CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Fallon

Three days and three nights we sat in silent vigil at the duchess’s bedside. There were always two people attending her, constantly making skin-to-skin contact and feeding her magic like a blood drip. She never once stirred, propped up with her back against three layers of soft feather pillows, cream nightgown stitched up to her neck and hair splayed across the white linen. She looked like an angel. A dead one.

But her heartbeat was strong and steady. Sometimes it sped up a little, and my uncle hypothesized that she must be experiencing her visions in those moments. Occasionally she broke into a sweat. After the first day, staff came in and sponge-bathed her while Lisbeth and my aunt continued the vigil. The first time I went reluctantly from my makeshift bed of pillows and comforter on the floor, afraid to leave her in case those were her last minutes; afraid to leave in case she awoke and I wasn’t there.

Eaglen came, late on the first night, and the entire household, even many of the servants, gathered in Autumn’s bedroom and stood like mourners viewing a body. Only perhaps Edmund had known her as long as the aged vampire, and when Eaglen entered the dimly lit room, his cracked lips parted and he let out a soft “Oh,” and stroked her forehead as lovingly as the surrogate grandfather he had supposedly been to her.

It was a scene that best described my own emotions. Helpless and pitiful and speechless.

It was Eaglen who had seen her coming, Eaglen who had warned us the June before that she was a He**ine, and it was with increasing urgency over the summer that he pressed us to act on his visions. Now we knew why, I supposed. The Second He**ine had entered his presence, but Eaglen was too old and wise to meddle with fate, or so he claimed, and so hadn’t warned us about Violet Lee. Watching him with Autumn, so tender and earnest, I became more and more certain he had only told us about her because he cared for her so much.

We filled him in on what little he didn’t already know, and in return pleaded with him to return when she awoke . . . his insight into Violet Lee’s time with the vampires would be invaluable in planning our next move.

I thought about all of that as I sat at her bedside, taking my turn in feeding her my magic. It was the morning of the third day of her coma, and I shared the duty with Edmund. He had brought a book with him to read, something heavy from the Man Booker shortlist, according to the label on the front, but he kept setting it down every few pages.

“Not any good?” I eventually said after he repeated the action for the fourth time. I attempted to set my tone at friendly conversation, but missed it by a panic attack and a sob.

He shook his head and half-raised a shoulder. “It’s brilliant. I just can’t . . . concentrate.” He sounded at a loss for words.

I hummed in acknowledgment. I didn’t much feel like sparing him words. It was crazy, because he had told me about his connection to her, but I didn’t feel as though his concern was righteous. He was almost as bad as I was. He rarely left her sitting room—I had found him crashed out on one of the couches, late one night—and spoke only to the servants to ask for food, or to his sister, Alya, who seemed to be the only one able to coax him outside. The night before, I had heard her saying something to my aunt about “Edmund’s guilt.”

He should feel guilty! said a nasty little voice in the corner of my mind. He failed to keep her safe! He should have been guarding against the Extermino! He should be dismissed!

But I didn’t listen to the nasty voice, because I knew it was jealousy that was creating it. Something in the way he had handled her back at the beach, after she swore, had stirred something very deep and lasting in me. I could still see his arm wrapped around her, clamping her in place not an inch above her breasts. The way he had whispered into her ear like he was kissing it, and the way her back had arched in response, pushing her backside into his groin . . . the primal way she let go of her emotionless façade and seethed and spat at him, her eyes burning red from anger . . .

I wanted her that way.

“She wanted to die,” Edmund eventually murmured. “I watched a child try to kill herself in front of my eyes. That does something to a person. It kills something inside them.”

“It killed me,” I said simply. “I would have died with her.”

“Don’t say that,” he snapped, looking up at me and away from her for the first time. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”

“I do,” I retorted, meeting his gaze steadily. “I know that I love her enough that a life without her isn’t worth living.”

To my surprise, he laughed. “You have a lot to learn about women, Your Highness. When you’ve been forced to sleep on the couch, denied sex for weeks, and ordered around by an irritated member of the fairer sex, then you’ll know whether you love her enough or not. Come back to me when you’ve had your first argument; you’ll soon change your tune.”

I scowled at him and felt my blood run hot. I would not be mocked by staff, friend or not. “I love her!”

He leaned back into his chair. “I know, and I can think of no man worthier of her. Just don’t approach the relationship with rose-tinted glasses on. It won’t do anybody any favors.”

I flinched at the unexpected praise. “Yes, well . . .”

I went back to staring at her. I love you. More than petty domestic idiocy can destroy. I squeezed her hand. More than Edmund thinks. I don’t care if we’re young—

Her hand squeezed back. I nearly jumped away in shock and Edmund’s head shot up.

“Her hand squeezed!” I squeezed it harder. Sure enough, the pressure on mine increased.

