Page 190 of Immortal Rose

He ripped off his glove and patted at his chest, every small movement making it feel as though his skin were bursting open with sores. His hand was shaking by the time he found the fairy pendant tucked into the pocket there. Gripping it, he fell back against the ivy-strewn wall, feeling the charm flare with heat as it lapped the perfume’s malevolent magic. Hugh turned toward the arcade that Glenmoor had disappeared through, staggering toward it.

The world surged beneath him, and his body betrayed him before his mind, his spine collapsing like a column of ash.

He hit the ground hard, blood exploding in his mouth. The fall shattered his thoughts and may as well have broken every useless bone in his body. His heart slowed, as if grasped in the cold hand of the Devil himself. Lungs seizing with a torrid pain, he was unable to draw more than a thread of air.

The charm pulsed like a second heartbeat against his palm, too slow, too late to have any hope of keeping up with the barbed pulse of the poison.

No, he begged. Not now . . .

He dragged himself forward blindly with his right arm. The sky rumbled above him like the voice of God.

Not yet. Not like this . . .

Something cold and wet struck his neck. His hand. His face. Rain pattered down around him.

It could . . . it could rinse away the poison, the scent . . .

He forced himself to crawl out into the open heart of the courtyard. Each slash of rain drove into him like a knife, robbing him of that last bit of strength. He coughed, choking on his own agony as the rain splattered his face.

He tasted blood. Tasted bile. Fury.

The distant clatter of hooves faded beneath the ever-slowing thump of his heartbeat in his ears. Each wave of new agony tore another strip of his consciousness away, flaying him from the inside, but he fought it, fought to hold on to the last face lingering there, smiling softly, hair ablaze. Viola.

The darkness couldn’t take her, too—Hugh’s hands curled against the unforgiving ground, sweat and tears and blood dripping from him. Don’t take her . . .

But there was no escape from what was already inside of him. His soul tore open, and the dark agony devoured him at last.

Chapter Thirty-Nine

It was just like the Patricians to insist on having their extravagant fete, blissfully dancing the midnight away, even after one of their most prominent members had been dramatically exposed as a traitor.

I glowered down at them from the top of the stairs into the gardens, prowling like one of the caged animals at the Royal Menagerie.

“Rather shocking, isn’t it?” Eleanor said from where she leaned against the damp stone railing, surveying the twirling dancers with a look of distaste. “I cannot tell if they’ve bred the scruples out of their family lines or if they simply see it as part of the evening’s entertainment. Either way, they are remarkably unbothered.”

One of the guards nearby snorted in amusement, only to straighten back to attention when Eleanor and I glanced at him.

I moved to join her, bracing a hand against the railing and the other against the Foxcourt tiara as I leaned over, searching for the door Hugh had disappeared through. It had been nearly a half hour since he’d pursued Glenmoor, and ten minutes since Reddy had given up the pretense of being untroubled and gone to find him. I was about to come out of my skin.

“You played your part exquisitely,” I told her softly. “He never saw you coming.”

“Because he and all the others think I’m weak,” Eleanor said.

“You’ve changed that perception tonight,” I told her.

The princess smiled, at least. “I’m grateful to you,” Eleanor said. “Truly.”

“I think you should be more irritated than grateful,” I told her. “Glenmoor took my only working blend. Immortal Rose still isn’t complete.”

Her smile appeared and vanished again, quick as a hummingbird. “But it will be come tomorrow morning, won’t it? You are giving me back time, and for me, that is power. Whether it is Glenmoor or someone else, I would be controlled completely in a regency.”

And yet, what Greystone had said in parting still troubled me. “Do you have any idea what Glenmoor had on your uncle?”

Eleanor shook her head. “At first I thought he merely saw him as a son, but—”

I reached out, touching her arm to silence her as I pivoted toward the door. A moment later, Willie and Tommy appeared there, looking ashen.

Willie blinked rapidly as he came toward us, struggling to muster the words. My knees bobbed, suddenly weak, as the world spun around me.