Rosemary Johns - Rebel Academy - Curse

Willoughby and Lysander howled, clutching their hands and falling to their knees. Midnight whimpered, pressing his forehead to the floor like that would control the pain.

Their brands.

Just like the Immortals who were branded by the Hecate statue in the courtyard with an I, and the whipping boys with an R, the Princes had a Pbranded to them when they were sorted into their Wing of the Academy. In a way, it was how messages were sent to the students.

It appeared that Damelza wished to send a message now to me.

Startled, I stared between Damelza and the Princes.

“ Sorry, but not sorry .” Damelza's shawl of feathers ruffled up, as she pressed me against the desk. "I prefer to rely on more liberal methods of control like my school mottoes and a simple system of punishment and reward. But do you know who you remind me of?"

I blinked. "It's your mother, isn't it? Is that why we have such a complicated relationship? Was she awfully critical because truly I can relate?"

" A mage, ” Damelza hissed. “And they need a more direct... stricter ...approach. You don't respect me but perhaps, you should realize that I'm in control. The brands do more than link to the wards, ensuring that you students don't leave the grounds." When she leaned closer, her breath gusted across my cheek. "I could kill every single student with a snap of my fingers. So, behave."

My pulse thrashed in my ears.

Sweet Hecate, no...

Every moment that the Membership existed, linking the wards and brands, the Rebels — all of them — were at risk of death. I shuddered because it was like gunpowder had been tied to them, and Damelza could light the fuse with a thought.

She'd been playing with us.

Every trial and game to save our lives had been part of her academy's traditions, but in truth, she could've killed the Rebels.

While the Membership remained, she could still kill them.

I glanced over my shoulder at the Princes, as they writhed in agony on the floor. Lysander clutched Midnight's hand, comforting him.

Why did that make me feel even worse?

"Stop it," I whispered.

"When will you start acting like a witch? " Damelza demanded.

"When will you stop hurting the Rebels?"

Damelza snatched me by the hair, pushing me into the red leather chair behind the desk. I'd desired to be seated in Henrietta's throne of power (or at least, that's how I'd imagined it and the leather was certainly as soft as a baby's bottom like I'd always hoped that it would be), but not like this.

"Witches should be leading this coven and not playing house for mages. We're your family. Perhaps, I should've included a class on Magical Heritage and Family Trees." Damelza's nails bit into my shoulder, as she held me down. "My daughter is far from a delight, but even she knows her rightful place. What have you done as Prefect?"

"I won the Rebel Cup.”

"A point to you." She clicked her fingers, and to my relief, the Princes stopped howling in pain. Willoughby patted Lysander's back, before hauling him to his feet, and Midnight pushed himself shakily back to kneel. "It's a pity that you're tainted by obsessive love . Men are breeding stock and pleasure toys like the incubus with the Duchess." Willoughby stiffened; his jaw clenched. "But you died for that unnatural shimage and now here you are, risking yourself for another."

"Oh now," I fluttered my eyelashes, "you're making me blush."

Lysander chuckled. It was deep, rich, and beautiful. I couldn't help the shiver.

Damelza's expression soured. "The answer to both of you is no : I won't let either Professor Ezekiel or the mage out."

I sat up straighter. " Won't rather than can't …?"

I had her.

Her cheek twitched. "Surely, you know that the spell means the wall won't open for the enemy mage once it's sealed, even if I wanted it to and I truly, deeply don't ."

"She's playing with words," Willoughby's voice was hard. "My brother was talented at that."

Damelza's smile was sly. "Perhaps, you're not as stupid a monster as your brother says, Crush." Willoughby looked away, and ice tinged the ends of his hair. The temperature in the room became chilly, and my breath ghosted in front of me in mists. "It may be possible for the original witch who cast the spell to open the wall if the mage was never an enemy to witches. After all, it was meant for the punishment of prisoners in the war or as a way to protect our ancestors. If the spell detects that the mage isn't an enemy..."

"Robin wasn't an enemy." My eyes became blurry with tears; I swum in my grief. My guts clenched. If I vomited, I was aiming for Damelza's files. "Mother could've freed him."

The first man who I'd ever loved hadn't needed to die within the walls of the castle. He'd been so gentle that he'd transform into a squirrel and play with the butterflies beneath the trees in the Dead Wood. He'd wouldn't even complain, when I'd cuddle him in his Mr Tailsy form, wrapping his tail around me.

He'd been good, and he'd died for a war that he'd never been part of.

"The Immortals’ whipping boy isn't an enemy to witches ," Lysander asserted with haughty confidence. He glanced at me, and there was a surprising amount of understanding in the way that he explained, "As dangerous as it is for him, he's in love with his natural enemy."

Damelza prowled to the shrine, running her fingers across it. "Well, all that remains is our deal."

"Deal?" Lysander and I chorused at the same time.

Damelza arched her brow. "You did come in here expecting to bargain...? I'll have to stagger on with the disappointment that Crown believed that I could be bought, but it’ll be a crushing blow if you both thought that I wouldn’t bargain. All magic must be in balance, but never with money. Who wants to put their hand up to take their place in the walls?"

My head jerked back, and my pink exploded in shocked sparks. Lysander's face was a still mask, however, like he'd been expecting this all along.

Midnight raised his head, looking at me with dark eyes. "I offer my life for my king's. Please accept it, my queen."

On Hecate's tit, such an intensity of love and longing...

But I'd never take another's life. The balance of magic could swivel on my broomstick.

" Hush ," Lysander was ashen, as his fingers carded compulsively through Midnight's hair, "certainly not. My royal self demands that honor."

I stared at him in shock. He'd die to save an Immortal?

Before I could open my mouth to tell him that he wouldn't be alone because I'd be with him, Willoughby said in an ethereal voice that shook me with its anguish, "I beg to take the second spot. By my ears, the professor has always helped me to control my darker urges and shown me more kindness than I deserve. I won't allow an innocent to die, when I'm...." Even though he didn't say it I heard it: guilty . I'd worried that he wished to die, and I knew that he hated himself. Now he had the chance to truly hurt himself. His hands clenched into fists. "Will that balance now?"

"For the love of Hecate, stop with the balancing. There are no bloody scales." I slammed my hands on the top of the desk with a resounding crack. Owww.. . I winced. The princes stared at me, wide-eyed. "Fox would kick my behind if I allowed his favorite elf and well, I'm pretty certain his secret fae crush," Lysander swallowed, flushing, "to die in his place. If you wish to bargain, how about double or nothing? There's still the tournament. How about you set some stakes on that for your amusement?"

Damelza swept closer. "See, it just took some motivation and already you're thinking more like a witch.”