Teddy’s chest seized, fear and grief pouring in, the bond growing taut. The horror hit him, knocking the air from his lungs.
He took off running toward the cave mouth in blind darkness. The need to get to Stella as soon as possible pressed in on him from all sides as he stumbled from the mouth of the cave into dusky light. He tore through the forest in the direction of her cave, his memory stone still burning in his bloody palm.
He’d thought their trip couldn’t get worse than Stella making her first kills. But if Teddy had seen this memory, Stella was probably seeing the same one from a different, more horrifying point of view: her mother’s.
31
STELLA
Stella stared into the mouth of the cave, feeling a mixture of dread and excitement. Her mother had stood before seventy-seven magical caves like this and walked into every one to retrieve a memory. This magic was in her blood, and it called to her, a curling sensation in her stomach urging her forward.
Still, she was apprehensive because this was not the same as the Gauntlet. That magic had been created by the witches of Olney to preserve balance. This magic was part of a contest that Endros was using as revenge against those who had bested him.
Stella glanced at the darkening sky and drew in a bracing breath. Then, she stepped into the cave. She snapped fire to her fingers effortlessly, letting it rise into a large flare as she walked deeper into the velvet darkness.
The cave stretched on longer than expected, until finally she came upon a large, wild patch of greenery. She knelt before it, brought the memory stone into her right hand, and drew one of the blades from her vest in the same hand. She let her flame flicker out on her left palm and drew the knife across her skin in the darkness.
The cut stung, and she hissed as she placed the memory stone in her bloody palm and squeezed a fist around it, letting the blooddribble into the plants. By feel, she carefully tucked the blade back into her vest. The minutes ticked by; the longer she waited, the more afraid she was that she’d done something wrong. Her knees were going numb against the dirt floor.
Finally, something illuminated in front of her. The first flicker of soft light burned into the flare of a fireplace. Stella squinted into the sudden brightness.
She was no longer in the dank cave. Now she was in a fire-lit room that smelled of smoke and something metallic.
Blood.
She glanced around the room as her eyes adjusted. Stella recognized the woodwork around the fireplace because she’d once asked her father if he could replicate it in their home. It was the only time he’d ever denied one of her requests outright, so it stuck with her. It was in a dining room in Castle Savero, where she’d had lunches on their winter holidays.
She turned and came face to face with her father, looking so young and beaten nearly to death. His shirt was torn and blood-soaked. His hair was plastered to his forehead with sweat and his brow was furrowed in pain.
Something was very wrong—Stella wasn’t watching the memory through her mother’s eyes with just the sensory experience and emotions. Her mother’s thoughts raced through her head as well. Usually there was a slight detachment to shared memories, even with all their senses, but this was so visceral that Stella felt the raw fear in her mother’s body as if it was her own.
The embodied memory was disorienting because Stella was so much shorter, seeing the world from a whole new angle in her mother’s eyes.
Strong arms dragged Cecilia away from Rainer, who was bloody and half-conscious, and King Xander, who was being held in his chair by two guards.
She glanced over her shoulder at her captor.
Stella didn’t know his face, though something about it was vaguely familiar—the dark hair and olive skin reminded her of KingXander, but this man had a cruel glint in his eyes that made him look nothing like the king.
Adrenaline coursed through her blood, making her tremble as the memory took over.
Tears streamed down her face as she was forced to bend over a table.
No, no, no, this wasn’t right. This couldn’t be real. Stella would have known if this had happened. But the terror in her body was real—the memory was clearly her mother’s. Stella squeezed her eyes closed, but it was useless. The vision remained.
“Don’t cry, love.” Vincent ground his hardness against her. “I have a feeling you’ll enjoy it.”
“Fuck you.” She jerked her head back, connecting with his cheek, and he stumbled, cursing.
“Hold her still. You’re going to pay for that, Cecilia,” he said as the guards held her more firmly against the table. Their hands were like iron bands on her arms.
Vincent brought the butt of his blade down on her left hand. A bone snapped, and she yelped involuntarily.
“That’s right. Let me hear those sweet little screams. Let your men enjoy your agony.”
She bit her lip as he brought the butt of his blade down again, refusing to give him the satisfaction.
“Yes, please defy me. It will make it so much more satisfying when I break you,” he whispered before shattering another bone. “Scream,” he commanded. She kept her mouth shut. “Scream, or I’ll give you a reason to really scream.”
