Chapter 13

CHAPTERTHIRTEEN

The restof the week passes at a snail’s pace, dragging me along with it. Once again, I ensconce myself in my room, this time with Cedrik’s tonic keeping me numb and sleepy. I’m too tired to care about much, but I need to figure out how to control myself without the concoction taming me so I can take action.

I’m sick of being weak, a puppet for others.

When bacchanal night approaches again, I reluctantly drag myself down to the beach.

As Ilona and I sit concealed within the tent, our attention doesn’t linger on the blanket of treats before us or the squirming bodies on the beach.

The rhythmic music barely registers, and only the salty air of the sea has an effect on me—calming, grounding. Only two weeks ago, Ilona was opening up about how she doesn’t trust Mother. One week ago, I was drawing closer to a mysterious guard. This week, I know unmistakably that both Mother and Dash are my enemies.

“Your mother is late again today,” Ilona says, tugging on a few loose curls from her side braid. Her loose brown pants and emerald top make her look like she belongs in a garden among flowers rather than alongside a struggling princess and her wicked mother.

“She’s not coming.” Once again, she’s hosting a dinner to distract my leech of a guard and the visiting royals. Knowing her, she’d rather be down here with the revelers, but apparently, such a rowdy celebration is unfit for the Vannyks.

“She’s backed off a lot recently, I’ve noticed.”

“Only because King Emman and his wife demand most of her time.”

“I’m glad to see you,” Ilona says, her voice soft, nervous. I’ve been avoiding her all week. Cedrik’s tonic is running through my system, dulling everything inside of me, but it’s almost time for my second dose.

“Can we not do this?” I ask, defeated. “I don’t want to talk about Dash or Mother or what happened at the falls. I don’t really want to talk at all.”

I’ve been successfully blocking everything out during the past few days, with the help of the healer’s medicinal beverages. Muddling my mind, the tonic makes it hard to worry about things that aren’t directly in front of me. I’m a shell of myself, even more than before.

Salmon-colored liquid in a lidded vial rests on the blanket before me, beside a second clear, bubbling tonic. One sweet, one bitter. One helps numb me while the other keeps me from getting sick. I take the pinkish one twice a day now—once upon waking and once after the sun leaves the sky. The clear one is only for bacchanals.

Today’s energy on the beach is high and frantic as usual. The night is cooler than usual, with an intense breeze working its way through the island. As good as it might feel, it’s an ominous sign. A storm is coming.

The bonfire reaches out to the side like a claw, pushed by the increasing winds. Palm trees sway like dancing bodies, as if enjoying the celebration too. Dense clouds conceal the moon, blending the sky and sea into a wall of darkness.

I’m normally on edge prior to the bacchanal and transference, but something new is clawing at my stomach. Discomfort. As Cedrik’s tonic wears off, I’m swamped by disgust at the prospect of stealing a life. I’ve never liked doing what I have to do, but I’ve accepted it.

Tonight, I no longer feel accepting.

I might even vomit.

Luckily, I have Cedrik’s vial of bitter tonic for nausea. Snatching it from the blanket, I pop off the cork and guzzle the contents. Wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, I grab a flute of champagne and chase away the bitter taste.

It only succeeds in adding to the bitterness, and I think, perhaps, I should’ve chosen the juice instead.

I reach for the vial of sweet liquid and I hesitate for a moment before popping off the top and dumping its contents into the sand.

Ilona watches me warily. “I take it you don’t much care for whatever that was?” She plucks a green grape from a vine, rolling it between her fingers but not eating it. Neither of us has an appetite tonight, it seems.

“It doesn’t let me feel,” I mumble. “But without it…I can’t seem to control my emotions at all. I can feel yours. And everyone who’s near me.”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” she asks, gesturing to the darkened sand where I dumped the sweet tonic. “There are a lot of people out there.”

“I’m just going to get this over with. Meet me after?”

“In my room? I’ll pick our books first. Dashiel might enter the library, but he won’t bother you in my space.” Her words come out in a rush, her demeanor perking up at my interest in spending time together. I nod in agreement, working hard to convince her that everything is okay. We both stand, and I pull her in for a hug. She moves away, giving me a sad smile over her shoulder before exiting. I haven’t yet told her about training with Jamell the other day, my breakdown, or visiting Cedrik. I haven’t seen her.

