And she’d almost turned me into a monster.
I inhaled deeply and exhaled. The air like fire in my lungs. Wrath’s lessons on controlling my emotions incinerated in the face of my fury. My twin was alive. She’d come for Antonio. And it hadn’t been to attack him or make him pay for what he’d done.
On the contrary, he looked as if he’d received a blessing. He called her his angel. As in, the angel of death he’d mentioned the night in the monastery. I thought he’d been referencing Wrath or another prince of Hell. If he never killed Vittoria, then that meant he’d never been influenced by a demon prince. I had no proof yet, but I had new suspicions.
Deception. Lies. Betrayal.
All the words I’d associated with the Wicked now belonged to Vittoria. She’d orchestrated everything—a playwright crafting her own twisted tale, doling out roles for unsuspecting players, myself included. And I was through with being a pawn in her game.
No matter that her end goal was to break the curse, she had no right to lie to me. To keep me in the dark. I was no longer cloaked in shadows. I was burning with rage.
My hands stung. I glanced down, noticing the tiny cuts in my palms where my nails dug in so hard I’d broken the skin. I exhaled, banking the fires of anger at last.
I had a new plan, a new direction. I would gladly pay my beloved sister a visit. And I could not help it if she soon regretted extending her invitation. It was high time Vittoria met the furious, unforgiving witch she’d helped to create.
I turned on my heel and headed for the door. The Shifting Isles beckoned. But there was one final thing that needed to be done before I left House Wrath.
I strode through the corridors, mind whirling with strategies and plans. I no longer cared who had started playing these games. Witches. The Wicked. My twin. And all the cursed and feared creatures in between. If my sister was alive that threw into question the murders that came before and after hers. Were any of the witches actually dead, or was it part of some larger conspiracy to accumulate more power or transfer it? I had no idea what else the true “killers” would gain by committing fake murders, unless they were hoping to incite a war between realms, and not simply break the curse.
And a war was something I refused to let happen. Regardless of my twin’s scheme, I would protect my family and the mortal world at all costs.
Each step closer to Wrath’s chambers brought a greater sense of clarity. My choice was made. And the only regret I had was how long it took me to arrive here.
I kicked in his door and glanced around. The receiving room was empty, the fire banked. Wrath hadn’t seen his suite all night. He must have started searching for me shortly after I’d left. Even after I doubted him, doubted the goodness in his heart. His soul. He’d searched for me.
Removing my cloak, I walked toward his bedchamber, grabbed a bottle of demonberry wine from a rack, and continued onto his balcony. He could sense my general whereabouts here through our tattoo. I had little doubt he’d find me soon enough. I popped the cork and sipped the wine directly from the bottle, staring out at the lake. At this hour the crimson waters looked like a pool of spilled blood. It was an omen of sorts. And for once, I welcomed it.
Glittering black smoke wafted toward me on a breeze as the king of demons prowled closer, his voice a low rumble of thunder at my ear.
“Emilia.”
I turned slowly and took him in. Danger lurked in his gaze, along with his namesake sin. He wasn’t the only one who was angry, but my wrath was not directed at him; he was the only one who grounded me. I dove into the source of my magic, releasing all of the rage and fury I’d been bottling up since I saw my twin. My power answered my call immediately.
I held up my hands, attention riveted to Wrath’s face as a burning flower appeared in each of my palms. There was no flash of surprise. No widening of his eyes or tightening of his mouth. I released my grip on my power, allowing it to burn out. The flowers charred to black, the tiny dying rose-gold embers the only specks of color before the breeze carried the ashes away.
Wrath knew I possessed this talent. This power. And he’d never let on. I wanted to know what else he knew about me, what other secrets I’d yet to uncover about my past.
The Crone told me to solve the mystery of myself. And I intended to do just that.
Perhaps, no matter what Celestia had said in her tower chamber, I really was the First Witch, and this block on my memories was the price I’d paid for using dark magic. That would certainly explain why Nonna warned me away from certain spells.
I gritted my teeth, recalling the way she’d make us bless our amulets during each full moon. Did she know the truth of who I was? She had to. And her betrayal carved deep.
Maybe—unlike what Nonna claimed about our amulets hiding us from the devil—my cornicello, his wings, had actually been used to keep my power in check, not his. And if that were true, then perhaps Wrath took my amulet not only for his benefit but for mine. My power had definitely shifted since its removal.
I exhaled, focusing on the question I wanted an answer to first.
“How long have you known I can summon fire?” He pressed his lips together. I shook my head, laughing bitterly. “My twin is alive. Though I suspect you already know that, too.”
Emotion finally flickered in his eyes, but he remained silent, watchful. On guard. As if I was something to be feared. He wasn’t wrong.
“I want answers.”