Chapter Thirty-Eight

Don’t you dare die before I can get to you.

Anjeline swirled within the confinement of the vessel, smoke curling, sweeping against the walls in fury. But the vase jolted again. A thumb caressed the base and she shivered at the perverse stroke of want. It came as no surprise where Nero had taken her, where he’d disappeared to. “Hurry, Faddi.” She swallowed over the fire in her throat, knowing Rebel would come. That is, if she’s still alive.

It had been almost a full day already.

No. Rebel was fine. She would come.

But as much as Anjeline hoped for Rebel to come, she also wished she wouldn’t. To think what might happen to her if she did, what they would do to her… Anjeline wouldn’t let her imagination stray there. Rebel’s blood still covered her hands, and she didn’t want to wipe it away. It only spread deeper as she remembered the sweet timbre of Rebel’s voice, the promise. Part of Anjeline knew her lips might never know those again, mindful of that heart and how, without her, it was worsening with every breath.

It all seemed to come together now, why Rebel hadn’t reaped a consequence of the wish she’d cast in the basement. She realized the road of Nero had led her to Rebel, picking up the traces of her wishes. Of her magic. It was almost ironic. Rebel’s magician father had bound her, and only the magician’s daughter could free her. She just may be the one, Solomon.

The one Nero had been searching for.

Another jolt tugged at her.

“Enough!” She glared up at the vessel’s opening. “You’ll regret this.” Her essence reshaped into a smoke-filled haze. It took only a moment for the vapor to emerge from the vase, and as it diffused, she materialized into a girl again.

A golden birdcage confined her.

Above her was a mountainous spread of darkness and stone that echoed of a wicked cathedral. An earthen ballroom hundreds of layers beneath the earth’s surface. Jagged walls of crystal teeth and ebony trees gave birth to even darker fruit. Stalagmites hung from the cavernous space that appeared to have been built for giants, and she half remembered Madrath’s stories of long dead princes. As she inhaled the frigid air, dark magic hit her like the back of a hand, followed with the stench of burned flesh.

The Moon Court seethed with debauchery.

Light flickered from the candelabras sputtering in noxious flames above the armada of folk, both beautiful and grotesque. As diverse as the Sun Court. Though they were robed in more twisted attire, animal skins and furs, thorns and feathers. Among them lurked the Black Market magician embellished in his dragon garment while the witch drew near, surely hoping to reap whatever they could from the Prince.

There, like an angel of death, he sat upon the dais beside the cage.

“Wishmaker,” the Prince’s voice tugged at her core.

He drew closer, adorned in a white suit, unblemished, save for the thorns trailing down his sleeves. A half-moon necklace rested upon his chest while shadows writhed around his chair, carved with screaming faces. Anjeline could smell the stink of optimism on his lips. It slithered to the core of her insides and opened the full venomous truth beyond his beauty. Perfect, cold, and entirely pale from his ghostly hair to his cheekbones so sculpted she could nearly see every bone and vein through translucent skin.

At the left of the chair, Wulfram stood in fanged importance. Nero stood on the right, embracing the vase, his eyes shining like the blackest of diamonds.

“Maskh,” Anjeline hissed, her power aching against her bonds.

The Prince chuckled, gripping a staff inlayed with ivory and a small moon at its point. “Jinni who has the power to inform soothsayers and inspire prophets.” His voice was silken, as soft as his smile was hard. “Lovelier than you expressed, Nero.”

“As well, full of wishes.” The magician bowed, extending the vase in his hands to the prince. “I’ve gained plenty over the years and now bequeath her to you, Your Grace.”

“Bequeath?” The Prince plucked the vase in his pale hand. At the shift of power, Anjeline felt even sicker. “You mean at a levy, my second-in-command.”

Her insides twisted, realizing Nero’s scheme had come to fruition, his mission to sit at the right hand of the Court. To bring about revenge. “War will be enacted against you,” she said. “You know this.”

“Lady Danu will be more occupied with that maddening human.” The Prince’s gaze spared a glance to his right. “She caused quite a commotion. Should have expected as much from your own flesh.”

