ONE
Warm rain poured over Marlow as she stood outside the towering front gate of Falcrest Hall.
The gate was shut, its iron finials piercing the dark-gray sky like fangs. Invisible wards snaked through the bars to keep unwanted visitors out.
And Marlow knew she was just about as unwanted as they came.
Clutching a bouquet of deep-violet blooms to her chest, she raised her other hand to press the button of the enchanted intercom. A crackle of static burst from the speaker, and then a prim, flat voice answered, “Falcrest Hall is closed to visitors at this time.”
Marlow cleared her throat. “I have a delivery.”
There was a pause on the other side of the intercom. Marlow tugged her hood closer to her face—she knew her image was being projected to the head steward, or whoever it was she was speaking with.
“One moment,” the steward said curtly, and then the intercom clicked off.
Several long, silent minutes passed, the rain steadily pounding down on Marlow in sheets. She was far beyond drenched, and despite the sticky heat, she started to shiver.
Just as she was beginning to suspect that the steward planned to leave her dripping and shaking until she eventually gave up, she spotted a figure coming down from the main steps of Falcrest Hall.
Through the heavy downpour, Marlow could only discern the figure as a dark smear against the gray sky, until they were just a few dozen paces away.
Marlow’s heart dropped into her stomach.
Amara stepped up to the gate. She was dressed entirely in black, from the sculptural cape she wore over a columnar gown to the enchanted umbrella that floated just above her, shielding her from the downpour. Every line of her clothing, her severe makeup, even her shining raven hair, was aggressively polished.
Marlow could not help seeing her own bedraggled appearance through Amara’s eyes—her tangled, damp blond hair, the plain, ill-fitting clothes she’d taken from her old wardrobe in Vale Tower, her pale face lined with shadows from too little sleep.
Amara’s wine-red lips lifted into a snarl. “What? Have you come here hoping to finish my father off?”
Marlow swallowed thickly, letting the flowers drop to her side, and with them, any pretense as to her purpose here. “I came to speak to Adrius.”
An incredulous laugh barked from Amara’s mouth. Her dark eyes blazed. “You are never going to see or speak to anyone in my family ever again.”
Marlow didn’t let herself flinch from the deep hatred in Amara’s gaze. She knew there was little point in arguing—Amara had no reason to hear her out. As far as she knew, Marlow had just tried to murder her father in cold blood.
She should have known coming to Falcrest Hall would be pointless, but she had to try. Adrius’s life might depend on it.
“Please.” She gripped the bars of the gate. “I just need five minutes. Please.”
“And give you a chance to dig your claws into him again?” Amara scoffed. “Never.”
“I wouldn’t have come here unless it was important.” Marlow’s knuckles were turning white with the force of her grip, as if letting go of the gate would mean giving up on this foolish mission.
“Oh, is it?” Amara said mockingly. “Well, if it’s so important, then why don’t you tell me?”
Amara didn’t know about the Compulsion curse Adrius was under. She may have suspected something—at least Silvan had thought so—but she didn’t know the full truth. And Marlow wasn’t going to spill the secret to her. Adrius may have been Amara’s brother, but like her father, Amara saw him as something that needed to be controlled.
There was no way in hell Marlow was going to hand that control over to her.
But as Marlow looked
at her face, she began to see the cracks in Amara’s armor. The faint shadows under her eyes. The reddish tint to her cheeks and nose that made it apparent she’d been crying.
Amara couldn’t know about Adrius’s curse, that much Marlow was firm on. But Amara wasn’t as emotionless as she tried to appear. Her father was dying somewhere inside Falcrest Hall, and as horrible a man as he was, Marlow could see that Amara’s grief for him was real.
She deserved to know the truth about who had tried to take him from her.
“It’s about your father,” Marlow began.
Amara’s face twisted with undeniable fury. “Don’t talk about my father.”
“I know you hate me,” Marlow said, desperation seeping into her words. “And you have every reason to. But you don’t know the whole truth about what happened. If you’d just listen—”
“Marlow?” a voice called over the drum of the rain.
