Crown of Briars Page 18

  The Lady turned to Zoe, her aura suddenly still. It was the calm before the storm. “Where is this Scorpio witch?” she asked quietly.

  Zoe swallowed. “He’s with Simon,” she said. “Somewhere in Arcadia.”

  The rose vines that climbed the tree nearby lunged at Zoe, curled around her body. Thorns cut into her skin, hauling her closer to the Lady so that she was forced to meet the faerie lord’s eyes.

  “Where?” the Lady demanded.

  The storm in her aura should have broken the last vestiges of Zoe’s will. But the roses pressed against her skin still glowed with that painful, perfect piece of humanity, and Zoe clung to them, welcoming even their thorns.

  “Help me save Dorian,” she breathed, staring into the heart of the Briars themselves. “Give me the power to help him… and I swear, I will help you find Simon and bring down Malcolm.”

  The Lady narrowed her eyes. The thorns tightened, and Zoe cried out, unable to stifle the sound. The faerie lord leaned in closer — close enough that Zoe caught the scent of flowers upon her breath.

  “What. Is. Your. Name.” The Lady hissed out the words, slowly and deliberately. They echoed among the trees, whipping through their leaves like wind.

  Zoe’s voice caught in her throat. My name.

  There was only one reason the Lady might want her name: she intended to make Zoe a warlock.

  She swallowed, shivering against the thorns that held her. Memories of Simon burned against her skin. It doesn’t matter, she thought. None of it will matter if he dies, and I could have saved him.

  “My name… my name is Zoe Carter,” she rasped. She tried to put her magic behind the words — to give them the weight of her soul, in the way that Simon had done — but her magic slid away from the name without purchase, and she cringed at the inadvertent lie.

  “Why try to deceive me?” the Lady demanded. “I am offering you the power that you desire, you miserable creature!”

  “That’s the only name I have!” Zoe gasped. “I don’t know what I was born with — my parents might not have even given me a name!”

  The Lady scoffed. “Parents do not make a name,” she said. “Your true name is who you are, child. My daughter perished known to me as Rose Leclair. I did not give her that name — I certainly would not have chosen it for her!”

  Zoe closed her eyes. Her mind reeled. Who I am? Who the hell am I? I don’t even know who I am, for god’s sake!

  A slow, creeping suspicion grew within her, though. She opened her eyes, and spun her magic into her words once more. “My name,” she tried. “My true name is… Zoe Moreau.”

  The name hung in the air this time, clear and pure. This time, the magic caught.

  The Lady’s alien green eyes glittered in catlike satisfaction. “Zoe Moreau,” she said. “I offer you the power of the Briars. Will you accept a pact with me, and become my warlock?”

  Zoe let out a long breath.

  Why the hell not. I’ve gone this far.

  “Yes,” she said. “I accept your pact.”

  Zoe watched, riveted, as a single branch of the Lady’s crown curled away from itself, weaving its way toward her like a serpent. The Lady breathed out — and that tiny piece of the Briars went with her breath, clawing its way between Zoe’s lips and down into her throat.

  It buried itself even deeper within her — all the way to the center of her soul.

  She felt the Briars grow within her like a baleful seed. Warm, alive, implacable, glorious… an impossible vibrance overflowed inside her. It was not friendly: it had no concept of humanity, except as something to consume, to break down and overcome. But by the Lady’s grace, it did not devour her; instead, it spread its barbed beauty inside of Zoe, flooding her with the strength of trees, the stubbornness of weeds, and the bewitching softness of flowers that hid wicked thorns behind them.

  The rose vines that had closed around her shifted; their thorns pulled free of her skin, leaving bloody tracts behind them. Skin and nerves began to knit, however, as the Briars beneath her feet surged to offer her their power. Her fractured mind filled in with a sudden, perfect understanding of the place that surrounded her.

  The roses that had held her together still glowed faintly with emotion. Zoe reached out to touch them, staring. A hint of that love echoed within her, twisted into the alien thorns that held fast to her soul… and she breathed a faint sense of relief.

  This isn’t all you are, she thought, turning back toward the Lady. You’re still terrifying… but Rose made you something different, didn’t she? She taught you how to love, at least.

