10. SCION

10

SCION

THE OBSIDIAN PALACE, EVERLAST CITY

I slammed my book shut with a snap, and hurled it at the wall. It smacked against the stone with a resounding slap, and slid uselessly to the ground.

Across the room, Ambrose jolted in his seat, eyes wide and eyebrows raised in surprise. "What the fuck was that for?"

"This is pointless," I grumbled. "I'm fucking done."

Ambrose pressed his lips together in a tight line, evidently struggling to hold back whatever retort he'd thought of. "Fine, just go then. You're distracting me, anyway."

I glared mutinously at him.

We were once again sitting in our grandmother's old study, where we'd been pouring over her journals every day this week. The entire process was mind numbing boredom, punctuated only by frustration every time Ambrose opened his mouth and reminded me he was there.

I got to my feet, pacing the study to work off some of the energy that had been building inside me for days. I wished I could blame my mood entirely on Ambrose, but it wasn't only him that was the problem.

We were no closer to figuring out the curse than we'd ever been, and I was starting to feel like it might never be broken. Meanwhile, this castle was starting to feel more like a prison than a privilege, and I'd actually started to miss my time in the army. It had been horrible, but at least I had something to do and there were always people around.

Now, the court was practically empty, what with everyone still hiding in Overcast until things could return to normal. Lonnie was spending all her time training, or most recently, grieving her mother. Bael was constantly disappearing or sleeping, which left me with no one for company aside from the one person whom I'd hoped never to see again.

"Stop pacing," Ambrose barked. "You're distracting me."

I glared at him. "I'm not one of your sycophantic minions."

He looked up. "What does that have to do with anything?"

My lip curled. "I'm merely suggesting that you not try to order me around. You're still breathing because I allow it, and I'll withdraw that privilege if you keep testing me."

His jaw worked, and for half a second his eyes flashed with rage. I could practically see him struggling to hold on to the detached diplomacy he'd been employing since we got off the ship.

"Fine," Ambrose said through gritted teeth. "Understood."

My eye twitched. A large part of me had hoped he'd retaliate, just to give me something to do. If he'd attacked me I would have known exactly what to do with him, but this new more careful version of Ambrose was unnerving.

"If you have something to say, say it," I demanded.

"And let you goad me into a fight? I'd rather not. I'm too busy to kick your ass at the moment."

I scoffed. "I'd like to see you try. I'd melt your brain before you ever drew your sword."

With what looked like an enormous effort, he sucked in a slow breath and lowered his book. He looked up, finally meeting my gaze head on. "I think you'd do better not to underestimate swords," he said in a tone of forced calm."That scar on your face is healing nicely, by the way. How fortunate you are that Lonnie isn't so superficial as to be disgusted by it. Not all women could be so charitable."

I saw red, rage coursing through me so suddenly that I hardly noticed when shadows began to leak from my fingertips.

I was done with this—done with letting him stay here as if he hadn't tried to destroy the damn room we stood in less than three months ago. I was done with civility, and with tolerating his encroachment on my position. I wasn't even sure I wanted to be the fucking king anymore, but I'd die before I let Ambrose have the role by default.

I took an aggressive step forward. My power lay in illusion, but the illusion of pain wasn't all that different from physical pain. If I wanted to, I could break him right now. I could feed him so much pain that his mind would snap, his body believing it had died and trapping him in an immortal state of agony.

Rashly, I let go of the hold I always kept on my power and let just the smallest tendril of pain reach out and scratch his mind. I held my breath.

There was a long pause where I waited for him to crumple in his chair as so many others had, but as the seconds ticked by nothing happened. I blinked in surprise.

The illusion of pain had never failed before. The shock of it was enough to jerk me back into rational thought, and I took a step backward breathing heavily.

What the fuck was going on?

"If you're going to stand there thinking so hard you may as well keep researching," Ambrose said, his tone maddeningly calm. "We have hundreds more books to go through."