It had come from behind Marlow. She and Amara both turned to see who was there.
Marlow’s heart slammed against her ribs as her gaze landed on Vale.
He stood beneath the shelter of his own enchanted umbrella, cobalt-blue suit blending almost seamlessly into the gray clouds behind him. His warm, boyish features were creased with concern, his gray eyes trained on Marlow. She had last seen him only a few hours ago, in the living room of her apartment in Vale Tower, where he’d embraced her as Marlow finally put the pieces together about what he’d done.
He stepped toward her. “Marlow, what are you doing here?”
A chill skittered down her spine. “Did you follow me here?”
Vale’s brow wrinkled with confusion. “Of course not. Amara is hosting a dinner for the heads of the Five Families and the Falcrest vassal houses.”
Marlow turned back to Amara in surprise. It hadn’t even been two days since her father was attacked, and Amara was already hosting a dinner?
Then again, maybe it made perfect sense. She noted the tension in Amara’s jaw. This dinner wasn’t just a social occasion. Amara’s grief was real, but so was the political reality of the Five Families. And if Marlow knew one thing about Amara, it was that she always put strategy above sentiment. With her father lying half-dead, Amara would be under pressure to shore up the Falcrest family’s power before someone took advantage of their weakened position.
“So?” Amara asked, ignoring Vale completely, her gaze searing into Marlow. “What is it you wanted to tell me?”
Marlow could feel Vale’s eyes on her, too. A hysterical, desperate urge welled up in her. She wanted to grab Amara through the bars of the gate and say, It’s him, he’s the one responsible for your father’s attack, don’t let him in, don’t let him near Adrius, please, Amara.
She choked down the words. Vale had no idea that Marlow knew anything about what he’d done—anything about the Compulsion curse he’d placed on Adrius, the order he’d given him to stab his own father in the heart. And it had to stay that way, until Marlow could figure out what he was really up to.
She lowered her gaze, uncurling her cold, wet fingers from the bars of the gate. “Tell Adrius I’m sorry,” she said, and then turned away and retreated into the downpour.
“Keep her the hell away
from my family!” Amara snarled at Vale.
Vale didn’t even acknowledge the demand. His gaze was pinned on Marlow, gray eyes dark like storm clouds. He stepped toward her and laid a hand on her shoulder before she could pass.
Marlow braced herself against a shudder.
“We’ll talk about this tomorrow,” he said in a grim tone.
Talk about what? Marlow showing up at Falcrest Hall in the most foolish of fool’s errands? Her back teeth clenched against the anger building in her gut, but she forced herself to meet Vale’s gaze with a nod.
Vale returned her nod with satisfaction and then patted her once on the shoulder and released her.
It took all her willpower to turn away and allow Vale to walk through the gates of Falcrest Hall, knowing that Adrius was somewhere inside. Knowing he was still under the Compulsion curse. Knowing Vale was the one who had cast it.
And not knowing just what Vale would do with that power.
TWO
The first course had already come and gone by the time Adrius made his entrance to the dining room. He could still see the remnants of some fussy appetizer involving candied figs and thinly sliced cured meat.
“Adrius,” Amara greeted him from the head of the table. The crease beside the corner of her mouth announced her displeasure. “I didn’t realize you were joining us.”
Adrius sauntered past the seated guests, swiping a random glass of wine off the table as he went to flop down in an empty chair to Amara’s left. “Are you kidding? I wouldn’t miss it.”
Truthfully, he had decided to skip this little gathering, intending to spend his evening getting so exquisitely drunk he couldn’t see straight. But at some point, staring down at the bottom of an empty bottle of wine, he’d abruptly decided that actually, a dinner with the heads of all the most important families in Caraza did sound like fun—if only because he knew his mere presence would wreck whatever plan Amara was furiously trying to execute.
Ever since the day of the wedding, Amara had done her level best to ignore Adrius’s entire existence, and he was finally sick of it.
