been like?”
“What do you mean?”
“You said you wanted to fly. I could help you.”
Her brow rumples, but I can tell the thought tempts her. “I’m not a Shifter.”
“No,” I agree, grinning. “But I happen to know how to grant you wings.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Chaos is skeptical at first. As is Aurora. I can’t blame her. The Fae beast towers over her head, and one of his massive hooves could crush her skull like a grape. But after some coaxing on my part, and perhaps because he realizes he’ll get a reprieve from his pen, Chaos allows himself to be saddled and bridled.
I set the mounting block to one side of him for Aurora. She worries the edge of her cloak. “You’re sure this is safe? Derek told me he’s never managed to ride him.”
“That’s because the Ryna prince is incompetent—and Chaos hates him.”
Chaos chuffs in what might be confirmation, and her lips twitch up.
“I’ll be right beside you,” I promise. “I won’t let you fall. Well—not very far anyway.”
She is so close that my breath catches. But then she gathers her skirts and steps onto the block. “You’d better not.”
* * *
—
Chaos needs no encouragement to bolt into the gray morning. Aurora lets out a cry as his huge wings boost them into the air. I Shift and tear after them, worried that I’ve given the Fae steed too much freedom, and that—bond or not—he will attempt to flee with no thought of Aurora’s weight on his back. But then she straightens, tossing her head back and letting the wind take her golden hair. Chaos is a streak of silver in the sky, his tail like that of a comet as he soars over Briar. A sound of pure delight leaves Aurora’s lips as the realm shrinks below us, one I think I will remember until my last breath.
Callow, the clever kestrel, joins us almost as soon as we’ve left the stables. She sails alongside me, entertaining Aurora no end. My kestrel chirrups, challenging me to rolls and races as we typically do on these pleasure flights. But I’m careful to keep Aurora in sight, always close enough to dive and intercept her if Chaos takes a bad turn. But the steed is remarkably steady. He whinnies in unmistakable joy, letting Aurora steer him from one end of the shoreline to another. As her confidence increases, she bids him plummet and dip close enough to the steel-capped waves so that the tip of his wing sends freezing spray into her face. We loop over the Crimson Cliffs, high enough that she can almost touch the bellies of the clouds. It’s Aurora who signals for us to come down. We land neatly on the cliffs outside Briar’s main gates. Callow perches on my shoulder.
“Done already?”
Aurora slides from Chaos’s back. Rivers of bronze and crimson race over his body as he folds in his wings. Aurora pats his flank. “Not at all. But I wanted to take in this view. And then let’s head that way.” She points east.
Callow warbles her agreement, earning a laugh.
“We’ll have to be careful,” I say, rubbing warmth into my limbs. The cold is like a blade this close to the sea. “Chaos isn’t accustomed to so much exercise yet. I don’t want him getting tired and falling out of the sky.” The steed snorts in what is undoubtedly offense. “Another day I can show you—”
But she’s stopped smiling, her attention fixed on a spot behind me. I turn and discover the black tower hobbling over the tops of trees. Dragon’s teeth. I should have paid attention.
“I thought you would have destroyed it,” she says quietly.
“I meant to.” Too many times to count. “But it was the last place you were awake, and I…couldn’t.”
The sharp-edged memory of that night rises between us like a specter, and I hate it for spoiling this moment.
Aurora stalks toward the tree line.
“What are you— Wait!” I run after her, then remember Chaos and pivot back. Callow complains and flaps away. “It’s not safe. The stone is unstable.”
“Good,” she calls back. “Let it fall.”
“Aurora!”
She plunges ahead into the gnarled woods.
* * *
—
Given that I had to secure Chaos’s reins to a sturdy enough tree, Aurora reaches the ancient oaken door well before I do. Her stubbornness knows no bounds. She kicks at the warped wood until it gives way, then plows into the sooty dimness without so much as a backward glance.
Another century of Briar’s storms and the change in our climate should have toppled this structure, but the gaping hole in the side is only slightly wider. The stones are moldier and the stench of dead fish and rancid seaweed stronger. The banners are all but demolished, only scraps of fabric hanging from rotting beams. The graveyard of debris glistens with silt. I jump at every shadow, imagining the prisoner who dwelled here, bound by the light Fae. Mortania hisses.
Leave this place.
I’d like nothing more. But, as if spelled, Aurora makes for the stairs.
“Where are you going?”
“I want to see where it happened.”
Callow grumbles, disliking this turn of events as much as I do. But I trudge up the brine-slick steps anyway. The door to my old room is just a shell now, eaten by storms and squalls. Cobwebs drape the corners. Decaying furnishings litter the floor. There’s the corner where Kal bound me with his shadows while he Shifted into my shape and lured Aurora to the cursed spindle. The place where he fell, his bones long turned to dust. Callow flies to the window casing and ruffles her wings, yellow eyes keen and vicious.
