Kingdom of the Cursed Page 7

  I sat on the crystal stool and applied some kohl to my upper lash line. My fingers hovered above a beautiful set of orange blossoms sewn carefully onto hairpins. At home, I wouldn’t second-guess my choice to weave them into my hair. But here…

  I chose a violent, bloody shade of red and painted my lips the color of murder instead.

  The wardrobe and the clothing weren’t the only bits of extravagance I discovered.

  Wrath had set me up in a bedroom suite fit for a queen. Not only did I have a bathing chamber that almost rivaled the entire size of my family home, there was also a sitting room, a bedroom, and another room that seemed to be designed for lounging or receiving guests or dedicated to whatever other leisurely activity I wished. There was an inviting divan that looked perfect for curling up with a good book. I was unsure what to do with so much space.

  A rack of bottles that appeared to be expensive spirits filled one wall in the leisure chamber. I ran a finger over the cool glass, peering into each one. Different petals and crushed herbs infused the liquor inside. Bribery, no doubt. I left them unopened and continued my inspection. Every room was finely appointed, the furniture plush and welcoming, if not edged in elegance. It seemed that the demon prince was trying to impress me.

  Or perhaps he was trying to apologize for the whole soul-stealing unpleasantries between us. Betrayal went down easier if it was served with fine demon liquor, personal suites in luxurious palaces, and expensive gifts. At least according to him.

  Though, I suppose, he also might be showing respect to his future queen. Apparently being betrothed to Pride came with some benefits, even in a rival demon House.

  I strode through the bedroom, heading for the exit I found in an antechamber. It was going to take more than decadent furnishings and pretty dresses to fix our current situation. For one, the prince might start with an apology. Then perhaps we might have an honest conversation.

  I wanted to settle whatever was brewing between us before I left for my husband’s castle. I did not need any more animosity between House Wrath and myself.

  I had enough to worry about as it stood.

  A knock came at the door just as my hand closed around the knob. I yanked it open, ready to give Wrath hell for being such a pimpled ass.

  “Oh.” I blinked at Anir. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

  “Nice to see you again, too.”

  Anir held a covered tray in one hand, and a bottle of what looked to be wine in the other. His long midnight hair was pulled into neat knot at the base of his neck and his scar gleamed silver against his tawny skin. The suit he wore now was much finer than the first time I’d met him in Palermo. I didn’t see his deadly demon blade but knew he was likely armed.

  “I didn’t mean—”

  “You did. And I don’t mind.” He winked. “Thought you might be hungry. Or want to get drunk.”

  My attention darted into the elegant stone corridor with arches rivaling any grand cathedral. Empty. “Did your prince send you to spy on me?”

  “Have some food and wine and find out. I’m a terrible gossip when I’m deep into my cups.”

  I highly doubted Anir was ever impaired enough to not mind what he was saying. Wrath would never trust him if he let secrets slip after a few glasses of wine or spirits. I wrinkled my nose at the bottle. “Isn’t it a bit early for drinking?”

  “It’s well into evening. You slept most of the day.”

  I swept my arm in welcome and closed the door behind him. Anir set the tray and bottle on the glass table in the corner and tugged the lid off with a grand flourish. Fruits, cured meats, hard cheese, marinated olives, and crostini were laid out with expert care.

  I stared emotionlessly at the spread.

  “Wrath acted like human food wasn’t something he was exposed to. Another lie?”

  “No.” Anir pulled two glasses from a little mirrored cabinet near the table and poured us each a generous amount of wine. “I stock up on supplies from the human world whenever I can. Mostly hard cheese and cured meat and various nuts and wheats and rice. Things that can be easily stored or dried.” He handed over my glass of wine. “His highness made sure I brought these items back. He thought you might want something that reminded you of home tonight. Now that you’re not near death and can enjoy it.”

  I accepted the glass and sniffed it. “Red wine, or demon wine?”

  “Regular, human red.” He clinked his glass against mine. “You’ll spot the difference when you see demon wine. It’s unmistakable.”

