Page 43 of A Crown So Cursed
“It won’t,” she promised. “I love her as much as you do.”
His eyes softened now, a flicker of understanding passing over his features. “I know,” he said a bit more gently, and Gwendolyn stepped closer to him, her hand finding his. “It won’t be for long,” she promised, her storm-gray eyes meeting his ice-blue gaze.
Málik peered once more at the Púca, and the creature swished its long tail with annoyance. “Go on,” it said, and Málik relented, reining in his doubt, if not his disdain, realizing that if there was anything to be gleaned from Esme, it would only be done when he returned.
He took a moment to repair his tunic and then his hair.
“Please take your time,” Esme demanded, her tone buoyant. “We girls have so much to speak of.”
Gwendolyn pursed her lips, even as Málik snarled in response, but he gave no further protest. He shot one last warning glare at Esme, then stormed from the room, pulling the door hard behind him.
A crack of silence followed in his wake.
“Well…” said Esme, smiling. “That was simple enough.”
Gwendolyn laughed softly as the Púca then sauntered over to settle its rear upon Esme’s lap. “I have missed you both,” she said.
The Púca said nothing, but purred, and Esme said, “I missed you, too. But not so much as our brooding prince. I heard tell he prowled these halls, howling like a dog without a bone.”
She sighed. “I did not believe you would return, so I thought I would investigate the mystery of his father’s whereabouts—cheer him, perhaps. It is good you have come home, because there is no joyful news to impart of his father. Indeed, if there is ever to be a homecoming for him, it will only be once Lord Elric is dead, and the Shadow Court is dismantled root and branch. And no matter, he is content enough where he is, and a God’s life—even a demigod's—is long. There will be time.”
“His father is a demigod?”
“Wyrms arealldemigods,” Esme allowed. “Málik is too. And you, sister… well, it is not my place to tell you more. You must discover the rest for yourself.”
Gwendolyn frowned. Too many secrets. Too many vows of silence. Too much left unsaid, and yet, she rested easy knowing that she had the tome now, and she wouldn’t need anyone to reveal anything more. “So you said you had a plan? Do you mean to share it with me?”
Esme winked. “Of course.” She pushed the Púca away and leapt up from the bed to embrace Gwendolyn, and Gwendolyn arched a brow.
“I am curious though… why would you not tell Málik? Do you not trust him?”
“Of course, I trust him!”
“Then why?”
Esme’s lips curved into a sly smile. “Because if I dared, he wouldneverhave allowed you to leave with me, and there is something we really must do.”
“Leave? How? They are preparing to arrest me!”
Esme’s smile turned wicked. “Yes, well… Málik isnotthe only one with friends,” Esme explained. “And sometimes, truly, it is not friends in high places we need. Dress yourself warmly,” she directed. “It’ll not be cozy where we go.”
ChapterFifteen
Not cozy—thiswas an understatement.
Thiswas the Underland Gwendolyn remembered—dark and dank, with winding paths going every which way, and large, black spiders the length of her arm dangling from stalactites. The scent was less rot and more mineral, with a backdraft of wet iron and rank mushroom, so unlike the sweet gardens within the city proper.
They had exited Tech Duinn through another of those living tapestries, this one depicting a place that was hardly appealing—a red, glowing lake of fire set against a backdrop of charred stone enshrouded by clouds of ash. The moment Gwendolyn laid eyes upon it, she had been certain that once through, she would choke on the smell of sulfur and scorched earth, but there was only this long, endless corridor, walls slick with beads of moisture, and veins of iron and quartz reflecting faintly, like the eyes of waiting predators.
Esme seemed to know the way, and Gwendolyn followed in silence, freezing in her boots when they unexpectedly encountered a Fae guard.
Undaunted, Esme moved to greet him, giving him something. He nodded, then stepped aside to allow passage, and Esme returned.
“Do you trust him?” Gwendolyn asked, worried. For this to work, they could not allow themselves to be caught.
“I do,” said Esme. “He loathes Lord Elric.”
“Why?”