He smiled blithely at her over the rim of his wineglass and turned his attention to the guests. Representatives of all the Falcrest vassal houses were seated around the table, as well as the heads of the other Five Families—Zeno Morandi, Dahlia Starling, and Cormorant Vale. Missing, of course, was the Delvigne family. While still nominally one of the original Five Families, Adrius’s mother’s family had long been subsumed by the Falcrests.
“So!” Adrius said brightly, wine sloshing out of his glass and splashing onto the fine tablecloth. “What are we all talking about?”
“Actually,” Amara said crisply. “We were discussing you. And I really should thank you for proving my point so succinctly.” She turned to address her guests. “As you can plainly see with your own eyes, Adrius is hardly fit to take over Falcrest family as heir.”
Adrius gave an exaggerated wince. “Not going to sugarcoat it, are you?”
A balding man with a thin nose and spectacles cleared his throat. Adrius recognized him as Jean Renault, the head of one of the most powerful of the Falcrest vassal houses. Adrius had always found him to be criminally uptight and stuffy, but he did hold a lot of sway with the other vassals. “While we appreciate your candor and your opinion on this matter, we do have to wonder—what is it exactly that makes you fit to take over? Your brother was the one Aurelius named as heir. Clearly, he felt Adrius was up to the task.”
Adrius could sense the tension in Amara as her jaw tightened. But her voice was even when she replied, “My father made that decision before Adrius decided to disown the family.”
Renault looked at Adrius. “Is that true?”
Adrius shrugged. The truth of it didn’t matter—what mattered was whether Amara could successfully convince these men that it was in their best interest to put her in charge. She’d failed to convince their father of that—and Adrius supposed he was at least a little curious to see if she’d fare any better with these men.
“It is,” Amara said. “The night before my wedding, Adrius walked out of Falcrest Hall and declared he was never going to return. I believe both my husband and Lord Vale can attest to this.” She glanced to her other side, where Darian sat, ever the dutiful husband.
“He did spend that night at Vale Tower,” Darian confirmed.
“When Adrius walked out of Falcrest Hall, he renounced any claim as heir,” Amara went on in a cool, authoritative voice. “Therefore, the only person with any legitimate claim to the Falcrest family is me.”
The heads of the vassal houses seemed to take a moment to absorb this, glancing around at one another. Finally, Renault spoke again. “We appreciate your position on this, but surely you can understand our … hesitation in putting a teenage girl in charge of the Falcrest family.”
“With all due respect,” Amara said coolly, “it is not your decision to put me in charge or not.”
Renault narrowed his eyes. “Yet I think you’ll find that if the vassal houses are not confident in your leadership, you may lose our support altogether. We need to think
of our own families’ fortunes, which are intimately tied up in the Falcrest family operations.” He shot a quick glance over to Zeno Morandi. “We might need to consider whether our interests might be safer in someone else’s hands.”
Adrius stifled a snort. The threat was clear. If Amara didn’t capitulate to the vassal houses’ demands, they would pull their investments from the Falcrest family altogether and find somewhere else to put their money. If even a few of the biggest vassals pulled out, others were sure to follow.
“I assure you,” Amara said in an icy tone, “I am more than capable of running the Falcrest family. I’ve been preparing for this duty my entire life.”
She sounded brutally calm, but it wasn’t enough to fool Adrius. He’d known her for eighteen years, and he knew how to tell if she was angry. And right now, she was furious. She hated that she needed approval from these people, who she no doubt considered beneath her.
“If it would make the vassal houses more comfortable,” Vale cut in from down the table, “perhaps a solution can be reached. Perhaps a … level of oversight might put some of your concerns to rest?”
Adrius raised his eyebrows. He wasn’t sure what Vale’s angle was here—knowing him, he might genuinely be trying to help Amara, oblivious to how deeply resentful she would be of the offer.
Renault, on the other hand, looked intrigued. “Oversight?”
Vale bowed his head. “Amara and my son are married now. As her father-in-law, I would be more than willing to step in until she gets her bearings.”
“Step in?” Zeno Morandi spat. His lip curled as he turned to Renault. “Surely you can’t be considering this. To put the head of another one of the Five Families in charge of the Falcrest family is utterly ludicrous. A clear conflict of interest.”