She’s my best friend, and I should let her in so we can figure out this mess together, but I worry I can’t trust her either. If Jamell is under Mother’s control, who’s to say Ilona isn’t too?

Sighing, I snag the sandy veyl from the floor, shaking it out.

“Goddess be with me. Let’s get this over with.”

There’s a rustling behind me, probably Ilona coming back for something, but before I know what’s happening, a strong hand presses against my mouth, and I’m held against a firm body. Decidedly not Ilona.

Lips press against my ear. I tense. I’ve readied myself to suck this person’s life force to the dregs for daring to put their hands on me when a familiar voice speaks up.

“Please don’t scream, sweetheart. I’m going to remove my hand, but you need to listen to me.”

Squirming against him, I try to pry his hands from my mouth, but he holds fast.

“Please, Astrid.” When I don’t oblige, Dash sighs heavily and continues talking. “Fine. Just remember I wanted to do this the easy way.” He pins both my hands behind my back, holding them with one hand as he gently places a foot on my calves, kicking my legs out from beneath me, forcing me to kneel. I fall to my knees in the sand, and he keeps one of his hands over my mouth and the other around my wrists. His hold is tight yet surprisingly gentle.

“I wanted to have a normal conversation, but you refuse to allow me that courtesy. I’m not fond of handling women in this manner.” I’d roll my eyes if I weren’t so fearful in my current position. “You don’t have to do this anymore. I know you despise what your mother makes you do. You’re free of her control.”

What is he talking about?

I struggle to ask him, but my words come out muffled against his hand.

“Her influence can no longer reach you. You are free from her grasp, but you cannot let her know. Do you understand me?” I try to shake my head, to tell him I most certainly do not understand, but he only sighs deeper. “She can’t know you’ve broken free from her chains. You need to play along for as long as you can. You’re smart; think on your feet. Find me in the library, the same row as last time, and I’ll have the answers you want.”

The pressure on my mouth and hands are gone instantly, and he bolts away before I can even suck in a gasp of air.

I’m utterly alone now. With his words ringing in my ears, I think about what I want to do. Not what he or Mother or anyone else tells me to do.

Peering through the tent’s fabric, I watch the writhing bodies near the shore. My people seem so happy—so carefree. But are they really? I’m becoming more certain that they are here as a result of Mother’s manipulation. Each week, I adamantly try to convince Ilona they’re here of their own accord, but is it me I’ve been trying to convince?

Even if they do choose to be here, does it make what I’m doing right? Don’t my actions go against the will of the goddess who created us all—the true mother, the earth? Do I even want to do this?

Blood as red as my veyl stains my hands. I can’t do it anymore. Shaking with terror at my decision, disgust for who I’ve become, I itch to rip the veyl into tiny pieces and toss it into the sea.

Dash’s words play on repeat: She cannot know you’ve broken free from her chains. You need to play along, for as long as you can.

I know what I’m going to do.

Putting on the veyl, I push through the tent’s slit. Sand and wind whip at me, and the crashing waves roar in the background. My black pants billow around my legs, confirming the decision to forgo a night slip was the right one.

As I peer into the jungle, I consider what I’m about to do. At first glance, our quaint, tropical island might not seem like a place where one would find a gleaming marble palace with a wicked throne built atop secrets and lies. A throne warmed by a queen with eyes as empty as her heart—the Dead Queen.

There’s a storm brewing. Two actually.

One forms high above the waves, in the blue-black space between sea and stars. The other gathers strength in the deepest, darkest corners of my mind. And the most powerful of storms are known to devastate whatever stands in their way—marble, flesh, and everything in between.

* * *

Fleeing the bacchanal, I leave the beach behind. The thumping of the drums matches the pounding of blood in my ears as I fly over the packed-dirt trail, darting through the thicket of trees, until I catch glimpses of the palace.

Slowing my pace as I get closer, I act as natural as possible. The last thing I need is a witness to my erratic behavior. If someone were to alert Mother that her vessel is behaving strangely, it could ruin my plan.