  The Lady of Briars drew herself up. Her aura thrashed impatiently, but this time the sight of it didn’t send Zoe to her knees. She was a part of it, somehow — attuned to it in such a way that her mind no longer struggled with its existence.

  “Deliver your father from death, child,” the Lady told her. “I may have need of his counsel.”

  Burning away the shadow within Dorian’s blood should have been the most difficult thing Zoe had ever tried to do.

  Malcolm’s magic was stronger and more virulent than hers had ever been. The spiritual infection he’d laid upon Dorian was advanced beyond the point that it could be easily contained; it touched on every vein, hid in every corner of the man’s body. If Zoe had been at her very best, she would have found it challenging and exhausting to deal with.

  But at the very center of the Briars, with the realm pulsing eagerly beneath her feet, Zoe found the magic almost trivially simple.

  The power that flooded her veins wasn’t some separate, compartmentalized thing — it sang in her blood now, and that meant she could use it for her other magics. It was different, certainly; she could already tell that her entire magical signature had changed, and in some ways she felt clumsy trying to use her own, now-foreign blood to do Scorpio magic. But what Zoe lacked in familiarity, the Briars made up for with sheer force: each time she used her power, the realm around her instantly replenished it. She felt like one of the realm’s great trees, pulling her sustenance from the world around her.

  It was utterly intoxicating.

  As Zoe burned away the last vestiges of Malcolm’s shadow from Dorian’s blood, she felt a giddy laugh bubble up from inside her. Never in her life had she imagined that she might one day hold this much power in her hands. Surrounded by an endless well of magic, she felt… invincible.

  No wonder Simon doesn’t like to stay here, Zoe realized belatedly. It would be so easy to lose all perspective, living where everything is so effortless and nothing ever tries to challenge you.

  And if simply standing within the Briars as a warlock of the realm gave Zoe such a feeling… what must it feel like to be the realm’s faerie lord?

  Zoe cast a glance toward the Lady of Briars. The faerie paced and prowled among her garden; the flowers shivered at her passage as she went, as though to display their obeisance.

  She’s a small god here, Zoe thought. No wonder the Lower World confused and frustrated the Lady so much: it didn’t bow to her will even a little bit. Things happened there all on their own, without her asking them to do so. She couldn’t hang a new sun in the sky when she wanted light — let alone protect her children, adopted or otherwise, from the countless threats that existed there. The fact that the Lady had bothered to visit Simon’s cold, mercilessly real apartment in Montreal just to check on him gave Zoe new reason to take pause.

  I get it, Simon. I understand why you did it, why you stay with her. There was something deeply hopeful about watching the Lady transcend her limitations. Without context, it might be easy to mistake her changes for tiny, ultimately meaningless adjustments. But from the perspective of centuries — maybe even millennia — of unchanging sameness, the Lady had already evolved with frightening rapidity.

  A soft cough from Dorian caught Zoe’s attention again, and she glanced at him sharply. His grey eyes, now open, were no longer dazed or distant. His brow furrowed, though, as he focused on her face.

>   “…what have you done, Zoe?” he asked quietly.

  Zoe frowned. “What haven’t I done?” she said. “It’s been a pretty eventful hour or so.”

  Dorian reached up to pinch a lock of her hair between his fingers. Zoe craned her head to catch a glimpse of it; belatedly, she realized that her once-black hair was now visibly streaked with white-blond sections. Her eyes would be different, too — closer to Simon’s uncanny bright green.

  “Right. That.” Zoe shrugged. “It’s a thing now. It’s done. No use worrying about it too much.”

  Dorian’s eyes narrowed. “A single life is not worth selling your soul,” he said flatly.

  “I’ve got a lot to do,” Zoe said. “So I’m not going to argue it with you right now. It’s pointless, like I said.” She let out a breath — then leaned down to hug him.

  Everything else aside… Dorian hugged her back tightly.

  Zoe closed her eyes and allowed herself to bask in it, just for a moment. Dorian is safe, she thought. I did one thing right.

  “Secret-Keeper,” the Lady said from behind her, instantly spoiling the moment. “I wish to know where my son is. You glimpsed the Path he traveled, did you not?”

