If she had known the trouble that would be caused by Nasira, Haven wouldn’t have made a deal with Stolas to protect her.
“What about the Shade Lord?” Bell asked, and she noticed his eyes crinkled strangely in the corners, his gaze curiously watching her response.
“What about him?” Haven snapped, instantly regretting her tone when Bell flinched.
She softened her voice. “Stolas would see me binding my dark magick as an affront. Besides, I can’t control entering his dreams. We train, sometimes we talk, and then he disappears again for weeks at a time.” She rolled her eyes and tried to hide her concern for the Shade Lord with a joke. “If only our deal disappeared as easily.”
Her worry over Stolas was an unexpected part of their relationship. She knew either the Shade Queen or Ravenna had him imprisoned in the Netherworld and that he was being tortured.
“I don’t know what changed.” She picked at a ragged nail. “Why I’m entering his dreams. Maybe he calls me because he wants to check up on Nasira.”
Although half the time, she entered his dreams in the midst of one of her own nightmares. Either her fear was somehow pushing her into his dreamscape, or he could sense her terror and was pulling her there.
Stolas had never discussed the specifics when they made the deal for him to enter her dreams—but she felt certain entering his wasn’t part of the bargain.
“Then,” Bell said, flicking the corner of his high collar, “it sounds like Nasira might be your only hope of controlling your dark magick.”
“And if I find a way to ensure it’s bound? Can I stay?”
“Yes.” He sagged against the wrought iron banister. “I can’t believe I even thought about sending you away. It’s just . . . I panicked.” Shifting, he turned to look her straight on. “But what I said is true. I’m tired of lying. We need to find a way, a plausible way, to make my father and the kingdom believe my magick has disappeared.”
“And you won’t miss it?” she asked. “The adoration, the applause?” She punched him softly in the arm. “The throng of screaming girls following you like cute little puppies?”
“You’re the only girl who follows me around the castle, but I wouldn’t use the word cute.” He eyed her worn boots and scuffed pants with pointed distaste.
She chuckled. “One, that’s a lie. I look amazing in these pants. Two, that might have once been true, but not now. Every girl in Penryth has fallen for the Cursebreaking prince, even Eleeza.”
He pressed his knuckles into his cheeks, now bright with color. “They love an illusion, a fraud. That prince isn’t me.”
Before she could respond, he jumped to his feet, his back to her. “I’ll see you tomorrow? I want to practice my speech for the High Council gathering in the morning.”
Oh, that. Haven had mixed feelings about the new High Council, formed from the few kingdoms left standing. The fact that the mortal realm was healthy enough to even propose a rejoining of the kingdoms was a good sign. But most of the rulers would resent Bell for his powers.
If any were stupid enough to try and harm him, she and Surai were ready. But the idea made her nervous.
“I don’t know how the king managed to convince the others to hold the first meeting here,” Bell remarked.
They want to see the new lightcaster prince, she almost said. They want to see how they might destroy you.
“Anyway.” He scraped his fingers through his hair and hefted the books held firmly beneath his arms up higher. “I’m off to practice and then get some sleep.”
Yeah, right. If the past two months were any indication, Bell would spend most of the night bathed in runelight as he pored over the tomes held firmly beneath his arm. Then he’d show up at breakfast with dark half-moons under his eyes to rival her own.
She didn’t even have to look at the titles to know what they were about. Lightcasting and the runic arts.
What he searched for inside those great leather-bound scrolls was anyone’s guess. He’d been completely secretive about them, even from her. Which hurt more than she was willing to admit.
“You should try it,” he added dryly.
“What? Reading?”
“Sleeping. You know, that thing where you lie back, close your eyes, and wake up not looking like a rumpled pile of vorgrath crap.”
Stretching to her feet, she eyed the books and murmured, “You’re not looking so hot yourself in that department.”
“Yeah,” he muttered, glancing at her over his shoulder. “Well nearly killing my half-brother was incredibly draining.”
But the humor was missing from his voice.
Haven forced out a laugh. “Right. Goodnight.”
She watched him go. Watched until he crossed beneath the massive chandelier and through the doors and disappeared, his guards scrambling to catch up.
Her guard, the one with the ruined nose and sneer, made a strange face as he stared after the prince. But then he flicked his gaze to Haven, gracing her with an equally foul look.
I have to watch that one, she thought distractedly before hurrying to meet Surai for their nightly lesson.
Of course she was late, as usual.
And of course Surai would punish her for it.
6
The runewall buzzed with magick. Haven felt it seeping into the soles of her feet as she jogged across the top, following the line of moonstone toward the sea. Each footstep conjured a buttery gold footprint of light that receded into the stone.
She wasn’t sure if she felt the energy more now because of her own magick, or if breaking the Curse had restored the power in the stones.
A shadow danced around her feet. Even though she’d grown used to the idea of being followed by an abnormally large telepathic bird, Ravius’s shadow still startled her.
Why can’t you sleep like normal mortals? Ravius complained grumpily inside her head.
Why can’t you be silent like normal birds? she replied, ignoring the harrumph that followed.
Normal? Do I look normal to you? I am an Asgardian prince, descended from an esteemed line of warriors.
Were, Haven answered. You were a prince. Now you’re a raven. An ignominious, overly large, preening raven. One that doesn’t have to follow me.
Oh, but I do. Prince Darkshade’s orders.
Haven still wasn’t used to Stolas’s formal term, but she wasn’t sure which part was surprising. The royal title or the fittingly ominous surname.
A fox screamed somewhere nearby, and she glanced over her shoulder.
The act was more habit than anything. She’d enacted a following rune to alert her the moment someone began trailing her path. Not wanting to grow reliant on magick and lose her skills, she hardly dared use it, except for the nights like tonight.
Magick or not, she’d lost her guards the old-fashioned way. Even if they did track her, her path through the Muirwood Forest ensured her privacy.
Now that the Curse was broken, the trees were ordinary—no weeping cries or unearthly moans.
Still, people avoided the once haunted woods, including her guards. Old habits die hard.
Once she caught the gentle crash of waves against the cliffs, she dropped to the forest floor and headed toward the break in the tree line.