"I told you," I barked, my anger still riding me. "This is pointless. If Grandmother knew something she would have told us."

"Not necessarily." He gave me a condescending glance. "If I saw that you were about to drink poison and die, but then warned you that would happen, you'd likely not drink the poison at all rendering the vision moot. Often the act of staying silent is part of ensuring the future goes in the correct direction."

"Is that what you're doing, now?" I asked bitterly. "Staying silent and letting us all drink the proverbial poison?"

He looked up, and his expression was inscrutable. "If it was I wouldn't tell you, would I?"

"I know you're up to something."

"Always," he agreed, blandly.

I faltered, taken aback by his admission. "I know you're downplaying your visions. You seem to have forgotten that I lived with Grandmother Celia, too. I know what seers are like."

Ambrose frowned, but he couldn't pretend not to know what I meant.

Seers—good ones, at least—were always slightly disconnected from reality. Grandmother Celia had been so enmeshed in the future, that as she grew older she was hardly ever aware of the present. Speaking to her directly was challenging, and even when she was lucid she was always cryptic and often condescending. As if, because you could never know what she knew, you must know nothing at all.

Ambrose had never been exactly like Grandmother—at least not during the handful of conversations I'd had with him since he left to become the Dullahan. The smug prick was certainly just as condescending, yet, for some reason he wasn't displaying any of the usual…fog…that always shrouded his kind. What if he was plotting something? Or worse, attempting to sabotage us…

"I'm not hiding anything like you're suggesting," Ambrose insisted, almost as if he'd read my mind.

"Then you're doing something. You're too present ."

Ambrose turned toward the window, showing me his back. He stiffened, and ran a hand through his hair. "I haven't had a clear vision in days."

I sneered. "Bullshit. If I didn't know better I'd call you a liar."

"But you do, so don't waste your breath."

"Grandmother Celia always—" I began again.

"Celia and I are not the same," he interrupted.

I faltered, doubt and confusion settling over me. He couldn't be lying—at least not without giving some outward sign of pain, but how could it be possible that he hadn't had any recent visions? "What's wrong with you, then?"

"It's not me—" He abruptly broke off, not finishing his sentence as he whirled to face the door.

The door flung open and Lonnie marched into the room looking harassed. She slammed the door behind her with enough force to rattle the window panes, and stood with her arms crossed glaring at no one in particular.

I blinked in surprise. Indeed, I wasn't sure I'd ever been less pleased to see her—not when I'd just been about to hear whatever Ambrose had been hiding.

Then, I noticed her dark expression and my entire focus shifted. "What's wrong Rebel?"

"I fucking hate fairies," she sighed loudly, before crumpling into a nearby armchair.

I raised an eyebrow. "That's inconvenient."

She looked up, and seemed to realize what she said. Her eyes widened. "I didn't mean like that. I just meant it will never not be frustrating to try and have a direct conversation. Why can you all never answer a damn question with a real answer?"

"Depends on the question, love," Ambrose replied, looking infinitely more cheerful than he had only moments before.

Lonnie laughed hollowly, then looked around the room seeming to take it in for the first time. "Sorry, am I interrupting something?"

"Not really," I told her. "We haven't found a single fucking mention of the curse in any one of these journals."

"How many have you checked?" she asked.

I gestured to the growing pile of books on the desk. The pile had started out modestly, but now was nearly two dozen volumes high, and covered the entire surface of the large desk completely obscuring the statue of the bronze raven. Ambrose had begun stacking more finished books beside his chair, so that soon there would be more volumes off the shelves than on them.

Lonnie groaned, and closed her eyes slumping back in her chair. "I've not had any luck either."

"I didn't know you were trying to help," Ambrose said. "You don't have to, you have more than enough to deal with at the moment."

I glared at him. It wasn't his responsibility to worry about what Lonnie was or wasn't doing. I shifted, turning my back on Ambrose, blocking him from our conversation. I peered down at Lonnie, trying to discern meaning from her annoyed expression. "How are you feeling?"

