This Dark Descent, page 34
Then her eyes fell on the black book by Nelda’s feet. No, not a book—a journal.
Careful not to disturb her sisters, Mikira picked up the journal and laid it open in her lap. It was soft, supple leather, the first page inscribed with her father’s name in careful script.
The first entry was dated nearly a year ago, marking the journal as one in a series. She flipped through the pages, scanning through aimless thoughts littered with information on enchantments and research into magical animals before finding the latest entry.
It was dated two months ago, the day before Rezek had taken him away.
I’m sure of it now: there’s a fifth stone. How else to explain the enchantment on Mikira’s knives? A charm to carry out their owner’s intentions is surely ethereal, though well beyond anything I’ve witnessed, but the one that would bind the blades to her alone?
It’s the bloodstones.
The journal slipped from Mikira’s hands. She was right—her blood had triggered the bloodstone link. She’d been clinging to some thread of hope that Gren’s death wasn’t her fault, that she’d tried to stop it, but the knives said otherwise. If they were truly enchanted to carry out her intentions, then that meant some part of her, no matter how small, had wanted Gren dead.
And the knife had made it happen.
Was that how the knife had appeared in her hand in the final stretch, only to vanish when she realized she couldn’t be found with it? Reid hadn’t said anything to her about it, but he’d been occupied with getting back to the finish line and may not have noticed the blade’s brief disappearance.
Mikira held out a hand. She’d left the blades in her saddle bag in the barn, but if she was right, then she had only to will them to her. Feeling slightly foolish, she called to them—and watched them materialize in her hand.
“Hells,” she breathed. She let her head drop back, staring at the ceiling. This was all too much, and it wasn’t over yet. There was still the closing ceremony ball, still the matter of freeing her father and seeing her funds transferred from Damien. Reid hadn’t told him what she’d done yet, but who knew if that would change.
She had conned one of the most dangerous men in all of Enderlain. She’d won an unwinnable race. Against all odds, she’d saved her family.
She would weather this too, and come whatever may, she would take care of it herself.
CHAPTER 46
ARIELLE
THEY CELEBRATED LATE into the night.
The pub was alive with music and dancing and drinks, and she recognized the faces of everyone from Adair jockeys to off-duty constables to the house’s district tenants. Damien circulated through them all, shaking hands and accepting congratulations and requests to meet with the grace of a king. She’d been on his arm for nearly an hour, and never once did he forget to introduce her like a queen.
Mikira’s absence was the only mark on the night. Damien had sent a messenger at Ari’s behest, and Mikira had replied that she intended to stay home for the evening, but Ari wished she’d come. Everything they celebrated tonight was in large part due to her, and Ari missed having her there.
“He’s going to have to pay for the fallout of Loic’s move tonight,” Ari said, now sequestered by the fire with Reid. They were both watching Damien in conversation with a retired general by the bar.
Reid snorted, half-slumped in his armchair. “As long as Loic pays for it more, it’s worth it.”
Ari studied his feigned nonchalance with a critical eye. “What did he do to you?”
He was silent at first, tracing the lines of one tattoo up his forearm, and coming to a stop at a particularly knotted mess of ink that resembled a crow. “When we were younger, he and his friends thought it funny to lock me in an old mausoleum. They left me there for nearly two days, refusing to tell Damien where I was. Eventually I was able to break the glass and climb out, but I cut my arms up doing it.”
That was where the tattoos came from—they were covering the scars.
“A game,” Ari whispered. That’s what Loic had called it. Perhaps he’d gotten what he deserved. “But how did the Anthir know what Loic had done to Eradas?”
“Shira must have had the Anthir following him,” he said. “But pulled them back when you and Damien engaged Rezek.”
So that they wouldn’t witness anything they shouldn’t. But why see one brother arrested and prevent the other? Did Shira care for Damien that much more?
Ari peered over the heads of the crowd to the opposite corner, where a second fire burned. Shira was sprawled across one of the armchairs, her nose buried in a book. The crowd gave her a wide berth.
“Ari?” Reid asked.
Ari handed him her drink. “I’ll be back.”
The crowd parted for her with surprising ease, and she lowered herself into the chair opposite Shira’s. The leather cover of her book had practically fallen away from the binding, but Ari could still make out the title. It was a romance novel.
“Exactly how many times have you read that?” she asked.
“One fewer than enough,” Shira replied without looking up.
“At some point knowing what’s going to happen has to ruin it.”
Shira closed the book with a snap. “Ari. I’m reading.”
Which translated loosely to Tell me what you want before I bite your head off for interrupting me. A trait that ran in the family it seemed.
Ari smiled. “Why did you call the Anthir on Loic?”
“A question I’d like an answer to as well.” Damien appeared beside Ari’s chair, laying a hand on her shoulder.
Shira didn’t respond right away, and Ari could read nothing of her reaction in her face. How much of his emotional control had Damien learned from his older sister? He’d told her of his relationship with Loic, but not with her.
Eventually, she set her book aside. “They were supposed to stop him from doing anything foolish.”
“You mean stop him from winning,” Damien said. “You couldn’t have possibly thought he’d make a better house head.”
