Lies in Blood (35 page)

“
Anandene?” My nose crinkled. Anandene and Morgana were related?

There were no lines connecting the names. None that even connected Callon to Morgana, so there was no way to know if Anandene had been directly or distantly related to Morgana. The names were simply listed like required ingredients in a fancy dish.

Typical. I’d opened this stupid book to find answers, and all it had done was create another bloody mystery.

I dropped my head into my hands.

As if I needed any more mysteries right now.

“
Ooh, what spell are we doing?” Eve said, sitting on the desk beside the book—her legs crossed like a lady, an eager grin on her dead face.

“
We
are not doing any spells.” I gently turned a few pages until they balanced equally on each side. “I was hoping to find something that might get rid of unwanted ink.”

“
Try the back of the book,” she muttered in a hateful huff and vanished.

I scowled at the empty space. “Thanks for your help.”

As the coals in the fireplace burned to embers and the early morning chill of an approaching autumn settled around my nose and ears, I flipped past hundreds of spells that healed broken or sick things, potions mixed for ailments and hopes, and when I came to the end of the book, found a stack of notes and spells stuffed in between the last page and the hard cover. One was a love spell. I tossed it aside. Did
not
need that. One was a sleeping spell. I tucked that into my pocket for the next time I needed an easy escape. But the last one I unfolded was written in another language, the page so thin and delicate I wasn’t sure it was actually ever paper.

I laid it beside a sheet parchment and scribbled down the symbols and words exactly, copying the pictures and the diagrams, then stuffed it all back in the book and closed it. I wasn’t sure what the spell did, but I knew of some translation books that could help me figure it out. And, also, I had Jason. He could read that language as well as Arthur could. I knew he’d help if I asked.

“
The Aide-Memoire de l’Auress, an encyclopaedia of Lilithian law, and several books on magic,” Arthur said. “What could our young queen be searching for?”

“
Arthur?” I gasped, flipping the books closed and most certainly losing my pages. “What are you doing up so late?”

He pulled out a chair beside me and sat down, moving a few books upward to make room for his elbow. “I’m not much of a sleeper.”

I felt the weight of being sprung bare down on me, making my whole face go hot. My fingers wrung the hem of my dress tightly and my eyes wouldn’t shift from the books. I needed to come up with an excuse for having these titles checked out, but I couldn’t think of one. “I—”

“
You don’t have to explain anything to me, princess.” He reached across and patted my hand. “I was just teasing, but,” he said as he stood up. “If you need help with anything, you know you can come to me, right?”

I nodded, keeping my eyes on the books.

“
Very well.” I saw him bow his head once in my peripheral. “I shall leave you to it. Just don’t stay up too much longer.”

“
I won’t,” I said, then spun in my chair to look at him. “Arthur?”

“
Yes, my dear.”

I took a deep breath, still considering my words. “I . . . I have a rash.”

His eyes squared off a bit under a furrowed brow. “What kind of rash?”

“
Um, this kind.” I stood up and lifted my top. “I already know it’s a Mark of Betrayal,” I said, and Arthur’s eyes met mine. “I just can’t. . .” I motioned to the books behind me. “I can’t figure out
why
.”

He looked away, slowly exhaling. “I may know why.”

“
Why?” I stepped closer. “What have I done?”

“
It’s. . .” He seemed to be considering his words very carefully, looking from the books to me, and back again. “Eventually, you will figure it out. Eventually, it will not be a secret I can keep but, for now—” He bowed once. “I must ask you not to seek the answer.”

“
Why?”

“
Because I fear the truth could bring you more harm than a little rash on your flesh.”

I opened my mouth to protest, but took a second and let the words simmer through me instead, considering them, taking them for every ounce of meaning I could hear in his undertone and thinking long and hard in that second whether or not I wanted to challenge him. “Okay, so, maybe don’t tell me the truth right now, but at least tell me how it could bring me harm.”

“
You’re going to lose your husband in a few short months, Amara. Any time you have with him is precious, and any memories you have from your past should only be happy ones.”

“
And what’s that got to do with my rash?”

“
That fact that it has anything to do with your rash is exactly why you should leave it alone. And I’ve told David the same.”

“
What does
he
know about it?”

“
He knows it’s not a rash, my dear. He wasn’t born yesterday.”

“
But he doesn’t know what kind of Mark it is, does he?”

“
No. Which is why he’s been looking for that book.” He nodded to the table.

“
The Journal of the Auress?”

“
Yes, and you must keep it from him at all costs, Amara.” He used a tone of ‘grave warning’, but it only made me laugh. He might have known the full weight of what he said but, to me, I couldn't piece anything together based on that statement, and it just wasn’t going to be enough to quash my curiosity—not for this version of me, anyway.

“
I don’t understand.”

“
The truth he will find in that journal will be too much for him to bear.”

“
What if we
want
the truth, even if it has something to do with destroying happy memories?”