She bit her lip. "Alright, I suppose."

"Are you certain? You'd be well within your right to stay in bed far longer. Your mother just passed."

"I'm fine," she said stubbornly. Then, perhaps correctly reading my skeptical expression, she added: "No, really, I am. I'm sick of lying around, I want to do something useful. And anyway. I've realized that nothing has really changed. I believed my mother was dead for years. I already grieved for her years ago, and in a lot of ways I feel the same."

"This is different, though."

"Yes, different in that now my last memories of her are unpleasant ones," she said darkly. "She tried to kill me, and then made it all too clear that she wished I was never born."

I growled low in my throat, unable to keep my anger at how she'd been treated from bubbling up to the surface. Oddly, I was sure I heard Ambrose do the same. I glanced over my shoulder at him, narrowing my eyes.

Ambrose cleared his throat, coughing. "I only wish we'd had a chance to ask your mother more questions."

"I know," Lonnie bemoaned. "Which is why I've just tried to speak to Idris."

She quickly explained her unproductive conversation with the mysterious prisoner in blow by blow detail.

"I'm not sure I understand what you were trying to accomplish," I admitted when she'd finished.

"My mother said Aisling asked her to find her heir, and that she'd managed to do it while in Underneath," she explained. "It seems too much of a coincidence that we should meet someone who claims to be as old as Aisling."

Ambrose shook his head. "I don't think Idris has anything to do with this. For all you know, your mother meant us . Our entire family are descendants of Aisling."

"Yeah, Bael said something similar. Lonnie frowned, and glanced around the room as if expecting Bael to emerge from behind a bookcase. "Where is he, by the way? I thought he'd be with you."

"Sleeping in his old room," I answered flatly. "Again."

Lonnie's brow furrowed in evident concern, and I could hardly blame her. Bael had been growing increasingly absent over the last few months, but this week had been unusually bad. Lonnie likely didn't realize it, since she'd been locked in her room, but Bael had been spending nearly every hour of the day sleeping in his cage. He'd get up in the evening and drag himself upstairs where he'd climb into bed with Lonnie, pretending to go to sleep as normal.

I'd asked him about it, but he'd laughed me off, refusing to give any clear answer. I'd already decided that if he didn't pull himself together by the end of the week I'd call in a healer and have him assessed.

"Well, I'm going to try and talk to Idris again at the soonest opportunity," Lonnie mused, clearly still following her own train of thought. "There's something…strange about him that I can't put my finger on."

Ambrose shook his head. "I talked to Idris almost the moment he set foot on my ship. He has no interest in harming us. He doesn't even know who he was before prison."

"Doesn't that seem strange, though?" Lonnie burst out, obviously frustrated. "I'm sure he's said something about his past to me before, but I can't recall when."

"I meditated on his future for days," Ambrose argued. "If he were up to something I'd know."

Lonnie glowered. "Maybe he's blocking you somehow. You told me your visions weren't coming as easily."

I straightened, turning to glare pointedly at Ambrose. "What the fuck does that mean?"

He sighed in exasperation, looking annoyed–likely that Lonnie had revealed this shred of information in front of me. "No one is blocking me…at least, not intentionally. All I'm focused on right now is this:" He gestured vaguely in the air as if to indicate the present moment. "There's nothing worth seeing except the future as it relates to the curse."

That made absolutely no fucking sense.

If he was focused on the curse then why couldn't he tell us how to break it? I narrowed my eyes at him, watching intently. There was something I was missing here–something important–and I didn't like feeling in the dark.

"Here, look at this!" Ambrose said, as if desperate to change the subject. "I finally found a mention of the curse. Or, at least of the crown."

"When?" I barked. "Why didn't you say anything?"

"It's a bit hard to get a word in when you're constantly yelling." He reached for the book he'd been reading, and flipped open to a dog-eared page in the middle, before holding it up for us to see.