Ari agreed. Loic was as unpredictable as a wolf and twice as quick to bite. Surely Shira could see that?
Shira picked up a forgotten cup of tea from the table. “I think that winning the Ascension would have ruined him … and that losing it would have ruined you.”
“Then we agree,” Damien replied. “Loic is weak. He wasn’t fit to lead this house.”
Shira laughed softly. “How quickly we forget.” He frowned, and she turned sideways in her chair to face him. “Do you remember when those boys cornered you outside the pub? Who came for you?”
Damien ground his teeth. “Loic.”
“And what about when you took Father’s prized racehorse out for a midnight ride, only to cause a sprain? Who took the blame?”
This time, more quietly, “Loic.”
“We are all of us weak sometimes,” she said. “You just like to forget when it is you.”
Damien’s hand tightened briefly on Ari’s shoulder, the only indication that Shira’s words had gotten to him. They always seemed to. His sister knew him well, and Ari suspected that was the very reason Damien avoided her. That, and what Ari now understood was Shira’s deep desire to protect her brothers. This was why she’d followed her and Mikira, why she’d helped with the golem but wouldn’t have agreed to the endeavor herself.
Damien downed the rest of his drink and set the glass aside. “The Loic you speak of is gone. He vanished when we became House Adair and Mother died, and he saw me as a threat to his position.”
“That’s the thing the two of you have forgotten.” Shira picked up her book and settled back into her chair. “We’ve always been House Adair.”
She cracked open the book to her marked page, and recognizing the dismissal, Ari and Damien returned to the party.
* * *
THE NEXT MORNING, Ari woke with a pounding head and a thirst for water so powerful, she nearly knocked over the pitcher on the drink cart scrambling for it. She’d downed three glasses before she thought to try verillion. It burned away the worst of the hangover in seconds, and she dropped onto the chaise, wishing it could do the same for her headaches when they pestered her. But she’d learned long ago the human body didn’t always do what it was supposed to when it came to medicine.
Reid trudged out a short time later, looking far more disgruntled than she thought possible, even for him. He muttered something unintelligible and collapsed beside her. She reached behind them and poured him a cup of tea, which he accepted with another incoherent mutter.
Several minutes of silence and multiple cups of tea later, he finally looked at her. His eyes narrowed, taking in her obvious lack of discomfort, and said, “That is entirely unfair.”
She smiled innocently.
The foyer door cracked open, and Mikira peeked through. She looked as exhausted as Reid. Her braid was a mess, her clothes wrinkled, and her sleeves unevenly rolled. Still, she smiled when she saw Ari. It faltered when Reid glared at her.
Mikira hovered in the doorway, returning Reid’s stare with all the force of a burning fire. Then, without a word, Reid rose and poured her a cup of tea. He set it before one of the chairs. Mikira crossed the room and sat down, picking it up.
“Do I even want to know?” Ari asked.
“No,” they said in unison.
“Right.” Ari settled back into the chaise just as Damien emerged from his bedroom. Unlike the rest of them, he didn’t have a single hair out of place.
He paused at the edge of the sitting room. “Is there a reason you’re all glowering at me?”
“Ari,” Reid said.
“On it.” She woke the cord between her and the hawk perched by the desk. Mazal spread her wings and with a flurry of beats, sent a gust of wind straight into Damien’s face.
A single curl of hair dropped across his forehead.
Ari groaned, thrusting a hand at him. “He looks even better like that!”
“We could try the talons instead?” Mikira suggested lightly.
Damien rolled his eyes. “If the three of you are done, we have some things to discuss.” He sat down in the empty chair.
“Maybe we can start by someone telling me what happened to you two yesterday?” Mikira’s gaze slid to Damien’s shoulder, where the edge of a bandage peeked out from beneath his collar. Mikira’s own injuries were still tightly wrapped.
Damien’s expression grew grim. “My brother tried to kill Rezek with the help of a friend who betrayed me. We stopped them.” The bitterness in his voice surprised Ari. How strong did that emotion run that he couldn’t rein it in?
Next to her, Mikira had grown very still. The hand on her teacup trembled.
“I should receive the funds from the race winnings by the end of the week,” Damien continued. “I’ll have it transferred to your account, and I’ll oversee your father’s return from Rezek.”
“I tried to get him back after the race.” Mikira’s voice warbled. “But the guard refused to even tell Rezek I was there.”
Ari looked to Damien, who sighed. “That would be because his father was murdered.”
Mikira gaped at him. “Eradas Kelbra is dead? But Rezek—” Her voice pitched, and she regathered herself, starting again. “He was the only thing that kept Rezek from spiraling out of control. He’s been defeated on two fronts and humiliated. What will he do now without his father to control him?”
“We’ll handle it,” Damien said, unwavering. “Don’t worry.”
Mikira’s jaw tightened, and she stared down at her half-empty cup, but she didn’t argue.
Ari squeezed her arm. “I owe you my thanks, you know. For much more than just winning this race. You helped pull me out of a life I hadn’t realized I’d stopped living. I’m grateful to have met you, and to call you my friend.”