“
Then, I guess you have a lot of reading to do, my dear.” He nodded to my books then turned on his heel. “Because you’ll not be hearing it from me.”

I huffed, dropping my hands to my hips as Arthur walked away. “How rude.”

“
He means well,” Eve said, suddenly beside me. “He just doesn’t want to be the one that hurts you.”

“
Hurts me?” I looked sideways at her then back at the empty library. “How would he hurt me?”

“
When you figure out the puzzle, you’ll understand why.”

“
Puzzle. What puzzle?” I frowned. “And, hey, why did you push me out the window the other day?”

She smiled, her young face looking innocent. “To free your soul.”

“
Free my. . .? How would that free my soul? Eve?” I called, circling on the spot a few times, but the ghost was gone.

I always loved the manor kitchen, with its warm, country feel, wood counter tops crowning rustic-looking cupboards, and a giant old dining table that centred the space—its washed, fading green colour stylishly unmatched by the white chairs pushed in under it. The whole room had that ‘grandmother’s kitchen’ kind of feel, with a collection of herbs and spices grown fresh in the garden then hung inside over the windows or the stove, and a pot rack suspended from thick black chains over an island counter. But my favourite thing about this place was that, in the morning, the soft scent of fresh bread, toasted slowly over an open flame, would accompany the rich aroma of Italian Roast, drawing me gently awake the closer I got.

I wandered in and sat down, swinging my legs under the table as the carbon copy of Mike placed a mug and a pitcher of cream in front of me. “Hey, Falcon.”

“
Morning, My Queen. Sleep well?”

“
Knowing I had Quaid outside my door all night?” I grinned. “Of course.”

“
I’m sorry.” He sat down. “I sleep better when I have a guard on you. I just. . .”

“
Just?”

“
You know I don’t usually order it every night. But, last night, I had a hunch.”

“
A hunch?” My brow arched, the scepticism hidden behind my coffee mug as I took a sip. It was no creamy, sugary delight, like David’s coffee, but it was nice to have someone make it for me. “What kind of hunch?”

He exhaled loudly, swiping his thumb across his bottom lip. “Whenever I get those . . . feelings, you usually end up in some kind of trouble.”

“
But I didn’t last night.” I flashed a cheesy grin, cocking my head like an innocent puppy.

“
No. But we did pick up a suspicious scent around the border of the manor this morning. Whoever it was, they may have been on their way to see you.”

“
Ooh, creepy.” I dusted myself off jokingly. “Anyway, I wasn’t in my room for most of last night. I was reading in the library.”

“
I know.” He sipped his coffee. “What were you looking for? Anything I can help with?”

“
Hopefully. That’s why I asked you here this morning.”

“
Okay, so what is it?”

“
I need to show you something,” I said, feeling a little awkward.

He sat back, folding his arms as if waiting for me to tell him I’d gotten myself into some kind of mess. “Need to show me what, exactly?”

“
It’s nothing bad. I mean, I hope.” I stood and lifted my shirt, scooping my jeans down an inch to show where the black rash snuck down below my pubic line.

“
The Mark of Betrayal,” he said, clearing his throat after.

“
You know what it is?” I twisted at the waist a little to look all the way around at the back of my hip.

“
I happen to have extensively studied anything to do with you, your body, your past, and your bloodline, Ara. Of course I know what it is.”

“
You’ve studied me?” I lowered my top and pulled my jeans up again.

“
Your Majesty, I am Head of the Queen’s Guard. That role comes with certain expectations.” He walked over to the sink and dumped his cup in there. “I should be the number-one most educated man in this manor when it comes to you.”

“
So, how do you know what kind of Mark it is?”

“
Because it wraps your torso from your heart to your hip—it’s the only Mark of its kind. And the question is, Ara—” He propped one foot on the seat of the chair, resting his arm over his knee. “What have you done?”

“
I don’t know.” I leaned my butt on the tabletop. “I was hoping maybe if I could figure out what kinds of things would give me this Mark, then maybe I could—”

“
Ara, what ever it is you’ve done, to be Marked with that symbol, it has to have been something pretty spectacular.” He dropped his foot to the floor, standing tall again. “That’s one of the Four Detriments.”

“
The what now?”

“
There are four things a queen can do that ultimately betray her crown, her people or herself. You don’t need to figure out so much what it is you did, but perhaps whom you did it to. And there should be a symbol somewhere in that mess of a rash all over you that reveals it.”

“
Well, which one.” I lifted my top and poked at the black line.

“
I don’t know.” He put my top down for me. “And stop doing that. If anyone walks past, they’ll think we’re being inappropriate.”

“
Oh. Sorry, Falcon. That wasn’t my intention.”

“
I know. Just. . .” His eyes drifted away from me. “Just be more careful.”

“
Sorry.”

“
Stop saying sorry.” He pulled the chair out and sat down, offering me my seat again. “How long have you had the Mark, Ara?”

“
It started as a red rash after I fell off the lighthouse, and it’s just been changing since then.”