Rosemary Johns - Rebel Academy - Curse

“Enough.” Magenta looked like she was about to hurl. “There shall be no more talk of… no more , do you understand? I’ll find a way to free Fox, and we will break the wards. And you, my sweet mage, will survive because no one here gives you permission to die.”

Fox struggled to pull back from her enough to salute.

Marcus glanced between us. “But I shall grant you permission to ride my dear brothers on Saturday in the wretched Dragon Polo Tournament. If it helps you to win and so break the wards faster, then I happen to believe that they’d gladly help save the High Ruler.”

“High Ruler?” I mouthed at Fox.

He shrugged.

“Whisper the words Yellow Orchid to my brothers before the tournament.” Marcus’ eyes narrowed. “They’ll know then that you’re sent by me to ride them not as slaves, driven by whips and spurs, rather as free dragons. You’ll see then how freedom gives wings speed.”

“We’ll win,” Magenta whispered the words into Fox’s hair like a spell, “and we’ll free you.”

She didn’t add before you die , but we all heard it.

I met Bask’s troubled gaze. He shook but what worried me most was the way that he held himself apart from the rest of us, rather than seeking our touch, almost like he was punishing himself for failing Fox.

He’d done the same after Hector had been torn apart on the mission.

Yet how could I reassure him, when I was as wrecked as him?

I shuddered. If I’d known that this was where the chaos moment would lead me, would I still have seized it?

As soon as the other Immortals and I returned to the Rebel Academy without a collared shifter as our prize, we’d have failed the mission, and as punishment, the man who I loved would be walled up alive.

Sleipnir clutched me as tightly as Bask held onto Fox.

Bask banded his arms around our mage like he was his crocodile plushie and if he didn't let go, then my witch descendants who ran Rebel Academy couldn't take Fox from us...and wall him up alive.

I shook, stroking along Sleipnir's forearms that bristled with werewolf tattoos, as in turn, tremors ran through Sleipnir.

Mist pawed furiously at Sleipnir's pocket, snorting furiously, like he could break through. I could sense the wildness within Sleipnir, thrumming to burst out in defence of our lover, as much as my own powers seethed within me to break free.

I'd cautioned control to Willoughby, but standing in this portrait gallery waiting for Fox's punishment, I was a single breath away from tearing the academy up by its roots.

It didn't matter that Fox had promised over and over on our agonizing return through the Gateway and snowy trudge back to the castle that this was nothing but a trick .

It was cold comfort that Fox had said he'd be secretly in charge because of our plan to free him from the dark. My terror had been equally undiminished that he'd placed his hand on his chest and sworn that he could hold his breath for a really, really long time.

On Hecate's tit, this was where Robin had been murdered.

The weak morning sun flooded through the arched window in the West Wing, just as it had back in 1891, heating my cheek and lighting Fox's curls like a halo. He forced himself to offer me a small smile.

Sweet Hecate, this couldn't be happening again.

Our Tutor, Professor Bacchus, had ordered us to wait here for Principal Damelza like obedient dolls.

How broken did she imagine us to be?

Yet there was no escape from the academy's wards for the students. My plan to free them meant breaking the Membership, which divided the Princes from the Immortals, and we'd already managed that with the elven Prince Willoughby.

Yet I no longer had the luxury of time with Lysander and his whipping boy, Midnight. Every moment that they resisted, risked Fox's life, but I'd still never force them like once mother had attempted to force me .

My bad choices were like choosing between kissing a frog or a toad, even if I could admit (although only to myself), that I desired to kiss all the Princes, including Lysander.

Why did my stomach flutter at the thought of that?

Yet had I cursed myself, rather than the academy?

I'd been taught that dark magic with wicked intent always had a price. Had burning alive not been enough, but rather I’d be forced to repeat the greatest loss of my life...the death of my first shimage love?

When tears burned the corners of my eyes, I ruthless wiped them away. Fox needed me to be strong.

I would be whatever he needed.

When I clenched my jaw, tilting up my head, Fox met my eye.

This time, his smile was wide, even if he was pale. "A really, really , long time," he mouthed.

Bask's laugh sounded more like a disguised sob.

I couldn't help the way that my gaze slid to the magic mirror, in which once I'd revealed my ghostly self and real name to my Immortals. Long ago, my portrait had hung there. My mother, Henrietta and founder of the Rebel Academy, had walled Robin up alive beneath it because he'd dared to be the first lover to kiss me on the night that I would have been wed to Prince Titus, Lysander's uncle and Guardian.

Cauldrons and broomsticks, on the night that Robin and I had kissed each other as equals, and my magic had bound our souls eternally together.

I was startled out of the aching pain of my thoughts by the sudden stomp of footsteps down the corridor.

Why in the witching heavens was Lysander marching to join us? And why did it make my heart beat faster at the thought of him standing at our side?

Lysander's black blazer with the Pcrest embroidered in silk on the pocket and the pink silk shirt that hung open at the neck, revealing a glimpse of his translucent collar bone, was smart, and he held himself ramrod straight. But his skin was clammy, and his emerald hair tumbled to his waist in a tangled mess like he hadn't checked himself in a mirror.

It was ideal Prince baiting material, but he'd looked like this before when the Princes' Tutor, Juni, had punished him.

Was he limping?

Why was he in trouble? He hadn't been the one to fail the mission.

Lysander hesitated, hovering next to Fox like he wanted to lay his hand on his shoulder reassuringly (like I'd seen Willoughby do to him), but didn’t quite know how.

Fae Courts clearly had a shocking lack of affection and atrocious parental skills. But then, Lysander's parents had died, hadn't they? I shuddered at the thought of being raised by Titus.

"If you've come to gloat," Sleipnir growled, as his hair spiked an even deeper shade of cinnamon red, "then turn your pretty fae ass around, before I bite it."

He thought Lysander's behind was pretty? He yearned to bite it…?

Ah, possibly not bite in a good way.

Lysander blanched, but his gaze became steely. "One is not here for amusement or cruelty. Do you truly think so little of me still?" His golden wings beat. "My tutor ordered us to witness the punishment as a way to..." He grimaced. "...teach us how grateful we should be that our own whipping boy's wings had only been broken. One requested that one alone represented the Princes at this spectacle because as much as they begged for the chance to say goodbye, I knew that... seeing this ...would destroy both Willoughby and Midnight. They’re overly attached to your whipping boy.” I huffed. I had the suspicion that Lysander might be as well. “Of course, we had enough diplomacy to heap thanks in suitable ways upon our Tutor for her mercy."