  Letting that ominous-sounding information go, I took a sip. It had a smooth, sweet undertone to it. I drank more. “So. Human food and wine. Are you supposed to be lowering my inhibitions and gaining my trust? I imagine you’re going to pretend to be drunk, offer some innocuous information predetermined by your prince, and see what secrets I spill in return.”

  “Are you always this cynical?”

  “If there’s one thing I’ve learned recently, it’s to question anyone connected to the demon realm. Everyone has their own agenda. Their own game. If I ask enough questions, eventually I’ll catch someone in their well-constructed lie. Though, according to the princes, they are incapable of directly telling an untruth. Another fabrication, I’m sure. Or maybe that’s why you’re here. You can lie for Wrath.”

  I plucked an olive from a tiny dish and popped it into my mouth. The briny flavor was a nice counterpoint to the wine. I sampled a bit of cheese and meat and bread. Anir watched me, his expression contemplative, if not a bit sad.

  “I just haven’t quite worked out what else he could possibly want from me now. He won.”

  Anir swirled his wine. “What, exactly, do you think he’s won?”

  “His freedom. His grand deception. Making me look like a fool for trusting him when he said we’d work together.” I finished off my glass and poured a second. Before I took a sip, I ate another olive. “Why don’t you explain demon politics to me so I can figure out what else he’s gained by signing my soul to the devil.”

  “Is that what he told you?”

  “I…” I thought back to the night we’d kissed, when I’d repeated what I’d heard from Envy. I couldn’t recall what Wrath said, exactly, but… “He didn’t deny the accusation. If he wasn’t worried about being caught in a lie, why wouldn’t he tell me otherwise?”

  “Acta non verba.” Anir grinned. “He lives by that principle.”

  Actions, not words. I clamped my mouth shut. Wrath brought me to the underworld. He came bearing a contract with Pride. It was a fairly large, undeniable action. He didn’t have to say a thing. I got his message, and it was as loud and clear as a cloudless summer sky. Wrath had no qualms about using me for his gain. He’d once said he’d lie, cheat, steal, or murder to procure his freedom. I was lucky he’d only deceived me, though that was hardly a consolation.

  “What do you know about Pride’s consort? How was she murdered?”

  “Interesting, if not an aggressive, subject change.” Anir put some cheese on a slice of crostini and topped it off with prosciutto. “My unsolicited advice? Take a subtler approach with information-gathering here. The royal Houses are ancient and antiquated in their ways. They won’t give you anything if you demand it or openly ask about it. It’s considered rude and uncouth. Plus, they do not believe in giving without gain. You ask for something, you better be prepared to pay a price.”

  I worried my lower lip between my teeth, thinking. Anir offered truth and advice freely. If I had to gamble on any friendship here, perhaps I should bet on him, regardless of his close connection with Wrath. I set my glass down.

  “I’m not sure how to bring that up in a more casual or innocuous way. If I’m being truthful, I’m a bit overwhelmed.”

  “Understandable. A lot is changing and quickly. I imagine it’s hard… processing so many emotions.”

  It was an odd turn of phrase. “You must have traveled through the Sin Corridor. I doubt you have to stretch your imagination very far to understand
how it feels.”

  “True enough.” He took a sip of his wine, gaze searching. “You’ll need to gain the princes’ trust, become their friend. Let them conspire with you, seek you out. If you play into their egos and the sins they represent, they’ll offer up bits of useful information. Always be prepared to give up a secret or make a bargain. Pick things you won’t mind sharing or having used against you. Define the terms before you agree, or else they’ll bend things to their advantage.”

  I exhaled. “I was hoping for a faster solution.”

  “You’re involved in something spanning decades and realms. There is no such thing as fast or easy. This goes beyond the bloodshed on your isle. But if you start there, perhaps you’ll learn more. Narrow your list. Concentrate on who you think has the answers you seek. What information do you need most? What will be the most beneficial to your overall goal?”