A growl jolts me back to the present. Aurora charges across the room, toward the wobbling remains of the spinning wheel. Bits of curved wood sprawl in a haphazard arrangement around the stand. Aurora snatches up a jagged spoke and slams it against the wall. It splinters with a wet crunch. She hurls the pieces out the window and into the sea, upsetting Callow. Wrenches a leg free of the stand and stomps on it, sobbing.
“Aurora.” I go to her. She slaps at me, but then all the pent-up energy pours out of her. Her knees buckle, and I stumble down with her, pressing her against me as tightly as I can. Her face rests in the curve of my neck, tears hot on my skin.
“I’m sorry,” I say, over and over again. “I’m so sorry. About the party, and what I said. The curse. I never meant to hurt you.”
She pushes back, her lavender gaze bright as jewels and sharp as glass. “Why did you do it, then? Why did you burn Briar and let me sleep? And I don’t want to hear more excuses. Just the truth.”
“I—” Everything I’ve told her in the past smashes together in my mind. I was protecting her. I was building a realm for us. But, in this moment, back where everything started, it all sounds hollow. “I was afraid,” I say. “Kal coated the spindle with my magic, and you might have died because of me. And then they were going to make you look at me the way all of Briar had looked at me for my whole life, and that was even worse. It was miracle enough that I won your heart the first time. I never believed I would be able to win it a second.”
Aurora blinks at me. I’m not even sure she’s breathing. “Alyce. That’s the first time I’ve heard your voice in a hundred years.”
And then there’s something else written on the lines of her face—something I never thought I’d glimpse again. She tips slightly forward. And then her lips brush against mine. It’s the same feeling as when we broke the first curse—the world splitting in half and careening back together in a smear of light and color. I deepen the kiss, drinking her in, ravenous after so many years of being starved of her. She tastes of salty tears and sweet summer berries and the heady essence that is her. One of my hands tangles in the exquisite silk of her hair. The other slides down the curve of her body, moaning as I’m reintroduced to every rise and dip. Her own fingers travel down to the laces at the front of my dress, tugging them loose. My breath halts in anticipation of feeling her hands on my chest, the tiny explosions about to happen in my bloodstream as she explores hidden places.
But then Aurora rips herself away from me. It’s like the sun being robbed from the sky.
“This is too much,” she says, scooting back.
The absence of her touch is painful, my body reeling. But I force my trembling fingers to retie my laces. “I understand.”
A long moment passes between us, the kiss still crackling like wildfire. We sit in the molten core, pretending it isn’t burning around us. I lick my lips, tasting her.
Aurora picks at the rubble around us. And then her attention snags on something. She digs through a mound of crumbled wood and dirt and extracts a large ring. A fat sapphire is set within a wide golden band.
“My father’s.” She wipes the stone with her skirt. It dazzles in the shafts of sunlight. Refracted rainbows dance over her face. “The one you were supposed to curse.”
She slips the ring onto her thumb. It’s far too big, as Tarkin was a mountain of girth. “When I stole it from Father’s wardrobe, I was so certain that we were on the verge of something bigger than the two of us. Monumental.”
“So was I,” I say, drawing my knees close to my body. “I had the same feeling when Regan and I decided to establish the Dark Court. Like we were forging an entirely new world.”
Aurora doesn’t comment, but her eyebrows lift subtly. And her silence is weighted with judgment. My hackles rise. “What? Do you not approve of what we did?”
“I didn’t say that,” she replies—too coolly.
“Yes, I think there’s much you’re not saying.”
“Like what?”
The answer surfaces, ugly enough that it must be true. “Like you think your version of Briar, your reign, would be better than ours.”
She points at me. “You just said that—not me.”
“But you’ve thought it, haven’t you?” Aurora fusses with the ring. I laugh, darkly. “And who exactly would have benefited from Queen Aurora’s rule?”
Yes, pet. Mortania stirs. Who indeed?
“Everyone,” she says, as if it is the most obvious statement in the world.
“Even me? What about my family? You pride yourself on standing before your parents and naming me as Briar’s second queen. But would you have crowned me? And what of the tapestries celebrating dead Vila, those I passed every time I visited the palace? The trophies from the first war. Were you even going to take them down?”
“You think I would have been a tyrant, like my father?”
I lift a shoulder. “It’s interesting that you won’t directly answer the question.”
“Why should I?” she fires back. “You’ve answered so few of mine, except with lies.”
My blood hums. “Well, I’m sorry you don’t find me as biddable as you used to, back when I was the Dark Grace and at your royal command. It’s a pity your prince flew off. His lies were much easier for you to tolerate, weren’t they? As were his kisses. Probably better than mine ever were.”
Waves smash against the base of the tower.
Aurora gathers herself up and goes to the window, watching the crows and vultures circle over the quicksilver sea. The fragile truce between us lies smoldering at our feet as soon as it formed, but I’m tired of tiptoeing through every interaction—desperate to please her when she is interested only in punishing me. When she ignores and dismisses everything Briar put me through.
“I don’t know what I would have done,” she says eventually.
It wounds me deeper than I’d like to admit. And a horrible thought oozes over my skull. That Regan was right. I’ve put Aurora on a pedestal. But we were always too different.