  Dorian sighed, and pulled away from Zoe reluctantly. “I did,” he said. “I suspect I know where it led. Thankfully, that knowledge is a secret that Simon gave me himself, after one of his travels in Arcadia. Since he represents you, Lady, his secrets already belong to you. You need not pay the price for them a second time.”

  The Lady of Briars tilted her head at him. “That is an admirable bit of sophistry,” she said approvingly. “You have mastered your rules, Secret-Keeper.”

  Dorian shrugged. “I’ve lived with them for a while,” he said. “I should hope I’ve got the hang of them by now.”

  That silent aura of his shuddered subtly, giving up one of its many, endless secrets. Dorian breathed in deeply. “…Delirium,” he said. There was an unnatural hush to his voice as he spoke the word, as though the air around him had contrived to mute it. That blank aura stirred again slightly. “Realm of poison and madness. Lord Wormwood’s domain.” He closed his eyes, as though reciting from a page. “Delirium is an acid to the mind. It dissolves the bonds between ideas, confusing thoughts and senses. It is one of the most dangerous Arcadian realms for a mortal to traverse. Simon never entered it himself; he speculated that doing so would require the aid of darker magic than he himself possessed.”

  Zoe clenched her fingers into her palms. “Scorpio magic,” she said. “Poison to the body. Poison to the mind. It all becomes the same thing in Arcadia.” She shook her head. “Malcolm knows that magic better than anyone. He’d survive there better than most.”

  The Lady narrowed her eyes. “The witch could perhaps walk in Delirium without its Lord’s attention… but to travel there as Lord Wormwood does, he would require the favor of its ruler.”

  Zoe frowned, thinking. “Malcolm is going mad,” she said. “He wanted me to help him. He said he had other options, though… more costly options. Maybe that’s what he was referring to.” She looked at the Lady. “Lord Wormwood can inflict madness, I’m sure. Could he cure it, too?”

  The Lady considered this gravely. “He could,” she acknowledged. “But he would not. It would be akin to asking me to wither a great tree for your pleasure.” She smiled narrowly. “But of course, he might seem to offer as much. Perchance, Lord Wormwood might tell a powerful and ailing witch that he could gift the power to withstand the madness.”

  Zoe swallowed. “By making him his warlock,” she said. “And changing him utterly. Making him a part of an even more insane realm.”

  A shiver of delight flickered through the Lady’s aura, and Zoe was reminded just how far she still had to go before she found true humanity. “A fate worse than death,” the Lady of Briars sighed blissfully. “And so very clever. A fitting end for the creature that stole my daughter from me.”

  Zoe could feel that alien appreciation through the bond she shared with the Lady. Her heart quavered at its touch. “Simon is with him,” Zoe reminded her quickly. “Lord Wormwood has him too.”

  It was a low blow, maybe. But it had the necessary effect. The Lady’s fancies vanished into thin air, wrangled low by black strands of grief and fear. “…would Wormwood harm him?” the Lady whispered to herself. “No. No. Surely, he must ransom my warlock back to me.”

  A sliver of hope unfurled in Zoe’s chest. “You mean… Wormwood might just offer Simon back at some ridiculous price?”

  The Lady’s aura thrashed, unsettled. The Briars shivered around her. “I will send a messenger. A dryad would endure where witches fear to tread.” She turned those too-green eyes upon Dorian. “Be my guest in the Briars, Secret-Keeper, until such time as our enemy is conquered.”

  Dorian leaned back into the tree next to him, still haggard and worn. “I accept you as my host,” he responded. “With great humility and with the utmost admiration for your gracious manners.”

  The Lady’s aura preened with satisfaction. Zoe shot Dorian a hidden look beneath her lashes. It was a slick dodge. Not once had he said the words thank you, which might have implied that the Lady was doing him a favor.

  The leaves shuddered, as the Lady turned her attention away from them. In a moment, she was simply gone — though some part of Zoe still felt her elsewhere in the Briars.

  Slowly, Zoe let out her breath.