“Calm down, Zeno, no one said anything about being put in charge,” Vale cut in placatingly. “This would purely be an advisory role. Temporary, of course. Amara would still retain full control.”
“Oh, please,” Morandi scoffed. “This is a clear grab at power, and the other Families won’t stand for it.”
“Ah, well, that’s something you’d know about, isn’t it, Zeno?” Vale asked.
Adrius couldn’t help but smirk. He’d never much liked Morandi, had always thought him to be just as cruel and ruthless as Adrius’s father, only twice as cowardly.
Morandi’s beady eyes narrowed. “What are you implying?”
“Rumor has it the Morandi family is looking to acquire the Falcrests’ most talented spellwrights and part of the Falcrest Library collection,” Vale replied. “Don’t you think it’s a little crass to be sniffing around Falcrest Library while the Falcrest patriarch lies dying?”
“You want to talk about what’s crass?” Morandi spat. “How about harboring the very person who attacked Falcrest in the first place, and then turning around not two days later to try to wedge yourself into a position of power?”
Adrius flinched. Even if Morandi hadn’t said her name, the mention of Marlow made the room
feel suddenly airless.
“The courts,” Vale said slowly, “will determine who is at fault for the attack.”
His gaze flickered to Adrius for the briefest of moments. A sick unease rocked through Adrius. Did Vale know the truth—that it wasn’t Marlow who had stabbed Aurelius, but Adrius? Had Marlow told him?
Adrius grabbed clumsily for his wine and took another long sip. Even thinking of Marlow made his chest tight.
“Gentlemen,” Renault cut in. “We are here only to resolve the matter of who is in charge of the Falcrest family operations. That is all. Now, from my perspective, Lord Vale’s oversight would, I believe, put to rest some of our misgivings. Otherwise, perhaps control of the Falcrest family could be put into some sort of trust with the vassal families, at least until Lord Falcrest, uh … recovers.”
A heavy silence followed his words. Adrius dropped his gaze to the tablecloth in front of him. The wine he’d spilled was dark red against the white linen. It almost looked like blood. Nausea rose in his gut, and he shut his eyes.
No one sitting at the table thought recovery was where Adrius’s father was headed. Least of all Adrius.
“No,” Amara said stiffly. “No, that won’t be necessary. I would be glad to welcome my father-in-law’s input, if it would put the vassal families at ease.”
Her voice sounded syrupy sweet, but Adrius could hear the venom in it.
“Before we decide,” Renault said, “I’d like to hear from Adrius. After all, he is the actual heir. Do you have anything you’d like to add?”
Adrius pulled his mouth into an ugly, vicious smile and pushed to his feet. “I say you can burn down Falcrest Library for all I care.”
The light was on at the end of the hall. Adrius hadn’t expected that. It was late, dinner long since over, their guests already gone, the household staff retired for the night. Adrius should have been in bed, too. But these days he hardly bothered, knowing he wouldn’t fall asleep until the early hours of dawn, if at all.
Instead he was here, in his father’s wing. And it seemed he wasn’t the only one who’d been drawn here tonight.
Through the half-open doorway, he could see Amara’s back as she sat bent over their father’s sickbed. She was speaking in a low, gentle voice, but Adrius couldn’t make out the words.
Adrius stepped toward her, his shoes clicking against the polished tile floors.
Amara straightened, whipping around to face him. Her eyes were rimmed red. She’d been crying. Adrius knew she hadn’t been getting much sleep, either.
Aurelius had not woken since the day of Amara’s wedding. There were countless spells and enchantments keeping his body alive, but none that could completely heal the wound that festered in his chest. The wound that Adrius had carved into him.
Adrius had avoided walking down this hallway for the past two days, but something had drawn
him here this evening. It wasn’t until he looked at his sister’s face that he realized what it was. He’d come in search of the grief he could see so clearly reflected in Amara’s eyes.
“What are you doing here?” she demanded.
Adrius lingered just outside the doorway, holding back from stepping inside. “I came to see how he’s doing.”
“What do you care?”