I think Edmund must have done the same, because he got up and kicked his chair flying, rolling her eyelids back. “Yes. Yes, I think she’s coming around,” he concluded in a determined whisper. At that moment, two of the medics that had been staying in to take care of her appeared in the room and began fussing over her, doing all sorts of tests.

“Let go of her,” one of them suddenly snapped, talking to me and Edmund. My eyes widened in horror. So did Edmund’s, and together, never tearing our gazes off the doctor, we both unfurled her fingers from our own.

My hand hovered an inch above her skin, just in case, as the medic pressed a stethoscope to her chest—they weren’t using electronic monitoring equipment, because every time they tried, the magic we were pumping her with sent it haywire. He waited for what seemed like an eternity.

“Her heartbeat is strong, as strong as it was. She’s had enough donation for some time, I think. But the spell is only just wearing off. Now we wait for consciousness.”

I tried reaching out with my mind to tell my family, but they were all blocked off. Edmund solved the problem by bounding off to the door and shouting down the corridor.

“Lords of Earth, keep the noise down. I’ve got a headache.”

The voice behind me was rasping and strained, but I would recognize it anywhere. I dived for it and found my face surrounded by golden coils, limp and dirty but still shining. Slowly, arms wrapped around me, too.

“I’m sorry,” said the same little strained voice. I just shook my head into the pillow before I was yanked back by my shirt.

“Let her drink, Fallon,” Edmund said, and she was passed a glass of water, which she downed in one gulp.

“How am I alive?” she asked, taking another glass of water and doing exactly the same.

“We continually fed you magic. Like a blood drip,” the medic said proudly. “Never in my entire career have I experienced any condition such as yours. It took a lot of improvisation.”

There was a determined set to her eyes I had never seen before. She looked straight ahead and straightened herself on the pillows, working her way back so she was totally upright.

“Well done,” she offered, as my family began to pour in, like she was praising a child. “We haven’t got time for pleasantries,” she continued in a tone damn near an order as some of the staff started to drop into bows. “I’ve been to hell and back, and hell is the future. It doesn’t look good.”

My uncle didn’t betray any of his relief. “Send for Eaglen. While we wait, you can eat. Then you will tell us.”

“He sent the note. It was the day after Ad Infinitum. There was a clock with the date on the mantel. I had that dream a few times, before it changed. She was reading a letter, about being tied as a He**ine, and then it changed again, and she had a knife at her throat and the vamperic king threatening to kill her. But it always stopped when Prince Kaspar Varn turned away and left her for dead. I had those three visions over and over, without ever knowing if she dies or not. It was hell.”

“And chri’dom called her a necromancer? You’re quite certain?”

“Completely.” She looked it.

“Eaglen?” my uncle eventually conceded after his lengthy cross-examination.

The old vampire got up from his chair and limped toward the bed. He was showing his age, compared to the last time I had seen him, that was for sure. But if his body was aging, his spirit wasn’t. He sat down on the bed and bounced a few times, his short legs leaving the floor every time.

“Oooh, squeaky,” he commented, grinning in an old-man-making-a-dirty-joke sort of way, and then cleared his throat. “I think chri’dom could very well be right. Searching her mind, I have already found that she is having necromantic-style dreams of the present. It wouldn’t surprise me if she can soon see past events, and perhaps see the dead, too.”

“I’ve seen some of those dreams, in my own visions of her,” Autumn offered.

“But what’s this tied thing?” I asked, feeling like the only person in the room who was mystified at that statement.

“Surely you have heard of Contanal’s last prophecy? Of the relations between the second He**ine and another? He maintained that it didn’t just end with the second He**ine, but who knows . . .” Eaglen trailed off.

The way his eyes shuttled between Autumn and me was so pointed a blush traveled right up her cheek, from her neck to the roots of her hair.

“It seems Violet Lee and Kaspar Varn are tied. They both share a telepathic communication, too, in the form of an embedded voice containing the personality of the other . . .”

I zoned out to watch Autumn’s intent, purposeful expression. She was absorbing every last bit of information, storing it up, and with every nugget her mind—blocked off but oozing emotion—grew more and more confident. She was born for this. She has been raised for this. I hoped, somehow, the stress and power of her new role would perversely be the thing to fill the gaping hole in her heart. Because, evidently, I wasn’t enough on my own.

“So, to conclude, it seems we have a tied young necromancer He**ine on our hands, whom chri’dom is presumably trying to murder by sending a note telling my king that her father orchestrated the death of our dear Carmen,” Eaglen summarized.

I could see what Autumn meant by bleak. I gripped her hand and she squeezed it back.

“No disrespect meant, Eaglen, but we need to tell her she’s a He**ine and get her out of the second dimension, quickly, before anything happens,” Autumn said, in the same tone of assumed authority she had usedearlier. It was slightly deeper and slower than usual, and sounded even more British for it.