I hurry across the grounds, and before I push open the servants’ door, I pause.

A couple weeks ago, a handsome, scruffy stranger stood here and ignited something inside of me. He quickly became a friend—or at least had the resemblance of one—and almost something more. He threatened me, stole a kiss, and unintentionally turned my life upside down.

Or perhaps my life was turning itself upside down and he’s been trying to keep me from tumbling with it?

Either way, he was right: I left the bacchanal. I was able to resist my duty for the first time ever. Mother no longer has a hold over me.

Practically floating through the corridors, I reach the throne room. Sentries, staffs in hand, stand guard outside the doors.

The doors open at my arrival, and I’m beckoned inside. Everything around me is drowned out by the thump, thump, thump of blood coursing through my veins. Taking a deep breath, I plod down the long aisle, keeping my eyes locked on Mother’s, ignoring the dozens of people eagerly awaiting the transference ceremony.

Her eerie gaze locks onto mine, too dark, too empty to recognize. I wonder how long I’ve been blind to the monster she has become. This is not the same woman who cared for Ilona as a child and kept my secret all those years ago. That woman was kind, with a soft smile, warm eyes, and a tender touch.

This woman, with her tight lips and midnight gaze has a touch as cold as her heart. This woman is no longer the mother I once knew and loved, and I hadn’t noticed. Until now.

It’s as if someone pulled the curtain back and I’m seeing what lies beyond for the first time. It’s the strangest sensation, as if I’m waking from a dream I’d been mistaking for reality.

Her influence can no longer reach you. You are free from her grasp.

Dash’s words echo through my mind. Was he right? Has he been right all along?

Shifting my eyes around the room, I struggle for breath. The judgement and expectation, the wonder and curiosity, from Mother’s many witnesses is stifling.

I hope, for their sake, that Ilona was wrong and they’re not all under Mother’s control.

Somehow my feet have reached the dais, and I kneel before her. Nausea overtakes me, for an entirely new reason this week. But Cedrik’s tonic works well, helping to settle the swirling bile before I make a fool of myself again.

Mother’s voice rings out, followed by the peoples’ chants.

Blessed be the people! Long live the queen! Blessed be the—

It fades away as I try to quell my shaking hands, lest Mother feel them trembling upon her calves. Dash’s voice drowns out the rest of the noise: You are free from her grasp, but you cannot let her know. She cannot know you’ve broken free from her chains.

Surprisingly, his voice in my head calms me. Breathing becomes easier, and my hands steady. Once Mother has resumed her seat on the marble throne, I swallow around the pressure in my throat and carefully reach out to touch her skin.

Head bowed, I remain still, and she growls under her breath.

I’m confident I’m making the right decision. Except, when I try to focus on drawing her life force energy out toward me, I can’t do it. She’s cruel and untrustworthy, but she’s still my mother. I can’t kill her.

Sweat trickles down my temples, and I worry that once again I’ve put my trust in the wrong person. Dash told me I was free from her control, and I believed it.

This is a mistake.

She’ll always have some sort of control over me, even without her magic influencing me.

I have no way to save myself, but at least Mother won’t know I considered draining her life force. At this point, I’m counting on her hatred of humiliation being greater than her contempt for me. She can’t let the people—the Vannyks included—know the transference didn’t work. She won’t.

She’ll fake it for self-preservation. To keep her status as someone powerful and dangerous. To appear in control.

I’m counting on it to save my life.

Sure enough, she closes her eyes, and a soft moan leaves her lips as she mimics the action of absorbing the life force energy I normally give her. Only the two of us know the truth: there’s none to give, none I share with her. The onlookers don’t know any better.

Once a few believable moments pass, I withdraw my hand, flinching at the purely murderous glance Mother flashes my way.

For a moment, I’m fearful she’ll plant a heel on my chest and send me tumbling backwards, but she doesn’t. With a wave of her hand, she dismisses me. Two sentries escort me down the aisle and back out the doors. Mother will make another speech, then make toasts with the nobles. That should buy me some time.

I rush to the library to meet Dash, no longer caring who sees the vessel bolting through the corridors.

After all, Mother can make them forget.