Adrius didn’t answer. He didn’t have an answer. Amara was right—he didn’t care. He didn’t feel anything.
“You’ve spent more time worrying over that murderer than you have worrying about your own dying father,” Amara hissed. “It’s sick.”
Marlow isn’t a murderer, Adrius wanted to say. I am.
He had plunged a knife into his own father’s chest. And when he looked down at that pale, still face, Adrius felt—nothing.
This is why he chose me. The thought surprised Adrius. Ever since his father told them that he’d named Adrius heir, Adrius had wondered why. But now he saw the answer, stark and terrible in the cold light of his father’s sickbed.
Because as much as Amara wanted to be like their father—ruthless and unflinching—it was Adrius who was most like him. It was Adrius whose heart was as cold and hard as the ice in his father’s chest.
And for all her armor and her viciousness, Amara wasn’t a killer like them.
“You need to choose a side, Adrius,” Amara said, rising to her feet.
“What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about Vale!” Amara snarled. “He is making a play for Falcrest Library.”
“You’re paranoid,” Adrius replied. “All he did was agree to advise.”
“You are so godsdamned naive,” Amara replied. “He got your little girlfriend released from jail, did you know that? For all we know, they cooked up the plan to murder Father together.”
“That’s—Amara, come on, that’s—”
“I’m not going to sit around while Vale tries to wrestle control of the Falcrest empire from me. I’m going to make my own moves.” Amara’s lips curled into a grim smile. “And you’re going to help me. No more sitting out, Brother.”
THREE
Sometimes, when Marlow was particularly stuck on a cursebreaking case, she would sit down and make a list of everything she knew. It was a way of calming the chaos of her mind and focusing her attention not on the questions swirling through her head but on what she needed to do next.
So, the day after her unsuccessful visit to Falcrest Hall, Marlow sat at her mother’s writing desk and made a list in her mind of everything she knew. The first item was Adrius doesn’t know Vale is the one who cursed him.
She’d failed in her attempt to talk to Adrius yesterday, but she hadn’t given up hope of getting a message to him. Amara couldn’t possibly keep him locked up in Falcrest Hall forever. Marlow would just have to wait for an opportunity.
The next item on the list was Swift hasn’t gotten in contact.
It had been two days since she’d instructed him to go to the Black Orchid to seek refuge from the Copperheads. Marlow assumed he would have heard about her arrest, and likely that she was now at Vale Tower. He was probably worried about her, and she hated to worry him. It also made her uneasy that he hadn’t found a way to contact her here—what if she’d been wrong, and the Black Orchid couldn’t be trusted? What if he’d never even made it to them?
The third item on her list was Adrius is still cursed.
By now, she had less than two weeks to figure out where Vale was hiding the curse card and burn it before the Compulsion curse on Adrius became irreversible. And she didn’t know where to start.
A knock at the door startled her from her thoughts. Vale’s voice floated in through the door. “Marlow, it’s me. May I come in?”
Marlow went to the door and pulled it open. Vale stood smiling on the other side. A fresh wave of disorienting unease rocked her every time she looked at him—part of her finding comfort in his familiar, affectionate demeanor, and the other part of her disturbed by the ease with which he put on that facade.
“I wanted to talk to you about last night,” he began, hesitant but firm. “I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to leave Vale Tower.”
Vale’s tone may have been gentle, but his words told her she was basically a prisoner here. Her grip tightened on the doorknob.
“At least, not on your own,” Vale went on with a tight smile.
Marlow forced her body to relax. “I’m not really used to answering to anyone.”
“I know that,” Vale said softly. “I’m not enough of a fool to think that just because I’m your father I can walk in here and tell you what you can and can’t do. But I do want to keep you safe. And right now, with everything that’s going on, the safest place for you is here. At home.”
Home. This tower might have been home once. It wasn’t anymore.
“What were you even doing at Falcrest Hall?” Vale asked. Marlow studied his face, trying to decide whether he suspected her true motive for going there. He had no reason to believe that she knew about Adrius’s curse, much less that he was the one who had cast it, but still her heart pounded at the thought of being found out. Before she could come up with a satisfactory answer, though, Vale lowered his voice and asked, “Were you there to see Adrius?”