  “…what a mess,” Dorian murmured. He shook his head, and Zoe saw a tiny smile cross his lips. “…you realize we are going to miss tonight’s episode?”

  Zoe regarded him, long and silent. “I’m pretty sure I know what’s coming,” she said. “You want me to spoil it for you?”

  Dorian waved her off. “No. No. Save the mystery, please.”

  Zoe settled in beside him, leaning into his side. Dorian tucked his arm around her shoulders. She listened as his breathing softened, and his heart slowed. Worry nagged at her for a time… but in the end, he was merely falling asleep.

  She slid her arms around him, and held him tightly.

  Chapter 13

  The scent of lilies mixed with the smell of distant rain.

  Zoe leaned into the tree at her back, looking up at the sky. Someone had taken down the sun that once hung there, and scattered stars across the midnight canopy instead.

  At first, she thought she must be dreaming. This felt too peaceful for the Briars — the vivid colors of life were muted, and she didn’t feel the same faintly predatory edge.

  She was sliding her fingers through soft, white-blond hair. Simon’s head was in her lap. I’m definitely dreaming, she thought. But it was such a sweet, wonderful dream that she decided she didn’t want to wake up just yet.

  Simon’s eyes were closed, but he wasn’t nearly so peaceful. He was breathing strangely, Zoe realized. His body shivered; she pressed a hand to his forehead, and found it hot to the touch.

  “Are you real?” he whispered. There was such a raw, real longing in his voice that Zoe abruptly reassessed the situation. Not a dream. What is this?

  “I’m here,” she promised. “I’m in the Briars, Simon. How…”

  “I don’t know,” Simon said. “I thought I felt you… connected to me, somehow. I reached out to the Briars, and you were there.”

  He felt the moment that I became a warlock, Zoe thought. Does he understand what it means? She brushed his hair back from his face. His skin was pale; his eyelids fluttered, but didn’t open. “You’re in Delirium, aren’t you?” she asked softly.

  Simon let out a shivering breath. “I… believe so, yes,” he said. “It’s hard to think.”

  “The Lady is sending someone for you,” Zoe told him. “She thinks she can ransom you back.”

  “No,” Simon murmured. “They have… already arrived. Lord Wormwood named his price. It was too high.” His fevered green eyes opened to slits, but failed to focus; Zoe wasn’t entirely sure that he could see her. “The price is too high, Zoe. You can’t let her p
ay it.”

  Dread snaked through her chest. “No price is too high,” she said, though she knew already that it was a lie. Faerie lords often demanded the cruel, the impossible, the unfathomable. What had Lord Wormwood asked for, in return for the Lady’s warlock? An emperor’s last breath? Someone’s first-born child? An entire city? She shook her head, chilled. “Anyway, I… I don’t think I could stop her if I wanted to. I made a pact with her, Simon. I’ve got to obey her.”

  Pain flickered across Simon’s face. “I… should have expected that,” he said softly. “Why didn’t I expect that?” Zoe reached down to take his hand. For just a moment, his fingers curled into hers. Some part of her was getting through to him, at least. “Zoe,” he said quietly. “I need… I need to ask you something. I don’t want to ask it. But you’re the only person I trust.”

  Zoe swallowed. “You’re not going to die, Simon,” she whispered. She’d meant to say it more firmly, but doubt and worry laced her voice instead. Her eyes blurred with tears. Don’t die. Please.

  “The world isn’t fair,” Simon sighed. “I’m not going to assume that.” For just an instant, she felt that soft golden glow of his, pressing against her soul. She held onto it desperately, sinking into even that awful, feverish delirium, just to feel that much closer to him. Her hand tightened on his.

  Simon’s eyes focused on her. “You made a pact with her,” he said. “You know what she is, what she’s becoming. But Zoe… it’s not your job to fulfill her whims. If you do that… she could become something worse than either faerie or human.” He breathed in a ragged breath. “You have to teach her to be better. It’s not what she wants, but it’s what she needs. It’s difficult… but you can make her listen.”

  “I’m not a good person,” Zoe whimpered. “I’m not like you, Simon. You make people want to be better.” Tears dripped down onto his face. “I need you here. I can do this, but I can’t do it without you.”