I stared nonplussed for a long moment before looking up. "I don't see anything."

Ambrose sighed and pointed to the middle of the page. I leaned closer and noticed that between some other random scribblings was a small drawing of a crown with three jewels set into the points.

Frowning, I pulled back, more annoyed than ever. "That's not the same crown. That one has jewels, the obsidian crown is plain."

"I know," Ambrose snapped. "But look at this."

He pointed again at what I'd first taken to be a random scribble. I leaned closer and squinted. In fact, it was a tiny note drawn beneath the crown in Grandmother Celia's familiar loopy scrawl.

The uniter of the realms

"Aisling was called the Uniter," Ambrose said, seemingly for Lonnie's benefit. "Because she was the reason that Elsewhere became a single country rather than four independent kingdoms. I'm sure this is relevant."

Lonnie looked unconvinced. "If you say so, but if that's all there is I don't see how we're going to decipher it. I was really hoping Queen Celia might have written an entire book of instructions on how to break the curse, not just some vague mentions of Aisling here or there."

"I know," Ambrose agreed. "She still may have. There are more books to check."

Lonnie sighed and stood up again, moving toward the door. "Let's hope, because I'm starting to feel like we're fighting that many headed sea monster again. Every time we answer one question, two more appear in its place."

I laughed darkly.

I knew exactly what she meant. The more I thought about the curse, the bleaker everything felt. No one had been able to break it for thousands of years. Maybe it couldn't be done. Maybe we were simply meant to die miserable.

"I'm going to check on Bael." Lonnie's gaze flicked to Ambrose for half a second before returning to me. "Did you want to come with me?"

I ran a frustrated hand through my hair. "I'll join you shortly. We're not done here."

Lonnie glanced from me to Ambrose and nodded looking almost hopeful. For some reason, she clearly wanted us to get along and for the life of me I couldn't understand why.

Lonnie stood on her toes to kiss me lightly on the corner of my mouth, turned on her heel and marched toward the door, her crimson braid coming more unraveled with every step until half her hair was fanning out behind her like a cloak. At the last moment, she seemed to remember she didn't have to waste time running down corridors anymore if she didn't choose to. The air around her shimmered, and she walked straight into nothingness disappearing from sight in the blink of an eye.

I closed my eyes and tilted my head back, groaning. I could feel the exact point where her lips had touched me burn, and it was a steady reminder that I could be spending my time with her, and instead I was trapped in here day after day with my traitorous brother. Life was cruel.

I turned back to Ambrose, intending to pick up my interrogation precisely where we'd left off. Instead, I came to an abrupt halt, staring. I opened my mouth, then quickly closed it again. I was suddenly at a loss for words.

By the fucking source.

Ambrose wasn't paying any attention to me–in fact, he seemed to have forgotten I was there. He stood with his arms slack at his sides, the book he'd been so emphatically brandishing a moment before hanging limply from his hand. He was staring at the spot where Lonnie had disappeared with a hauntingly familiar expression on his face.

"By the source, I'm so fucking stupid." I blurted out. "You want her."

Ambrose jerked, and spun toward me. "What?"

"It's so fucking obvious now, I can't believe I didn't see it before. You're looking at her like–" Like how I'd watched her for months.

The evidence was clear enough on his face. It was a longing shadowed by torment, and all too familiar.

Ambrose snorted and raised an eyebrow. "I'm looking at her like what? Are you a mind reader now?"

I shook my head, confused but absolutely sure I was right. "You're fixated on her."

He rolled his eyes. "I'll admit she's tempting. If she wanted to climb into my bed I certainly wouldn't say no, but unfortunately she seems satisfied enough already. I suppose there's no accounting for poor taste."

That was bullshit, and I saw right through it immediately.

"Is this why you suddenly care so much about the curse, then?" I demanded. "For Lonnie?"

"It couldn't just be that I don't want to die? You're paranoid, Sci."

I barked a harsh laugh. Yes, I was paranoid, which was why I noticed immediately that he hadn't actually denied my accusation.