Marlow tugged her lower lip between her teeth. Her mother used to say that the easiest way to con someone was to show them exactly what they expected to see.
Vale seemed to think Marlow was a lovesick teenage girl. So she would be a lovesick teenage girl.
She nodded, blinking rapidly as if holding back tears.
“My dear,” Vale said consolingly. “I didn’t want to be right about him. But it’s better that you found out now. No matter what he might feel for you, he will never put you first. It’s not his fault—not really. He’s just not capable of it. He’s too much like his father.”
Marlow swallowed the lump building in her throat. She may have thought she was faking her tears for Vale’s sake, but the pit in her stomach said otherwise. Part of her—a part she wasn’t proud of—wondered if Vale might be right about Adrius.
“Why don’t you join the family and me for dinner this evening?” Vale offered.
Marlow wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “Don’t you think it’s a bit soon for that?”
“Not at all,” he answered. “Truthfully, it’s long overdue.”
“I only got here two days ago.”
He gave her a fond look. “I mean, we should have done this years ago. If I’d only known who you were back then … if your mother hadn’t been so intent on keeping her secrets…” He shook his head. “I suppose it’s no use thinking of what could have been. The important thing is, we know the truth now. It’s never too late to do things right.”
It was chilling to hear Vale talk of “doing things right” when he had Adrius under a curse to follow his every command.
“You have no reason to be nervous,” Vale went on. “I’ve already explained everything to Elena. Whatever resentments may exist, they are mine alone to shoulder.”
Vale may have seen it that way, but Marlow somehow doubted his wife agreed. Still, as much as Marlow had no interest whatsoever in sitting down to a family dinner, this was clearly something Vale wanted her to do, and she did have an interest in staying on his good side.
“Let me just freshen up,” Marlow said.
Vale smiled, pleased by her acquiescence. “Of course. We’ll be waiting for you down in the family apartments. You know where to find them?”
“Sure,” Marlow agreed. She’d never once set foot inside the Vale family’s private apartments when she’d previously lived in Vale Tower, but she knew where they were. “I’ll be right down.”
Vale offered her one last, twinkling smile and then left the room.
Marlow went to her old wardrobe and found several dresses she’d left here over a year ago, only one of which still fit. It had a long-sleeved silver bodice and a tiered, midnight-blue skirt beaded with pearls. As far as Evergarden dresses went, it was fairly subdued, but Marlow still felt completely overdressed for dinner.
Even if it was dinner with three people who probably would’ve preferred that Marlow never existed, and the man who Marlow had just recently learned was both her father and an unrepentant monster.
But if Marlow was to stay in Vale Tower long enough to break Adrius’s curse, she was going to have to play along.
She should be used to playing a role by now. Before, it had been the role of Adrius’s besotted girlfriend. She’d simply traded that role for this one—Vale’s long-lost daughter, desperate to forge a connection with a family she had no rightful claim to.
Once she’d dressed, she left the apartment, locking it behind her, and took the elevator up to the Vales’ private apartments.
The elevator let out into a grand but tasteful foyer, with a pair of cushioned chairs that looked as though they’d never been sat in, and a few vases with carefully manicured greenery. On the far wall hung a gold-framed portrait of the four Vales—Silvan and Darian in front, Vale and Elena behind them. They all wore varying shades of blue, and all four of them were smiling.
Through the arched doorway, Marlow could see the dining room, with a well-appointed table laid out beneath a sparkling crystal chandelier.
A lone figure sat at the table, his ice-blond hair bright beneath the lights, the familiar blue coil of his pet snake curled around one arm.
Silvan’s gaze shot up as Marlow entered the room.
Marlow felt like she was seeing his face for the first time. He was her brother. Half brother.
He mostly took after his mother, his elegant, sharp features a contrast to his father’s softer, ...
We hope you are enjoying the book so far. To continue reading...
Copyright © 2024 All Rights Reserved
Please log in to recommend or discuss...