Eaglen flinched a little. Though he had no official ranking—titles didn’t even exist until he was middle-aged—he commanded a lot of respect for his age and power. He didn’t like orders, that much was clear from his slightly gaping mouth.

“But, my Lady He**ine, we can’t afford to meddle in fate too much. I fear we have already, and we don’t want to risk destroying the Prophecy by running too much off course.”

“But she might die!”

“It is better for her if she finds out she is tied as you have envisioned. If we are too hasty, we may also drive a wedge between Violet Lee and Kaspar, because they are apart at the moment, as I explained earlier. We need them together, as Contanal prophesized!”

“So . . . what do we do?” my uncle eventually asked after some silence.

The room remained silent, and I could sense it dividing as gazes flicked left and right. I agreed with Autumn: we couldn’t afford to put Violet Lee in danger. But I knew the older occupants of the room would side with Eaglen. They were stuck in their ways and afraid of fate.

Eaglen spoke up. “We wait. But not long. The weekend after the Ad Infinitum celebrations, the Varn children go on a hunt. This year they plan to take Violet. I will gain you entry with the guards; we shall say you are visiting me. Perfectly legitimate, given our connection. Stay close to her, and to him. Make sure they bond, and nudge them a little if they don’t. Check that she understands and knows of the Prophecy, and bring it up if she doesn’t. When she is alone, tell her what she is. But Kaspar must not know—”

“Why?” Autumn demanded. She glanced back at me, and I was surprised by the slight tint of angry black at the edge of her irises.

Eaglen got up and walked around the bed, placing the four posters and a chest between himself and Autumn. “Because Violet must find my late queen’s letter, and Violet must nearly die, and Kaspar must turn away from her, because sometimes a man must almost lose what he has to realize what he has. See? You leave the dimension, your king will send men as late as we possibly dare, and voilà. We have meddled with fate as little as possible. This is how I have seen it.”

“You’ve seen all of this? Then it supersedes what Autumn saw! Why didn’t you say?” my aunt almost shouted from the corner of the room. “Lords of Earth, seers!”

Eaglen shrugged. “Eh, dramatic effect, I suppose. I’m going to enjoy my power, until this young whippersnapper starts outwitting me at every turn.” He threw a hand out toward Autumn and brushed his beard over his shoulder, laughing. “Now, the best-laid plans cannot be made on an empty stomach, so forgive me if I return to my home dimension for a spot of AB-negative.”

He went to leave the room, full of dumbstruck Sage, but Autumn called out to him.

“You can’t order me about, not anymore.”

Without turning back toward us, he paused. “No, but fate can.” And with that, he limped away.

It was several more hours before my family and the medics were content to leave me and Autumn alone. A maid remained, tidying and arranging the many flowers and gifts that had been brought to Burrator from Autumn’s home. We had intended to bring her parents, too; they had refused. Not even their daughter’s coma would entice them to face the Athenea.

“The flowers look nice in this room, with all the light,” Autumn commented, spreading her hands across the sheets to flatten them. “Make sure they are well fed,” she called out to the maid. “I would like them to be taken to Athenea.”

I didn’t dare tell her that hers was the only room that looked nice now. The rest of the house was full of boxes, dust sheets and spells casting furniture into storage.

I shifted my chair closer to the bed as the maid curtsied and withdrew. “You seem okay,” I began tentatively.

She didn’t look at me. “Of course I am. Why would I not be?”

“You’re a He**ine, and you tried killing yourself three days ago,” I said slowly, for a brief, heart-stopping moment wondering if she even remembered.

“A mistake,” she countered.

“A m-mistake?” I choked, before crawling onto the bed and straddling her outstretched legs, which were beneath the comforter. “Accusing people of doing things they can’t control is a mistake. Cursing at somebody is a mistake. Willfully draining all your magic into someone else after being told it is suicide? That is not a mistake; you can’t reverse it just by saying sorry.”

She crossed her arms. “Well, I am sorry.”

I clapped my face into my hands. “You are so impossibly stubborn!”

“And you’re bossy. Which is worse?”

“It doesn’t matter. You’re having counseling the minute we get home.”

“Ha!” She swatted my hands away from my face. “See? Bossy! You always have to tell me off, or suggest this or that. Maybe I don’t want that.”

I planted my hands on either side of her head on the pillow. “You want me though. Your eyes give you away.”

“I don’t want a control freak.”

“You’re a He**ine now, and soon everybody will know it. Things are going to change; I’m not an imbecile,” I admitted sadly. “I’m afraid for you. Of how you’ll cope with the change. And I cope with it by micromanaging, a mini-king if you like.” I let out a hollow laugh and she smiled, too. It was no secret the apple had not fallen far from the tree when I was conceived.