Nero bared his teeth in a grin. “Believe me, my daughter won’t be a problem.”

“See that she’s not.” The Prince waved a hand at the alpha.

Wulfram bowed. “The guard is on her scent, Your Grace.”

Panic engulfed Anjeline and her spirals flamed up her arms. “There are rules to wishes,” she said, as though they’d paused in the middle of a conversation. “Agree to my terms if you want them granted, Sithchean.” Her gaze shone a hint of threat.

The Prince sneered at having his name spoken in front of his Court. Sithchean’s eyes turned to the color of ice, two smoldering globes in a snowstorm. A savage beauty. The shadows around him bent to his will, and as he moved, they moved with him. “Wishmaker.” He crooned. “Your rules are known to me, no wishes for killing, no making alive the dead, no greater power than the Divine. What other term do you speak of?”

Nero lifted an eyebrow but remained silent. He didn’t speak that there weren’t any actual terms beside the three rules, or that Anjeline was, in fact, lying about it.

She squared her shoulders, assuming a stance of resolute power, and tracked Sithchean’s features carefully. He couldn’t know how desperate she was. “My term,” she said. “Permit the Fingersmith no foul harm, and you’ll reap all your desires.”

A noise parted Nero’s lips. “You still believe my daughter’s heart will free you?” He took conceited pleasure at her reluctance to answer. “Didn’t you learn your lesson? Again, you betray your own kind. What would Madrath say to your feelings for a human?”

What Anjeline wouldn’t give to obliterate the last remaining ounce of his soul. She understood his game. He had calculated everything on purpose, summoning Sinvad in the expectation he would inform Madrath of her newfound feelings. As if she’d committed a crime. “What do you know of feelings?”

“He will punish you.”

“Then let him.” Anjeline’s essence inflamed against her bonds. Everything she’d done had been to prove her worth, because she’d befriended a human thousands of years ago. Truth now, she would’ve done it all over. Because it all led her to another human. Rebel had managed to unchain her fears, and she wasn’t ready to let go of that, even if it meant sitting in the shadows alone from her Jinn. Even if it meant punishment. “You can force me to cast wishes, take my breath, take my hope, but may the Creator help if you touch her, because I will burn your world to ashes.”

Nero grinned and gave her a wink.

A gesture too familiar. And for a heartbeat, she saw Rebel within the features of his face. She couldn’t fathom him giving birth to such a gentle soul. She longed to rip out his heart for what he’d done to Rebel, to her life. In his hunger for vengeance, he’d forced a mother to abandon her child and turned a brave, miserable girl into a criminal to survive. Surely, if Rebel inherited anything from him, it came from the man he used to be before darkness prevailed.

“Enough,” the Prince said to Nero. “I’ll make do with her as I please.” He licked his lips. “Who cares of a little bandit? Your term is agreeable. Now—cast my wish.”

Anjeline suppressed a smile. She sensed the Prince’s desire—what any pompous devil would want—and she would give it to him. “Let me guess? An endless wealth of treasures?”

Sithchean nodded. “For a start.”

In a breath, she released her magic, and the wish took shape.

Fiery mist seeped from her lips, sucking up the shadows and expanding throughout the Court, touching every surface. As the smoke swept over the stone floor, delicate gemstones splintered up, now carpeting the ballroom, each carved from the brightest emerald. Winking lights cracked through the surface of the ceiling, studding it with countless diamonds. The leaves hanging from the blackened trees hardened until they became the greenest jade, the bark of the tree chipped away to reveal gold, and the branches drooped with apples now fashioned of rubies and sapphire plums.

Gasps and awes hailed once the mist faded.

As Sithchean plucked a bejeweled fruit, another ruby apple appeared in its place. At the endless treasure of gems, the Prince wouldn’t focus on what real consequence would befall him, nor had he noticed Nero slipping out of the Court.

There was nothing else Anjeline could do, till the consequences came to fruition. She spared a glance at Wulfram, snatching diamonds from a feyrie’s hand. His fresh face seemed even younger now. As it should. She merely must assemble her plans until her Rebel arrived.

Then I’m coming for you, Nero.