Page 144 of The Rogue's Curse

“A lot of this is Night Weaver magic, and I’ve not been able to get their books. Even if I could, this is the kind of stuff that got Armina Voss blacklisted from their order, which means it’s seriously bad. I’ve learned most of it through experience, and I probably have a lot of it wrong,” she said. “I call the spirits fati aranaeum. They usually look like spiders, so I call them fate spiders. Stupid, I know.”

“I’m not judging. Pagos literally just means ice, like I’m putting an ice pack on something hot,” he said.

She laughed. “But it sounds so fancy.” He just nodded. “The spirits aren’t human at all. They don’t think like we do, even though they can comprehend us and communicate with us. Armina was able to force them into contracts somehow, binding them into her curses. Once the contract was struck, they had to follow the command, but they don’t like being told what to do, especially if it doesn’t fit the flow of fate. The soulmate bond is sort of a loophole. Basically, my spell works by untangling the curse enough that I can get into the center of it, and then I pluck that string so it resonates like a harp string.”

“Giving it far more power,” he said.

“That’s right. My theory is that the soulmate bond exists at some higher level. Fate intends for certain things to happen, such as two people being bound. A curse harming you goes against fate, and so the soulmate bond would trump the contract of Armina’s curse. I think that the spirits are somehow testing to confirm that the soulmate bond is real, and that it’s strong enough to justify breaking their contract,” she said.

“Has anyone failed?”

“Not yet,” she said, shaking her head. “I’m not sure they can, to be honest. Paris is your soulmate, regardless of how he answers a question. It’s all quite interesting, and if it wasn’t such a damned niche, I’d write a whole textbook.”

“I’d read it,” he said sincerely.

She laughed. “That makes an audience of one. Maybe I’ll do it when I have much more leisure time.”

He nodded. “Thank you for helping us.”

“It’s what I do,” she said. She let out a heavy sigh. “I’m hoping that this thing with Shea is finally over. They keep telling me that things are usually a lot less stressful, and I’m looking forward to it. Lazy days and swanky parties are all I want for a few months.”

He laughed. “I think you’ve all earned it,” he said. He caught her wrist as she rose to leave. “Thank you for taking such good care of him. And me.”

“I’ve always cared for him.” With a little smirk, she said, “Not like that. I mean, he’s gorgeous, but I just liked him.” Her smile evaporated into a more serious expression. “He protected me when I needed it. He’s backed all of us up every time we needed him, and I’m not exaggerating when I tell you there’s no one else in this place I’d rather have on my side. You’re a lucky guy, Misha.”

There was a nervous flutter in his chest as he nodded. “I am,” he agreed.

After Shoshanna left, he left Paris in Danielle’s care long enough to shower and put on fresh clothes. After retrieving his phone, he returned to keep watch, even as his body ached with the rising sun. He finally called Ophelia Klein, who followed a quiet, “Misha?” with a long, pregnant pause.

“Ophelia,” he said mildly. “I’m checking in.”

“Mr. Rossignol told us that you were sedated. Is that true?”

“It was,” he said. “And I’m willing to meet with you to help assuage your fears.”

She let out a sharp laugh “You’re willing to meet with us? That’s quite magnanimous of you. Despite your generosity, I’ve already dispatched a team to check on you.”

Dread washed over him. “That’s not necessary,” he said.

“Lady Demirci says it is,” she said. “Take it up with her.”

His stomach sank as he hung up with Ophelia. It wouldn’t be long until he was forced to make a choice. Soon, it wouldn’t be an abstraction.

But for now, he only cared about this tiny cube of a room and the angel of a man lying asleep in front of him.

* * *

It had been nearly forty-eight hours since Misha woke in a strange bed, and forty-seven hours since he had walked into the cool, dark room where Paris still slept. His family attempted to reassure Misha this was normal. Dominic, who had stopped by several times, had slept for a full day after his curse was broken, and he hadn’t been sleep-deprived for one hundred and eighty years.

He was rather embarrassed to admit that he’d attempted a fairy-tale maneuver at least four times, brushing a kiss on Paris’s lips to wake him, but still, he slept.

Misha had brushed off further phone calls from the Crown, though he had, as promised, compiled a detailed report with help from Julian and Olivia, who had pieced together reports from their numerous field agents. Shea’s stronghold had burned to the ground, thanks to the magic of his Night Weaver assistant. Approximately twenty-five of his followers had been confirmed dead during the raid, while another twenty had been killed in sweeps of the city. The breaking of their Covenant had made them wild and freshly Untethered. That made them dangerous, but far easier to spot and to hunt.

As he sat in that chair, hour after hour, he wondered if he would get to see Paris before the Crown took him away. In the best-case scenario, they let him live but forced him to go into cloistered training with the Circle witches again. Perhaps Paris would wait. What was another five or ten years for a couple of immortals?

Telling the Crown to go fuck themselves wasn’t an option unless he wanted to go into hiding for a very long time. And that would mean being alone. As much as he adored Paris, as much as that bond between them had brought him to life, he couldn’t tear the man away from this beautiful family he had built.

He had sent messages to Rafaela to say that he was fine, but she only said that she was on her way, and it was all in the Crown’s hands now.

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