Vengeance Throne (The Callistra Chronicles #2)

TWENTY-SIX

Chapter Twenty-Six

Pasiphae threw her arm over her head, bracing for impact. The light fixture was large, sharp, and studded with jewels along every edge.

This was going to hurt. This might even kill her.

But it didn't touch her.

Slowly, she opened one eye, then the other. At first, she had no idea why the light fixture was hovering above her, unmoving. It wasn't as if there was string holding it up or as if it had been shoved aside. It simply floated, not two inches away from her head.

The only thing that could perform such a feat was magic.

And the magic was certainly not coming from Pasiphae.

"By Callistra, are you hurt?"


Pasiphae took an immense step away from her position directly under the light fixture, her eyes locating the new voice. Her pounding heart was a physical force beneath her skin, and it wasn't helping in her plight to remain calm.

It was Rhiannon who had appeared through the balcony doors, still holding a rake from her garden-tending duties outside. When she saw that Pasiphae had gotten out of the way, the handmaiden waved an arm, and the light fixture gently set itself down onto the floor.

"I'm fine," Pasiphae whispered, still breathless from the scare. She stepped closer to the light fixture and peered at the main support wire.

It looked like it had been sliced cleanly, right through the centre. It wasn't magic that had yanked this light fixture from the ceiling. If it was, perhaps Pasiphae could have gotten Seth to take a look at it and try sense who had done it. No, it hadn't been magic—it had been a knife.

But whose knife?

"You can go," Pasiphae told Rhiannon abruptly. The last thing she needed was the handmaiden seeing the clean cut. The last thing she needed was news spreading through the Court that someone was trying to kill her, and have copycats become inspired. It was better to let Rhiannon think that this had been an accident, or that only someone with powerful magic could have set this scene in an effort to kill Pasiphae. Anything except the truth: that this murder attempt had been performed with the most basic, human weapon.

"But—"

Pasiphae snapped her head up. "I said go."

Rhiannon backed away, her eyes pulled wide. There was still something blank in her stare, but she appeared concerned enough. She was almost fully through the balcony doors, shooed out of Pasiphae's way, when the working faery stopped again, her braid swinging along her back.

"Just wondering," Rhiannon asked quietly over her shoulder, "why didn't you just use magic to stop it from falling on you?"

Pasiphae stiffened. Panic rose fast in the pits of her stomach, but she stamped down on the hot flush just as quickly, forcing herself to throw her shoulders back and look calm.

"Don't you think I get drained being here all the time?" she snapped, perhaps unfairly. "You fae are sapping my every drop."

Rhiannon ducked her head immediately, averting her eyes.

"Sorry," she whispered. She left the rooms, but before she did, she looked back one last time, almost as if she couldn't help herself.

With that, Pasiphae was certain Rhiannon knew she was lying. Rhiannon had figured out Pasiphae's terrible secret.

The handmaiden disappeared before Pasiphae could say anything more.

"Deaths," Pasiphae muttered when she was sure that Rhiannon was long gone. "Deaths, deaths, deaths." She kicked the light fixture, hard. Her foot smeared silver all along the glass as the jewels clinked, creating a series of noises that almost sounded pretty as the fixture skidded across the floor and came to a stop in the corner of the room.