  “I don’t have an agenda. I’m simply curious. If Pride’s wife was murdered, and each of his next potential brides were, too, I want to avoid that same fate.”

  “If that was completely true, you wouldn’t have come here at all.”

  “I’m here to ensure demons don’t slip through the gates. I’m here to protect my family.”

  Anir didn’t respond. We both knew that was only partially true. If I wanted answers about Pride’s consort and details of her life and death, I needed to go to Pride. Except he was locked in a childish battle of male ego with Wrath and I needed an invitation.

  I hadn’t gotten anywhere with Envy, and his role in my sister’s murder was still murky. Discovering who killed the first consort might be the most helpful route to take with solving my mystery. And I hadn’t fully lied; knowing what happened to her would help me. It sounded like Anir knew more, but the way he’d phrased his statement brooked no room for entertaining that line of questioning. At least it was a subtle clue.

  “Why did you choose to become a member of House Wrath?”

  Anir didn’t answer right away, and I immediately regretted asking something that was likely personal. He heaved a sigh.

  “After my parents were murdered, anger and wrath were my biggest comforts. He sensed that, saw the path I was on, and offered me a productive outlet for that fury.”

  We weren’t dissimilar. “How long have you been here?”

  “Hmm. Time is peculiar here. A mortal hour might be a week. A month, a decade. All I know is it’s been a while.” Anir took a generous pull of his wine, eyes narrowed. “Your turn. What did you do to him?”

  “I’m not sure I follow your meaning. What happened?”

  “He went out and brought down an entire mountain on the western edge of the Undying Lands. We’ve got letters pouring in from House Lust and House Gluttony so far. They believe the end days are here and want to know if we’re preparing for war.”

  “Why is it whenever a man throws a tantrum a woman is blamed for his poor behavior? If Wrath acted like an idiot, he accomplished that all on his own. I don’t see why his temper is so shocking. He is the living embodiment of wrath. I’m sure you’ve seen him angry.”

  Anir smirked over his glass. “You’re certain he was mad?”

  “What else would he be?”

  “Pick another emotion.”

  “Does being a prideful bastard count?”

  “Your room, your rules. But I don’t think he was angry or prideful.” His dark eyes twinkled. “You know, in all the years I’ve known him, he’s never personally escorted anyone into the City of Ice.” Whatever question he saw in my face, he clarified, “It’s what House Wrath is known as within the Seven Circles. The more powerful the House, the colder the circle.”

  Explained all the frosty glass and crystal décor in my bathing chamber.

  “I wouldn’t read too much into his supposed good deed. He had to escort me because of the contract. He needed my soul to settle his debt.”

  “That was accomplished the instant you crossed into the underworld. He could have left you alone in the Sin Corridor. He should have.” Anir abruptly stood and headed for the door in the antechamber. He tapped his fingers on its frame and glanced back at me. “He’s on the seventh-floor balcony now. In case you wanted to fight some more. I think it’s good for him. Being challenged. You certainly get under his skin.”

  Like a poisoned splinter straight to the heart, no doubt. It was tempting, and I might have done just that, if I hadn’t noticed an object placed on the edge of the bed.

  Something that didn’t belong and hadn’t been there a few moments before. I bid Anir good night and pressed myself against the closed door, silently counting the increased beats of my heart as I stared into the other room.

  Fear. This realm thrived on it. And I would deprive it in every way I could.

  I exhaled slowly, counted to ten.

  Then I stood up straight, pulled my shoulders back, and marched over to the human skull.

  SIX

  “Angelus mortis lives,” the skull crooned the moment I got within inches of it, its voice eerily similar to my twin’s. Fine hairs rose along my arms. It was as if Vittoria crossed the barrier between life and death to send a message, except it was slightly off, wrong. “Fury. Almost free. Maiden, Mother, Crone. Past, present, future, find.”

  “Vittoria?” The fleshless jaws went slack, and whatever dark magic had fueled the skull vanished. I swallowed hard, unable to take my eyes off the cursed messenger. “Goddess above.”