This was it, then–the thing that I'd been sure I was missing. My brother was enraptured with my mate. Suddenly, so many things became clear: Why he'd kept Lonnie as a guest on his ship rather than a prisoner and agreed to help her rescue us from Underneath. Why he was still here playing librarian rather than raiding army outposts in Aftermath, or whatever the fuck he usually did with his time. Why he kept trying to force peace between him and I.

Now that I saw it, I couldn't believe I'd never noticed before, and I had no idea how to feel about it.

"Fine," I said, as if agreeing with him. "You don't care about her at all. Just say that, and I'll drop it."

He stared at me, and I could practically see the calculation taking place behind his eyes. He knew I'd trapped him. He couldn't lie outright, but if he refused to answer the question I'd get my answer anyway.

"What do you want from me?" he demanded finally. "I'm quite sure you can't hate me any more than you already do, so what do you have to gain from pushing this?"

I looked Ambrose up and down, assessing him as if I'd never seen him before. And maybe, in a way, I hadn't.

I sunk into the armchair that Lonnie had just vacated, and put my elbows on my knees. I waited for the familiar pang of jealousy and even of rage that always accompanied any thoughts of another male even looking at Lonnie. But as I'd half expected that it wouldn't, the feeling never came.

Ambrose watched me warily, as if expecting me to try and attack him again. Strangely, the idea hadn't even occurred to me. I'd been teetering on the edge of violence for days, but now rather than wanting to attack him, I simply wanted to know what was going on.

Was Lonnie aware of his feelings? Was that why, despite everything, she seemed to want him around us? Ambrose had kidnapped her, had her shot with a crossbow, and nearly killed her on countless occasions. I couldn't see what possible redeeming quality she saw in him.

Granted, I also often wondered what she saw in me. I'd treated her just as horribly as Ambrose had–worse, in some respects.

Part of me was starting to worry that she simply liked broken people. She seemed to seek out the worst possible monsters and aimed to rehabilitate us through sheer force of will. If that was the case, my brother would undoubtedly become her next project.

"Say something," Ambrose demanded.

"I can't. I'm thinking."

"Well what are you fucking thinking?" he barked, finally dropping the false serenity he'd been holding on to for weeks.

I shook my head, dazedly, unable to find the words to describe the ideas flitting through my mind. Instead, I decided to test my theory.

I let go of my hold on my power once more, and let a tendril of shadow drift across the room toward my brother. Ambrose eyed it warily, but didn't move. I let the shadow curl around his wrist, squeezing tightly before falling away. Then, for good measure, I tried zapping him with pain. He didn't even twitch.

I let go of the breath I'd been holding. It wasn't all my magic he was immune to then, just the violent aspects–just like Lonnie.

I sighed in resignation. "How long have you known she was your mate?"

He eyed me, somewhere between apprehensive and defiant. "What makes you think that?"

"I can't hurt you." I laughed bitterly. "I can't hurt Bael either even if I wanted to, because it would hurt Lonnie and the bond won't let me. That would have been fucking helpful to know all these years. I could have saved myself the effort of trying."

My brother closed his eyes and sat back down in the chair across from me. I held my breath and waited, half hoping he'd laugh and deny it, or suggest that it was only Lonnie's source powers that was affecting him the same way it affected every other creature born from magic. That it wasn't the same for him as it was for me.

But I should have known better than to hope.

"I don't remember when I first had the suspicion," he said, slightly defeated. "A few years ago, perhaps."

I narrowed my eyes. "How is that possible when you can't see her future?"

He looked up, startled. "I never said I couldn't see her future."

"I'm not a fucking idiot," I muttered. Admittedly it had taken me far longer than I would have liked to work it out, but now that I had it seemed entirely too obvious. "Lonnie must be immune to you too, which would make it difficult to see much of anything while living in such close proximity."

