TWENTY-SIX
Snowflakes danced wickedly outside my window.
Frost crept up the panes like wintery vines. I sat on the wide sill, staring out at a world blanketed in a fresh layer of snow. Night was quickly falling, tinging everything deep shades of blue. Two days had come and gone since I last saw the prince of this circle. I’d been avoiding him after the vision, still unsure if it was memory or fantasy. It had to be something the realm conjured, but it felt so real it was difficult to shake off.
The Matron of Curses and Poisons hadn’t yet returned, and I did not want to confide in anyone what I’d seen or experienced. I’d been hoping she could create a tonic or might know of any magic that would unlock the truth hidden inside me.
If it had been a memory, then I’d been to this realm before. And Wrath and I… I couldn’t fathom how he’d pretended to not know me back in Palermo. There were times there, though, I wondered how he knew details I hadn’t shared. Like where I lived. My name. I’d comforted myself by thinking it had something to do with what I’d thought was his rebirth spell—that night I’d been attacked by the Viperidae, we’d been inside each other’s minds for brief seconds.
Was that what was happening now? It was possible I was seeing into his memories, witnessing him with someone else. Maybe I was experiencing the world through her eyes, reliving her memories. I knew demons could possess people, but I’d never heard of a witch doing the same. At this point, nothing would surprise me.
I’d spent the better part of the last two days trying to decipher all possible meanings. No theory was too silly. I wrote everything down. From thinking Wrath might be Pride, to considering if I was the First Witch, cursed to forget as punishment for what I’d done.
After a while, details started to blur, confusing me more. I couldn’t recall if I’d seen Wrath’s face, or if it was just an impression I’d had of him.
I remembered the room being dark in the vision, the sounds of a distant party, but couldn’t remember the sound of my lover’s voice. If he’d sworn loudly when he found his release, or if it had been a murmur. And if it wasn’t Wrath with me in the vision…
I exhaled, my breath creating clouds on the windowpane. That complicated matters even more. When I arrived at the feast tonight, I might recognize the lover from that memory. If we danced together, would that unlock other memories that had been secreted away?
I slipped from the window’s edge and leafed through the notes I’d made from the enchanted skulls. Past, present, future, find. I’d thought it was referencing the Triple Moon Mirror Envy was after. Now I wondered if it encompassed more than that.
Were those visions part of my past, or my future? If they were images of the future, perhaps it related to the prophecy. The part where I could set right a terrible wrong.
When I’d been under Lust’s influence, I’d had that impression of choice, balance. That I could damn everyone, or make something right. But what?
I kept circling back to the devil’s slain bride. Could falling in love be the key to breaking the curse? On the surface it seemed simple. But it wasn’t. I’d need to fall madly in love with Pride. And to accomplish that, I’d have to end my betrothal to Wrath for good.
“Goddess help me, this is a disaster.”
Pride would be at the feast. If he’d been the mysterious lover in my vision, and if it was part of the past and not the future, it was entirely possible neither one of us would be able to deny the sizzling connection in person. Which frightened me.
If it was the past I saw… then that would mean I was already Pride’s wife. Maybe to break the curse I had to fall in love with him all over again, without any memories of us.
A theory so outlandish, it just might be true. Which could be the real reason Pride hadn’t invited me to his circle. Maybe it went deeper than my accidental betrothal to Wrath.
Without knowing what I’d done, maybe I’d broken Pride’s heart and damned them all by choosing the wrong brother. It would also explain Wrath’s hatred when I first summoned him and he demanded I reverse the spell before it was too late.
A knock on my outer door drew me from my reverie. “Come in.”
Harlow bobbed a quick curtsy, then held a dress bag aloft. “The cobbler will have your shoes ready shortly. Did you want me to lay out the gown for you?”
“Please.”
Through all of my worries, I’d completely lost track of time. We’d be traveling to House Gluttony within the hour. This evening marked the first of three nights dedicated to the Feast of the Wolf, an event I’d rather avoid if not for the potential information I could gather. Thinking about having my greatest fear ripped from me caused my heart rate to triple, though.
At first I’d been worried my greatest fear was my secret mission of vengeance being revealed. Now it could be my fear about the creature wailing below the statue, my family dying at the hands of our enemies, my magic never returning, or the possibility that my memories had been stolen and the life I’d been living was all a lie.
The biggest fear of all kept circling like a portent of death and doom.
I couldn’t stop thinking that I was the devil’s bride and I hadn’t been murdered—I’d been cursed to forget. My palms dampened. There was no possible way that was true.
Still, the thought haunted me the entire time I prepared for tonight’s opening event. True or not, if I couldn’t shove the fear aside; it would be revealed to each of my enemies and their subjects. Not only would it be humiliating, it would indicate I had not left the past behind when I’d sold my soul and was actively working to destroy one of them.
If the demon princes were suspicious of my motivations for coming here before, they’d have those thoughts confirmed. And I didn’t want to know what they’d do for retribution.
I descended the stairs, shoulders back, head held high. I’d been expecting to see Fauna and Anir. Instead the Prince of Wrath waited, dressed to devastate, his attention riveted to mine. I hadn’t chosen to wear one of his signature House colors. Not that he seemed put off by the crushed red velvet gown, or the way it clung to my curves before pooling around my feet.
In fact, I almost missed a step when I noticed the color of his shirt. A deep, enticing cranberry peeked out from the layers of black waistcoat and swallowtail suit jacket. Either Harlow or the seamstress must have given him information on my attire.