She reached forward and cupped my cheeks in her hands, a thumb tracing my scars. Her eyes searched my face, looking for something I couldn’t read in her own features. “We are in the hands of fate now.” She leaned forward and her lips met mine. They were cracked and spiced, tasting of the butternut squash she had wolfed earlier.

It was a brief, chaste kiss, but the desire rushed through me all the same. It was a little too intense, a little too pleasurable; it was disturbing to realize that I would chain her, control her, keep her in that glass cabinet as an ornament if that was what it took to have her. I’m not supposed to feel that. I’m not supposed to view her like that!

Her lips suddenly parted and her tongue traced my own lips, but I pulled abruptly away, chuckling, partly with relief that something so trivial had destroyed the hold. “I hate to break it to you, but you haven’t brushed your teeth in three days and you smell like a rogue elf on a vamperic diet.”

She pressed her hands to her mouth and then grumbled before jerking a knee up and sending me sprawling onto the floor with a burst of magic. “Then I’m sure the floor tastes better,” she said, smirking above me. “Meanwhile, I shall have a bath.”

She waved a casual hand in the direction of the bathroom, and I heard the distant sound of running water. When that was done, she pushed the heavy comforter and sheets back from her legs and rolled onto her stomach, her head hanging over the side of the bed, supported by hands under her chin.

“How is the floor, loyal subject of mine?”

Sitting up, I swung a leg around so it rested flat to the floor but tucked under the other bent leg, where my arms rested. “All the better to look at you, my Lady He**ine.” She scowled. “Shall I bow down, my lady? Prostrate myself for you? Massage your feet?”

“Quit it,” she snapped, but the corner of her mouth twitched. “It doesn’t suit you. You were born to rule.”

I hesitated for a moment. Whoa . . . dangerous. Nobody was supposed to make references to my elder brother’s aversion to his position of heir apparent; it was like an unspoken rule. Then I remembered what she was.

“Quite right,” I agreed, getting up onto my knees and meeting her gaze just a few inches from her face. She retreated a little. “Now, don’t you have a bath to take?”

She nodded and got up. I scrutinized her every move. Her hand reached around to her spine, but other than that she was strong and steady on her feet, so I strode past her and into the bathroom. It was warm inside and the mirrors were just beginning to drip with condensation. The bath was about half-full, and covered with soapy bubbles.

“Do you ache?” I called back.

“A little. My back is stiff,” she replied in a pained voice that spoke of more than stiffness. Why does she have to hide everything? I thought as she used the brand-new toothbrush.

I picked up a few of the aromatherapy oils on the shelf and began pouring them beneath the waterfall faucet. Instead of taps, a large wooden shelf protruded over the roll-back lip of the tub, hot or cold water, depending on the dial you turned, tumbling from it. The sound of the water hitting water sent a chill right up my neck.

I uncorked the oils and let them flow under the rushing stream. Once I was satisfied with the cocktail, I cast a small healing spell until the water of the bath started to gurgle and churn.

She waited behind me, one arm tucked across her waist and under her armpit. Closing the distance, I moved her arm and wrapped my own around her back, pulling her in. Even gently running my hand down her spine, I could feel the knots lining its length. Easing my fingers between them to disguise the way I wanted to hold her in place, I found her gaze.

“Don’t ever do that to me again, understood?” I shook her, and she flailed in my arms like a rag doll, wide eyes downcast in silent guilt. “I swear I’ll have you locked up if I even suspect you might do it. I need you. It’s my duty to look after you.” I was still shaking her.

Her eyes narrowed, all jesting from earlier gone. “You can’t order me about. Not anymore.”

“Watch me,” I said, removing my arm so I could cup her cheeks to kiss her. In a heartbeat, she had set me stumbling back a few paces and stepped away herself. Her hands flew down to the hem of her long cream nightgown, brushing her knees, and lifted it. I froze midscramble, eyes glued to the stitching as it moved higher and higher, up the spiraling length of the scars on her thighs, past a pair of white panties, and then all of a sudden was yanked over her head.

Her expression, which had so clearly said “Watch me,” changed to a lip-biting seeking of approval. She stood in just her underwear, a traditional Sagean tank top of sorts. The cups surrounding her br**sts were made of lace that twisted into strings and loosely crisscrossed around her waist to her back, ending just at the top of the waistband of her panties. It left nothing to the imagination.

“Fuck,” I groaned. How in two years had those curves appeared? She was perfect. Utterly, utterly perfect.

She folded her arms across her chest and blushed deeply, mouth immediately parting the moment I had cursed. “I should . . .” She turned slightly so her shoulder was in line with the bath. “I can order you around. Out!” she finished, shrugging the other shoulder toward the door.

It took me a few seconds to tear my eyes away from her chest. “You mean we’re not equals?” I said in a tone of mock shock, meaning it as a joke. Her lips pursed and I began edging away, passing through the door and collapsing onto the couch in the reception room.

“No,” I heard her mutter. “Definitely not.”