"Apart from my brother's princely darling, we heard that you'd gone on the run with one of the Rebels and then lost yourself somewhere in the academy." Flair swooped to the headboard, settling down. His eyes glinted. "You know that a crow flies faster than these witch bitches. But they’ll find you."
Unfortunately, I knew that he was right.
Bask slid one of the pillows that he was jealously guarding to the side and pulled out a book. It was bound with crystal. I'd never seen anything like it. It must be elven and ancient.
The book glistened, as Bask moved it side to side, like it'd been coated in ice but also with magic. My own quested around it, afraid to touch.
We should put it back.
The thought punched through me.
Private, private, private....
Whatever this book was, it belonged to Willoughby and the world of the Elven Court before he'd been sent to Rebel Academy. I knew how fiercely I clung to my own memories, before everything had been taken from me, just as Bask clung to Nile. I'd already claimed Willoughby’s bed without his knowledge. This book, however, was a step too far.
"Put that down," I whispered.
Bask stared at the book like he couldn't look away. His hand trembled, and his eyes were wide and fearful. "I can't. I desire it. I think it's his diary."
"I don't give a feathering fuck if it’s the Never-ending Suck Job Special. Get the incubus to put down the diary. Didn't messing with Hecate's Tree teach you not to play with other people's magic?" Flair thwapped his wing across the back of Bask's head, but it only swooshed straight through him.
My breath came in ragged gasps. "How'd you even know it was there?"
Bask shrugged. "My head banged against it earlier, but I was distracted."
"And you didn't think to say something startlingly original like ow?"
"Would that turn you on because I’m meant to keep quiet. I'm used to pain mixed in with my pleasure. It's brilliant that you don't want that like the Duchess, but I can take it. Suffering is easy if you've been trained how."
My guts roiled. I never wanted Bask to simply take anything, just because he thought that I desired it.
I reached forward, dropping Echo sneakily onto the pile of pillows, and gripped Bask's chin. "I don't ever need you to suffer for me, and I'm not the Duchess or like the other witches of the House of Crows. That's why we're going to put the diary back where we found it. Don't you remember how much it destroyed Willoughby earlier to have the letter from his brother read out in class? We can't make it worse by reading his private thoughts as well."
Bask wet his lips. "But what if he talks about us?"
"I rather imagine that he has plenty of impolite things to say on the subject of Immortals."
Bask shook his head. "What if it teaches us his darkest desires and hidden needs? We could use it to convince him to our side. It could be what helps us to break the wards and escape."
My expression hardened. Power thrummed through Bask. This is what made him a dangerous incubus: the thirst to rule through desire. "Almost like you'd gone skin to skin with him," I said. "How much are you hungering for that right now?”
Bask jerked back from me. Hurt flashed through his eyes, before he was able to mask it. "Lay off, you've no idea." He swallowed. "I can control myself. I will."
Reluctantly, he placed down the crystal diary.
I let out a shuddering breath, which I hadn't even known that I'd been holding.
All of a sudden, Echo launched himself forward, however, tearing at the book with his beak. "I want my pretty elf. Bones and blood, he should be an Immortal. But you have to see him first. Please, please, please...love him."
Bask and I cried out, as the book flew open onto crisp white pages that were filled with elegant sky-blue writing.
Then in a glittering explosion, the letters curled out of the diary, spilling Willoughby's hidden secrets.
Chapter Four
MAGENTA
The words curled out of Willoughby's diary, painting the glistening ceiling above the bed in sky-blue. Despite myself, I stared up at them. Curiosity killed the witch as much as her black cat.
I knew that I shouldn't read these private thoughts but witching heavens, I couldn't look away, and neither could Bask. He clasped my hand, as entranced as me.
The writing was beautiful and flowed like cool streams to read:
By my ears, I'm falling deeper and deeper under my brother's spell. The suit crushes my magic and soul. Yet today, I met a witch whose magenta magic entangled with mine, calling to nature and dragging me up from the silk's cursed sleep.
She's life.
I never dreamed that I could feel again. Not after what I've done, and my deserved shame.
But now, she's here, and I'm awake. The flood of feelings and sensations in this vile academy drown me. With her, I taste only joy, but that joy freezes within me to terror as soon as she’s gone.
How can I live here, now that I must sense the sadness even within the walls? There have been murders in this castle.
But still, all I can think about is a murdered witch.
I startled.
Ah, so I’d discovered not impolite truths about me, rather obsession.
Had the moment that Willoughby had looked at me across Bacchus' classroom truly meant so much to him? How was it possible? My heart beat rapidly in my chest, and all of a sudden, my mouth was dry.
I didn't want to hear any more, and yet I was desperate to. The elf was so emotionless that a twitch of his lips was the same as Fox's laugh. Yet anguish ran like a raging river beneath his cool exterior. I feared that I'd be swept away.
Willoughby’s difficulties with new sensations was like my own after my resurrection; my heart ached for him. Witching heavens, I’d never imagined that I’d have so much in common with a Prince.
Then both Bask and I jumped, when the words were spoken like they were breathed from the diary in Willoughby's ethereal but anguished voice:
When I'm around her, the tendrils of her magic and spirit call to the Other World. I can hear the trees, streams, and hills again. I know the taste of my favorite pears, and the smoke on the fall air, and once more, I can feel Thunder's mane under my hands, as I gallop across the planes.
To think of Thunder is to feel the silk around my neck that strangled his. Forgive me, my sweet steed. No innocents should've suffered for my crime.
It haunts me.
Yet why must I struggle against my exile? I deserve this punishment. If you fall, does it not hurt when you hit the ground?
Brother, will you ever forgive me? Please...
But with her...this witch who is yet a ghost...my mind clears, and for a little while, I'm me. At least, I’m the elf who I once was, when the Other World still welcomed me into its arms, rather than turned away from me.
I don't deserve leniency but I yearn for it. I yearn for her. She’s all that I can think about.
Will she notice me, when she already has such love surrounding her?
I envy her.
She's part of nature, and I crave it. I long to talk about...every word and look and... But I don't have that right. Lysander made that clear to me tonight. He bid me remain on my bed like I was a child without supper, ranting that Immortals don't talk to Princes. He insisted that I've disgraced our Wing, just as I've disgraced the Light Elves.