Wicked As You Wish (A Hundred Names for Magic #1) - Rin Chupeco Page 0,81
drag on before Cole spoke again. “I owe you my loyalty, not an explanation.”
Alex chuckled. “And I won’t ask you for one. But a favor is a favor. I upheld my end of the bargain.”
“And you want to pull a Bogart on me, tell me this is the start of a beautiful friendship?”
“Pardon?”
A ghost of a grin crossed Cole’s face. “Just a line I heard from somewhere. What do you want me to do?”
“An old woman—a seeress—foretold my doom once, and it’s been repeated so many times that I know her words by heart: Pledge your love to the blackest flag, and only then shall you lift that which was forbidden. I am sure you know the prophecy; most Avalonians have heard of it. Even that foul ice maiden knew.”
“I do.”
“You know how that prophecy ends. There’s a decision I have to make, and if I choose wrong, we lose everything—the throne, Avalon, magic as we know it. And on the chance that I do fuck everything up, I want you to be the one to kill me before I do more damage.”
Tala clapped a hand over her mouth to swallow her gasp. To his credit, Cole said nothing, though his face grew even more expressionless than before.
“That’s a big favor compared to what I’d asked for,” he said.
Alex smiled grimly. “You know that isn’t true.”
Another pause. Cole inclined his head in agreement. “I’ll do it. But why me?”
“We never met before Reykjavik, yet you did what no one else had there. I trusted you immediately, then, and I trust you now. Maybe you can say fate has thrown us together.”
Cole laughed, the sound a rough scrape against stone. “I hate fate,” he said, his mouth curled in contempt, and reached for his shirt.
He stopped, looking at something behind him. His eyes narrowed. Alex whirled around with a muttered oath.
The Dame had stolen into the room so quietly, no one had noticed her presence. The old woman wore a loose dressing gown, and her long hair fell down her shoulders, sweeping at her waist. She reminded Tala of a ghostly specter, like the spirit of a disgraced noblewoman who haunted castles and wrung her hands in royal dismay over the crimes she was falsely accused of while living.
“Your Majesty,” the Dame said faintly. She looked tired and frail, less elegant than she had at the supper table, less threatening. But something not unlike pleasure seasoned her tone, as if relishing her interruption. “Kings should not be wandering in large castles so late at night. Odd little things can happen to kings in large castles.”
Alex took another step back. “You don’t scare me.”
“No,” the Dame said. “It is not me that you fear. An outland kiss is not enough to break so great a curse, my liege. To you, a kiss will always be a question. Are you the one? Are you? Will you break this curse? Will you break me? Will you make me whole? Will I let you?”
Alex paled.
“Only when those that were missing shall fly again; when those that were dead shall rise again; when that which was cold offers warmth again. That is how your curse shall be broken, Your Majesty.”
“Good night, milady,” Alex said curtly as he whirled away, robe flapping behind him, and strode purposely out of the room, head held high. It was only when he was safely past the Dame, out of both their views but not quite completely out of Tala’s, did he abandon all pretense at saving face; his expression crumpled, anguish replacing the cold haughtiness, even as he fled up the stairs. The firebird remained inside the fireplace, seemingly unaware or uncaring of its master’s anguish.
Tala wanted to run after him, to make sure he was all right even if she had to admit having eavesdropped, but the Dame’s next words halted her steps.
“Wolf king,” the old woman purred.
Cole stiffened, but said nothing. The woman moved closer, laid a withered hand against the hilt of the scythe. Tala was almost sure it was a trick of the light, but the blade shone dimly, a dark opaque glow. The Dame took her hand away, her voice surprisingly gentle. “I knew your grandfather well in my youth. He carried Gravekeeper well. Few could match him in battle. You are his very image. The same haunted look in your eyes. All Nottinghams who bear this scythe wear that look.”