Rosemary Johns - Rebel Academy - Curse

"I would like to remind my more ill-disciplined students," Damelza's gaze met mine, as she raised her finger and thumb, "that I have the power to activate the brands in a second. So, best of behavior in front of our guests, hmm ?"

I nodded, swallowing.

She could torture or kill all of the Rebels with a click of her fingers. Loving the Rebels meant letting them suffer.

Witching heavens, how could I bear this?

Because they did.

I tilted up my chin, donning the same shuttered mask as Willoughby. "I'm nothing but the model of the perfect student."

Bacchus rolled her eyes.

Darby held out a strand of his long hair to Willoughby. "Kiss the crystals of your rightful king."

Willoughby blanched.

I'd spank that brat's behind with my broomstick, until he wasn't even able to sit on his brother's throne again...

With a tenderness that Darby hadn't been expecting, rather than a shamed humiliation, Willoughby drew a crystal to his lips and kissed it. "Forgive me, brother. I've paid penance and I shall for as long as you need it. All I ask is... forgive me ."

Darby wrenched back, but his wide eyes met his brother's gleaming ones; he raised a shaking hand to push his hair behind his ear. "I told you not to shame us, monster." Sleipnir flinched at the same time as Willoughby, before storming towards Darby and swinging the Rebel Cup like a club. This time, it was Lysander holding him back with a restraining hand on his elbow. "How was this performance supposed to impress me? You were warned to win every tournament, prize, and trial. Was this a rebellion? Do you wish to make your penance even harder on yourself?" His expression became ravenous, as if feeding from Willoughby's quickening breath. "Have your dreams been sweet, Dark Elf?"

"Enough," Lysander bit out. "As Prefect, the failing is mine and not Crush's. I take full responsibility."

He shrank, as Titus' expression darkened.

Damelza's smile became sly. "Well, my favorite Rebel Motto is: Share both in the winning and the losing. Don't worry, there's enough punishment to go around. Now, it's late, I'm bored, and we have either a rescue mission ahead of us or two corpses to bury so..." She pulled out from her shawl a black crystal vial and passed it to Willoughby. "The stakes for you was the loss of your magical healing power. Bottoms up."

"You'd bet with mother's gift?" Darby demanded. "You truly are a changeling.”

Willoughby's hand shook, as he raised the vial to his lips. "Since I'm not your brother , why should you care?"

My mists coiled out, stopping the venomous potion that'd steal away the magical power, which meant everything to Willoughby. It was the only thing that he had left of the Other World, from which he'd been banished.

"On my bouncy bosoms, I shan't allow this." Why was I shaking worse than Willoughby? "What do you want? What can I do or...?"

"No more deals," Willoughby's voice was low and intense. "I'm sacrificing not for the academy but for those I love. It's honorable."

"He's right," Lysander said. "Don't involve yourself in princely affairs. Not now that your whipping boy is safe."

Bask slipped his arms around my waist, resting his chin on my shoulder. I needed the comforting feel of him, and knew that he was as desperate for the touch as well.

My magic smarted, twisting and torn apart that my lovers were in danger, and I couldn't protect them.

Yet.

Breaking this curse would set us free, and destroy those who'd trapped us.

Willoughby glanced around at Midnight. "Before you take this from me, let me heal my whipping boy’s wings."

Damelza shook her head.

Willoughby's shoulders hunched, and his knuckles tightened until they were white around the vial.

"Drink." Darby arched his brow. "Or are you still such a traitor that you'll disobey your king's direct order?" He circled Willoughby, and my breath caught. His hand hovered over the back of Willoughby’s neck, and the silk tightened again. "Perhaps," he whispered, "you wish to kill me too and take the throne?"

Willoughby closed his eyes. "I'm not...I'd never. .. You'll never forgive me for killing father, will you?"

He downed the potion, hurling the empty vial away into the shadows.

Then he dropped to his knees, clutching his stomach. He gritted his teeth, hissing in pain. When my own magic wound around me, I could feel it: the magic dying inside him.

It was worse than death.

Tears chased silently down Willoughby’s cheeks.

It was too much.

I dived on Willoughby at the same time as Bask fell to his knees next to him. When Bask flung his arms around Willoughby’s neck, Willoughby turned his head against Bask’s shoulder, and I stroked his hair.

"If you desire it, I'll heal Midnight," Bask promised. "Don't cry. If I'm not...taken... I promise, I'll try..."

Willoughby nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

Damelza rubbed her hands together like she was satisfied with handing out a detention. "Of course, the whipping boy. This one should interest you, Duchess. Weren't you intrigued by how I tamed my students? He'll suffer the Sleep Deprivation Hex."

Before I could even shield him with my magic, Damelza shot a shower of crows' feathers cascading across Midnight like the reverse of the Sandman. Midnight keened, and Lysander rubbed across his shoulders.

Titus' lips quirked in amusement.

The Duchess inclined her head with affected boredom. "More spells, of course."

"My, you'd almost think that this was a coven," Damelza drawled. "And a hex, rather than a spell. He can't fall asleep now."

"For how long?"

"That depends how long he takes to go crazy or kill himself, I suppose. In Hecate's name, Bacchus why don't you make it this term's SHP experiment?"

Pocus abruptly stopped purring, and his eyes narrowed.

"How inventive." Bacchus’ eyes swirled amber. "One whipping boy, no sleep, observe the outcome."

Pocus hissed in distress. I suspected that as a fellow vampire, who’d been transformed into a familiar just like my crows had, he was fiercely protective of Midnight.

Did he love him, despite being bound to Bacchus?

To my surprise, the Duchess straightened in her chair, and her mouth tightened into a moue of distaste. "In my culture, we train the beautiful. We don't kill them, even the freaks." Willoughby and I tightened our hold on Bask, as she raked her gaze over him. "Isn't your whipping boy too delicious to waste?"

Damelza huffed. "He's a vampire. They're already a waste ."

This time, it was Sleipnir holding Lysander back by his wings.

Except, then Damelza's gaze slid to Lysander and with a single slash of her finger through the air, a Dburned itself onto his forehead. Lysander yowled, and Sleipnir dragged him tightly to his chest.

Don't let Damelza do this. Not with Titus watching. Wasn't it enough?

Titus no longer looked amused. "What's the meaning of this?"

Damelza looked smug. Was this punishment as much a sneaky revenge on Titus as Lysander?

"I don't have to worry about losing the Princes' whipping boy to madness because I've gained a Dunce." Damelza was enjoying this. "And as you know, a Dunce is like a whipping boy but with even less rights. Who'd have guessed that our patron's own ward would ever be reduced so low?"

Titus was ashen with fury. He stood with a repressed rage that trembled through his wings, then he prowled to the castle gates.

"Follow me, boy," he barked at Lysander without looking around.

Lysander bit his lip, avoiding out gazes but turned on his heel and followed his uncle. I wanted so much to walk with him and face Titus at his side or at least not to watch and listen. But despite the snow and the winds that drove harder and faster in my distress, there was nothing but silence and the hissed conversation between Titus and Lysander.