Ambrose scowled. "I never said you were an idiot. And you're right, but it's not so black and white. For years, I could always see mundane glimpses of her in other people's futures. Nothing of consequence, but I liked seeing flashes of her."

"I used to meditate on her sister's future just to catch a glimpse of Lonnie. It was addictive. Her reactions were always interesting, and she was beautiful–far too beautiful for me to not realize that was part of the appeal. Except, then I noticed that her sister held no interest for me. They were completely identical, but I could always tell the difference. It occurred to me that there might be a reason for that. I guessed she might be…something. If not my mate, then it could be part of her power."

"It could be," I said, almost hopefully. "She draws everyone to her without even realizing it. I noticed long before I ever knew what her magic was. One time, I took her to a brothel in Inbetwixt–"

Ambrose looked up. "You what ? Why?"

"Looking for you, actually. It doesn't matter. The point is, I nearly lost my mind trying to keep anyone from touching her. She didn't even realize she was doing it, but her presence alone drove people wild."

He nodded. "I know. You should have seen how the crew watched her on the ship."

"I did," I laughed. "I nearly killed at least three of your men."

He laughed, and I found myself smiling back for the briefest moment before the smile slid off my face. For the first time, possibly ever, we were having a real conversation.

I cleared my throat, sitting up straighter. "So, you're sure that's not all this is? She's not affecting you the same way she affects everyone."

His smile slid away, and he shook his head. "No. Maybe once I thought that, but not anymore. I knew for sure when I felt her in the cell beside me in the dungeons. It was?—"

"Like being bewitched," I finished almost bitterly.

"Yes."

I sighed, nodding. I'd already known what he'd say, but my thoughts were still in disarray.

In an ideal world, his admission that we shared a mate would have made me forget the last several decades and forgive him on the spot, but this was far from such a utopia. The kindest thing I could say about my brother was that I didn't much care if he lived or died. I couldn't imagine what it would be like to see him everyday, or have to pretend to get along for Lonnie's sake.

"Does she know?" I asked.

"I don't think so." He smiled weakly. "She's very good at living in denial, even when the obvious is staring her right in the face."

Truer words had never been spoken–not that I could claim to be any better.

"Well, when are you going to tell her?" I demanded.

"I don't know. I may never tell her, or at least wait until after this is all over."

I frowned, not liking the uncertainty of that answer. More importantly, I didn't think he was being honest with himself. He'd tell her eventually, or she'd find out. I was living proof that it was only possible to live in denial for so long before everything came to a head.

I stood up, and Ambrose looked startled. He stood as well.

"You're not going to tell her yourself?" he stated. Half a question, half a demand.

I shook my head. "No, but you should."

A ghost of a smile flickered across his face. "Are you being magnanimous? That's not like you."

"No," I said acidly. "I'm being selfish, actually. Even if she doesn't recognize it now, eventually she'll realize she's your mate. When that happens, she'll think we hid it from her because we can't get along. She'll think she has to choose."

"Afraid she won't choose you?" he asked–it wasn't a malicious question, just an honest one.

"No. I don't think she'll be able to choose at all and I don't want to find out what would happen if we ask her to."

He nodded and said nothing as I took a step in the direction of the door. I needed to go for a walk and clear my head. Maybe I'd go down to the village and pick a fight with some noblemen, just to work off some of my energy.

"There's one thing I still don't understand," I stopped abruptly in the doorway. "You told me to marry her."

He looked confused. "And? What about it?"

"Why would you do that if you already knew she was your mate? You practically forced us together."

He shrugged again. "Why did you spend so long denying your own mate bond?"

"Because Bael had claimed her first," I replied automatically. "He's like my brother."

Ambrose looked down, refusing to meet my gaze any longer. If I didn't know better I'd think he looked slightly disappointed. "Well, there you go," he said hollowly. "You actually are my brother, even if you don't want to be."

I drew back, startled. I didn't know what to say to that, and retreated quickly from the room. I would definitely be heading down to the village. I really needed to hit something.