Mikira smiled weakly at her. “I’m glad we’re friends too.” She stood, her cheeks flush with color. “I just came to see everything was all right, but I promised Nelda I’d take her for a ride on Atara before the ball.”
They hardly had a chance to say goodbye before she was out the door. Her departure itched at Ari, and a moment later, she followed her out.
“Mikira!” she called, stopping her at the edge of the corridor and joining her. “Is something wrong?”
Mikira’s lips pressed together as if to trap the words inside, and she shook her head, but Ari didn’t believe her. She’d been acting strange for days, avoiding them, sitting in icy silence with Reid, looking at Damien as if—
“Oh,” Ari breathed.
Mikira’s fingers curled into fists. “Did he kill those men?”
“He was protecting me,” Ari said swiftly. “They nearly killed me, and they would have exposed me.”
But Mikira was already shaking her head as if to block out the words. “He’s a murderer, Ari!”
Ari gritted her teeth, driving her fingers through the knots of her hair. “We both are.”
“What?” Mikira’s voice was small now, unsure, and Ari watched the color pale from her face as she told her about her first golem, her Saba’s death, her flight from the only home she’d ever known.
“That was an accident,” Mikira said hoarsely. “It doesn’t make you a monster, Ari. Not like him.”
Ari bit out a sharp laugh. Would Mikira say the same if she knew about Kyvin? If Ari carved Rezek apart before her, would she still defend her? This was the difference between them. Mikira still wanted to be herself at the end of all this. Ari wanted to be something more.
Something untouchable.
“It’s not what I’ve done that makes me a monster, Kira,” she rasped. “It’s that if given the choice to do it all over again, knowing what it meant—I’m not sure if I could give up this power.”
A sense of satisfaction emanated from deep within her, that other presence preening with an unparalleled delight. It’d been waiting for this. Wanting it.
Mikira swallowed tightly, and aware of it or not, she retreated a half step. It was all it took for Ari to have her answer. Mikira couldn’t know the truth of her darkness.
She couldn’t accept it.
Ari didn’t stop her as she left.
* * *
THAT NIGHT, WHILE Reid and Damien were in their respective rooms getting ready for the closing ball, Ari stood at the desk and stared at the Racari. This was the first moment of solitude she’d had to truly consider what had happened yesterday during the race.
She could no longer ignore it. Her magic was straining at her control, and it was connected to this book, to the bloodstone that bound them. It hummed beneath her touch, begging her to open it, to use it, its pearlescent ribbing almost pulsing.
Do it, said the voice.
“Arielle?”
Damien stood in the doorway to his bedroom, dressed in a crisp red shirt set beneath a slate-gray waistcoat. His black jacket hung over one shoulder hooked by two fingers, and dark strands of hair curled across his brow.
She pushed the book from her mind. “You look nice.”
He stepped aside as she approached. “Not half so much as you.”
The simple compliment brought a blush to her cheeks, and she ran her fingers across his stomach as she passed.
Inside, she washed and dressed, carefully finding her way into a new gown he’d bought her. Deep sapphire accented in gold, it hugged her curves in all the right places. Her hair she left down around her shoulders, her only ornament the emerald ring Damien had given her.
She stepped out to find him curved over his desk cleaning his revolvers. For a moment she simply watched him. He worked with a delicate precision, the look on his face familiar—it was the way she felt when she crafted a golem, both enamored with her power and utterly at its mercy.
It was how she felt about him, and how he felt about her.
He looked up as she approached, his gaze taking all of her in. She let herself bask in that look of wonder.
“There’s something I want to tell you,” she said.
He set down his tools, giving her his full attention. The words rose and hovered in her throat, and she thought of her golems, of how they could come undone, exposing their true natures.
She felt like that now. Like a fruit peeled to reveal the rot underneath.
Still, she forced the words out. “I killed my Saba a year ago, and the other night, I killed Kyvin.”
She gave no excuse, no explanation. What mattered was the blood on her hands, not the reasons it had been shed.
Damien stood, and for a moment, she expected him to order her out of his home. To say she was dangerous. To say she was a monster.
Instead, he closed the distance between them. His eyes held hers with an affection bordering on reverence, and it was in that moment, her lips hovering before his, that she understood: she could destroy him if she wanted to.
If he didn’t destroy her first.
Damien’s lips met hers, and she melted into the kiss. Her hand traveled up along his neck to curl in his hair, and he let out a quiet moan as she tugged gently on it, then harder. His own hands were hot against her skin, finding the places where the dress was thin. Each brush of his fingers was like discovering sensation again for the first time.
A deep, long-suffering sigh sounded from the other side of the room. They broke apart, breathing hard, to find Reid standing in his customary all-black suit, his hair a ruffled mess.
“Oh good, you’re done,” he said. “Can we go now? The earlier we get there, the earlier I can leave.”
Damien chuckled quietly, then slid his arm about her waist. She leaned into him, basking in that surety, that security.
Their strength.
Something jingled, the clatter of metal against stone. Widget darted after it, batting it once more with his paw.
Damien saw it at the same time Reid did. Reid snatched the glinting metal up, but Damien seized his wrist. They stood there, frozen, Reid’s fingers curled into a tight fist, Damien’s forearm taut. Neither one looked away.
