Throne of Secrets (Prince of Sin #2)

Thirty-Eight Adriana

I TUGGED THE hood of my cloak down over my brow, wiping snow from my lashes that collected in clusters. My gloves were soaked through, smearing the coldness across my cheeks.

I gritted my teeth and hurried along, my boots already so ice-cold and damp, the bones of my toes ached. Another brutal storm had blown in this evening, leaving a foot of snow in the streets, and the trek from House Gluttony through the city was miserable. And a bit unnerving.

This late at night, with only the eerie sound of snowflakes sizzling against the lampposts and the crunch of my own boots, it was easy to feel like you were being preyed upon.

By ice dragons, devious princes, or coin-snatching deviants, one could never tell.

I paused at the cross street, trying to get my bearings. The building signs were mostly covered, the streets so laden with snow it was hard to distinguish familiar landmarks. But that wasn’t the only obstacle I was working through.

An uncomfortable feeling wound me up inside, like someone had started pulling a thread too tightly around my heart, wanting to drag me to their side. For some god-less reason, I wanted to follow it to its source. I rubbed at the knot in my chest, taking a moment to catch my breath as I peered at the street sign.

Roots and Remedies, the only apothecary shoppe run by an actual witch, was located several blocks away from the castle, almost bordering the night district. I was blessedly close. Blizzard, strange pain, or not, nothing would keep me from hunting down this particular lead.

I hurried along the street, thrilled to see the warm, welcoming glow of the apothecary. Sascha never closed; she claimed she didn’t sleep either, but that wasn’t substantiated by any information I could find.

Witches, true witches, weren’t like humans who practiced spell work. These were supernatural beings descended from the goddesses, and, typically, mortal enemies of demons.

Why Sascha had chosen to align herself with House Gluttony was a mystery, but tonight I was glad for the peculiar decision.

I kicked the snow from my boots as I opened the door to her shoppe, the bell tinkling pleasantly to announce my arrival.

The scent of herbs wafted through the air, a lovely mixture of sweet and spicy and earthy. I glanced around at the shelves—on the far side were tonics and elixirs; on tables smattered throughout there were candles and incense and dried innards of gods knew what.

But at the very back of the store were wooden shelves filled with books. Spell books and hex books and remedies and potions and the standard curses and poxes.

Sascha came out from the back room, eyeing me with a slightly less hostile look than she reserved for most demons. “Still trying to hex the prince?”

Despite the increasing discomfort in my chest, my mood brightened. “Do you have anything new that would work without his true name?”

She snorted. “Glad to see you’re as feisty as ever. What are you looking for?”

“Any information on hexed objects.”

Her brows rose. “Thinking of going to war with Axton?”

“Not exactly.” I kept my smile in place, unwilling to alert her to my true motivations. “Call it curiosity.”

“Number one killer of cats.”

“They do have nine lives, so I’ll take my chances.”

“Touché, Miss Match.”

The witch scanned the shelves I’d been eyeing up, then disappeared into the back room once again. I made my way to the register, idly checking out the assortment of items she’d been tagging. A ledger was open that… My gaze sharpened. It wasn’t a ledger.

It was a grimoire. It was the nosy reporter in me who wanted a better look. I’d seen plenty of spell books before, but a witch’s grimoire was something special. More like a diary of personal spells often passed through generations of family.

My pulse pounded painfully as I rolled onto the tips of my toes, quickly scanning the words scribbled at the top.

Communico Dracones. It could be translated two ways, but each held the same meaning.

It was a spell used to communicate with dragons.

Sascha swept out from the back room with an ancient-looking book tucked beneath her arm.

“This book isn’t for sale, but you’re welcome to borrow it for a small fee.”

She knew I didn’t have much money to spare, and while she’d never admit to it, the witch could be kind when the mood struck.

“Thank you. When do I need to return it by?”

She looked me over. “I’ll lend it out for three days. Agreed?”

“Yes, that will work.” It would have to. I absently rubbed at my chest, watching as the witch cast a spell, then took the coins from my little purse. Magic sizzled and crackled across the book. “What was that?”

“The book will magic itself back to me in seventy-two hours from now.”

“You ought to share that little trick with Prince Sloth. I’ve heard he gets irate if someone borrows a book and doesn’t return it.”

A devious sparkle entered her eyes. “I’ve heard he gets more than irate if someone crinkles the pages.”

I glanced back at her grimoire. “Who was interested in speaking to dragons? Is that even possible?”

“Unless you’d like me to share your secrets, it’s best to not try to pry others from me.” She closed her spell book and narrowed her gaze on me. “You keep rubbing your chest. Are you in pain?”

There was little sense in lying. “Yes. But I can’t afford a tonic.”

She strummed her fingers on the table. “When did the feeling begin?”

“On the walk over here. It’s been a stressful day.”

“Describe the sensation. Sharp pains. Shooting, prolonged.”

I eyed her warily. “You’re awfully curious.”

“Perhaps we’re both a little feline in our ways.”

I laughed softly. “It feels like someone’s winding a thread around my heart, trying to lead me to them.”

“I see.” Any humor we shared slowly left her expression. “Hurry along, now. The clock is ticking on how much time you’ve got left with the book.”

“Aren’t you going to diagnose me?”

“Whatever you’re suffering from, I can’t address with a tonic or tincture.” She seemed to consider her words carefully. “But the prince might have answers you seek.”

“Why would he…” I cursed. The oath. I assumed this was an effect he failed to disclose. “I think I know exactly what’s wrong. And it’s six feet four inches of troublesome demon.”

“It seems so.” Sascha laughed softly. “You never disappoint, Miss Saint Lucent. I understand why you get under his skin.”

I smiled sweetly. “Hopefully like an incurable rash.”

I bade her good night and stepped back into the storm, cursing Gabriel Axton and his oath all the way to his wicked House of Sin.