Imogen pulled it back with a frown. “You only gain it if you give something to me.”
Carys couldn’t take her eyes off the bottle in Imogen’s hand. Imogen was the enemy. She’d had a hand in killing Micah and Father. But the desperate ache inside Carys pushed down the anger at these truths. It was there. Carys tried to hold on to it. But the bottle called to her. Just a bit of it and she would be strong. She would be able to defend her brother against this woman. If she could just get the bottle . . .
She hated herself as she asked, “What do you want, Imogen?”
Imogen stared at the red bottle while turning it in her hand. “I’d heard about your troubles when I first came here. Micah said Lord Garret used to annoy him by telling him he needed to help you get control over your need for whatever is inside this. Lord Garret said if Micah didn’t intercede, it would lead to the downfall of Eden.” She smiled and Carys shivered as the wind grew stronger around her. “I guess I’m glad Micah didn’t heed his friend’s warnings or we might not be standing here now.”
“What do you want, Imogen?” Carys repeated as yearning and loathing tugged inside her.
“I want the seamstress who aided your brother’s attacker. She was here in the castle earlier and now the guards cannot find her. Where is she?”
“I don’t know. Why don’t you check the stars?” Carys said, forcing herself to look at Imogen’s face and not at the bottle just out of reach.
“You don’t want to refuse me, Highness.” Imogen stepped forward, bringing the bottle closer. “Once Andreus is King, the three of us can work together to make Eden strong.”
“Work together?” Everything inside her tightened as Imogen shifted the bottle so now it was held casually in front of her. Just two or three steps forward and it would be in Carys’s hands. “Like you worked with my brother Micah? It’s because of you that he’s dead.”
Imogen sighed. “I was right! You have spoken to the seamstress. But it doesn’t matter.”
“You had my brother and my father killed.”
Imogen sighed. “You give me too much credit. Micah is the one who killed your father. He thought he’d convinced the King’s Guard to come to his side. Only many of the men had been well paid to take a different side, and they struck once the King had fallen. Poor Micah never considered the possibility of his own death. I’m sure it came as a great surprise when his own guard shoved a blade into his neck. But there is no one to say I had anything to do with it.”
Carys’s heart pounded. Wind swirled. The bottle called to her even as anger simmered and fought to break free. “There’s me.”
“You?” Imogen laughed. “The drug-addled princess who is so desperate to win the throne that she will say anything?” Imogen stepped forward again.
The bottle was closer still. An arm’s length away.
“How many hours has it been since you had your last dose, Princess? Is it the wind making your eyes water and your hands shake, or is it the pain of not having this concoction? We don’t have to be at odds. You have been treated poorly by everyone here in the Palace of Winds—even your precious twin has betrayed you.”
Another step closer. The windmills turned faster—louder—as the wind howled.
“You owe your brother nothing, Carys. Let him win the contest, and play at King until the true ruler of Eden claims his throne. When he does, I can see that you rule at his side.”
Imogen held out her hand. The red bottle balanced in the center of her palm. “Your brother doesn’t care about you or you wouldn’t be looking as though you can barely stand. Take the bottle, Carys, as a promise that we will work together.”
No. This was wrong. Rage burned even as Carys stared at the bottle. She could take the bottle and still tell Andreus what she knew. There was nothing stopping her. But this was all wrong.
Imogen lifted her hand so the bottle was in front of Cary’s face. Just a breath away. Impossible not to look at.
Wait—
Carys shifted her eyes down and saw the blade in Imogen’s other hand coming toward her.
Carys stumbled backward as Imogen lunged, the bottle shattering on the ground as the knife caught Carys’s cloak. The sound of the thick fabric ripping under the thunder of the windmills rang loud in Carys’s ears. She jerked herself backward toward the battlement wall. Imogen careened forward, caught herself, then turned as Carys pushed her hair out of her face and glanced toward where the guards should stand.
They were gone.
The wind howled harder.
Imogen moved forward with the knife pointed at Carys.
Frantic, Carys fumbled for the stilettos inside her dress, but her hands shook and the wind whipped the cloak she was wearing. She couldn’t find the openings. Couldn’t reach where they lay. She dove to the side as Imogen charged, caught her foot on a stone, and crashed to the ground.
Pain sang in her hands and knees as she pushed herself up and tried again to find the stilettos. Where were the pocket openings? She glanced over her shoulder. Imogen was advancing again. Carys rolled onto her back to kick at the tourniquet cloak that limited her movement.
“You should have taken the bottle, Carys. You could have drunk it all. It would have been easier that way.”
Carys got her legs free and pushed to her knees as Imogen charged. Pockets. She had to find—
There.
Her hand slid into the slit in the fabric as Imogen’s knife bit the air, slashing toward her.
“No!” Carys screamed.
Wind gusted again with a strength that should have knocked Carys onto her face, but she fought to stay on her knees as Imogen was pushed off balance. The seeress stumbled to the side and grabbed the wall, righted herself, and started forward as Carys’s fingers wrapped around the metal hilt of the stiletto. Imogen charged against the wind as the stiletto slid from the sheath.
Wind whipped Carys’s hair in front of her eyes. She was almost blind as she sent the stiletto flying forward.
The windmills pounded the air. Her heart raced in her chest as she shoved her thick mane out of her eyes.
Imogen’s beautiful face was crumpled in shock and pain.
The seer reached for the stiletto sticking out of the center of her stomach as she fell to the ground.
“No.” Carys scrambled to Imogen and looked down into her glassy eyes. “Tell me now. Tell me what you know! One of the Elders is working with you. Who is it? You have to tell me who!”
“I should have known.” Imogen stared up at Carys and weakly pulled at the blade. “The stars are never wrong.”
The devil with the stars. “Tell me which Elder helped kill my brother and father and I’ll get Madame Jillian,” she promised as she looked at the blood oozing out of the seer. “She can heal you. Tell me!”
“The power. The winds. I thought it was me, but it’s you.” Imogen coughed. “And you don’t know.”
“Know what?” It didn’t matter, she told herself. “Who is helping you, Imogen?”