  How someone had snuck an enchanted skull in without Anir or me noticing was almost as troubling as the magic used to power it. I’d never heard of a spell that commanded the bones of the dead. Sure, there was necromancy, but that’s not what powered the skull. This wasn’t even il Proibito. This was something other, something more terrifying than the Forbidden.

  I left the skull where it was, plopped onto the glass chair, and took a healthy sip of wine, my mind racing. I thought about Nonna’s lessons on dark magic, specifically spells using objects touched by death—how both should be avoided at all costs. Never, not once, did she ever tell us a story about a witch who could manipulate life into something long dead. If that was even what happened. It had to be demon magic. Which meant the sender was likely a prince of Hell.

  The question was which one and why.

  I replayed the message in my mind. The angel of death lives. Fury. Almost free. Maiden, Mother, Crone. Past, present, future, find.

  To simplify, and to keep from panicking over the macabre messenger, I decided to pick it apart line by line, starting with the angel of death.

  Claudia, my best friend and a witch whose family openly practiced the dark arts, used a black mirror and human bones in her last scrying session, and her mind had been taunted with the voices of the dead. She’d also mentioned something about the angel of death.

  I did not believe in coincidences.

  I got up and paced around the room, struggling to recall more from Claudia’s scrying. That night was filled with terror, and the details were fuzzy. I’d found her on her knees in the courtyard outside the monastery, her nails broken to the quick, as she recited nonsensical messages from the cursed and the damned. She told me to run, but there was no way I’d leave her with the superstitious holy brotherhood. She’d said something about a cunning thief stealing the stars and drinking them dry. That he was coming and going.

  That it should have been impossible…

  I knew at least four demon princes who were roaming Sicily at that time. Wrath, Envy, Greed, and Lust. One of them had to be the angel of death. Maybe not in the literal sense, but it could certainly be a nickname. I stopped dead in my tracks, heart pounding.

  Only one demon fit that description. I’d even called him Samael one night—the angel of death and prince of Rome—thinking it a clever description of him. He’d given me a bemused look, right before he’d warned me to never call him that again. Wrath.

  He didn’t hide the fact that he was the general of war. He excelled in violence. If he was Death, maybe he hadn’
t been chosen to solve the murders; perhaps he was furious someone sullied his title and involved him without the devil’s consent. That would explain why Pride didn’t want to invite him into his circle. The devil was punishing Wrath for disobedience.

  Which, if true, threw into question every last bit of information I’d wrung from him. If Wrath omitted basic truths about his involvement, there was no telling how far his deception stretched.

  I rubbed my temples. Wrath was my top suspect for both the angel of death and the fury portion of the riddle. Next came the Maiden, Mother, and Crone. That part was harder to connect to the murders. According to our history, the Maiden, the Mother, and the Crone were three goddesses who ruled the heavens, the earth, and the underworld.

  Old witch legends claimed they’d given birth to the goddesses we prayed to, and one of them—the goddess of the heavens and sun—was La Prima Strega’s mother. The Maiden, Mother, and Crone were to our goddesses what Titans were to the gods in mortal mythologies.

  If she was real and not a fable, the goddess of the underworld—or any of the goddesses birthed to her realm—would likely possess the kind of magic that animated bones, but why she’d send a cryptic message to me remained a mystery. Goddesses had never shown interest in involving themselves with witches before. I doubted they’d start now.

  However the Maiden, Mother, and Crone fit, it wasn’t through a legend I’d been taught. It wasn’t a stretch to think demons had their own stories and histories about them.

  Answers weren’t going to present themselves by staying locked away in my chamber.

  I removed a scarf from the wardrobe and picked up the skull, careful to avoid touching it without cloth. If Vittoria were here, she’d have plucked it up and danced it across the room without a moment’s hesitation, fueling Nonna’s worry about her affinity with the dead. A smile almost tugged at my lips before I banished it. I glanced around, searching for a hiding place, then knelt down and shoved the skull deep inside the wardrobe and shut its doors.