Goddess above. For a second, I’d been worried it was a spell Nonna had used on us, but we’d only collected grave dirt to bless our amulets. We’d never cleansed a stone and slept with it under our pillows. Though I remember teasing my friend Claudia about it once when she’d admitted to doing something similar after her crush rejected her.
That was one of the simpler spells. I flipped page after page of notes that progressively used stronger magic. Celestia had a remedy for any malady or hex.
It was truly astounding what she’d created. I was startled to realize both Vittoria and I had taken after her in some way once we were “mortal”—my sister loved to tinker with perfumes and cocktails, and I loved to create in the kitchen. Putting that unsettling realization aside, I pulled another journal out and flipped through more of the same.
There were no notes on spell-locks. No magic elixirs to cure what troubled me. It had been something I’d hoped to find but hadn’t expected to.
If spell-locks were that simple to remove, they wouldn’t be very effective. Plus, Wrath knew I had a spell-lock, and he’d likely have had Celestia working on a cure if she hadn’t already been trying herself. No matter what Vittoria had said about our mother being distracted by other whims, I didn’t think she’d sit back and allow witches to potentially kill her daughters without attempting to save us. I’d just gone through another grimoire when I came to a curious tincture with a ghastly name. The Bleeding Heart.
I ran a finger over an illustrated vial of pale purple liquid the matron had drawn into the margin, my pulse pounding at the familiar tincture. Wrath had an entire decanter filled with a similar liquid. I’d even sampled it when I’d sneaked into his personal library that first time.
Surely it couldn’t be the same one, and yet I held my breath. It felt like I was reading a secret, one he’d certainly like to keep, but I had to know if this was what he was drinking and why. My attention fell upon the description—unlike the memory spell, this was just a simple list of ingredients along with its use. I read aloud to myself.
To prevent the ill effects of love or other strong emotions from taking root.
I reread the handwritten note, clearly depicting its sole purpose. I had to be mistaken.
Bleeding heart plants were toxic to mortals, but Wrath wasn’t mortal. I read over the list of ingredients, my stomach twisting into knots. Bleeding Heart petals. Vanilla bean. A drop of lavender oil. Brandy. Orange peels, dried with purple dragonfire and set to distill under a full moon. Almost all the flavors I’d identified in that lavender liquor. The very drink Wrath poured himself tonight. A night filled with high emotion.
“Goddess above.”
That’s how the curse hadn’t attacked again. Wrath was magically dulling his emotions, unwilling to fall in love again and have our world torn apart. A strange mixture of understanding and horror washed over me. I recalled the night I’d first seen him drink it—we’d just come back from the matron’s after our dip in the Crescent Shallows.
He’d been pacing and showing far too much emotion. Something I’d pointed out when I’d asked him to sit and stop making me nervous. Then he’d tossed back a single drink, offered me some that I refused. And he’d regained that cold efficiency again shortly thereafter.
Tonight, he’d been wound tightly, furious and likely close to the edge after I’d wrenched the truth of the vampires’ mission. And he’d relaxed shortly after his drink. I’d mistaken it for the food nurturing him, now I knew it wasn’t the alcohol or snack, it was the tonic. At least in part.
“What have you done?” I whispered to the empty room.
My shoulders slumped forward as I continued to stare at the ingredients. If Wrath hadn’t discovered a way to lock his feelings up tightly, I’d be wrenched away again. I knew that, logically, he’d done this for us, and yet my own heart ached at the realization that my husband could not allow himself to love me. He’d even gone so far as to magically bind himself.
“Lady Emilia?” Fauna burst in, her scarlet nightgown reminding me of a torn-out heart, then stopped short when she took in my expression. “What’s wrong?”
I glanced at the spell one more time, allowing my fury to replace the sadness. I was not upset with Wrath; I was furious at our circumstances. At the people who were so wrapped up in hate they dampened the fire of our love. I looked at Fauna, my hands curling into fists.
“I want to end this curse once and for all. I want to break the spell-lock. And I want to fully claim my king.”
My friend’s face split into a lovely, fierce grin. “Let’s get to work then.”
SEVENTEEN
“We should start with one curse at a time.” I slid some journals over to where Fauna had taken a seat beside me. I briefly caught her up on what I’d discovered, and grim determination filled her features. “The spell-lock isn’t technically a curse, but I’d like to see what we can find about that, too. Options on how to break it. If it’s even breakable aside from removing the heart. Any potential consequences.”
“Right,” Fauna said, looking over a hefty grimoire. “And what of his majesty’s curse?”
“A priority. What do we know about it?”
“Sursea cast it after she made a blood sacrifice to a goddess.”
That drew my attention. “Do you know which one?”
My friend shook her head. “His majesty has been trying to figure that out, but only recalls her casting a spell with spilled blood.”
Dark magic required sacrifice. Blood. Bones. All the things Nonna Maria warned us away from. And yet something there didn’t quite make sense… “Why would a goddess require a blood offering?”
Fauna blinked, seeming taken aback. “Because that’s what the witches always do.”
And the lesson I’d been taught thus far was that witches could not be trusted.
“Would you be willing to test a theory out?” I asked, hatching a plan.
Excitement flashed in her eyes. “Does it require blood?” I nodded, and her grin widened as she removed a slim dagger she’d hidden under her skirts. Sometimes I forgot that her sin aligned with wrath and that bloodshed made her soul sing. “Who am I making an offering to?”
“The goddess of fury.”
Bless her willingness to help, Fauna didn’t hesitate, she pricked her finger and squeezed a few drops of blood over a candle, the sacrifice steaming in the flickering flame. “I bid the goddess of fury to come forth.”
We sat there silently, both tensed as I waited to feel any indication that magic was at hand. Any magical tug or pull to heed someone’s call. Fauna’s brow creased as she looked me over. “Anything?”