Page 78 of Slaying the Shifter Prince
The best laid plans of men and monsters.
“That makes two of us.” I laughed.
It began as a trickle, but the more I laughed, the more ridiculous the situation looked.
I’d spent a decade plotting how to kill him.
He’d spent that same time planning how to kill me.
And neither of us were dead.
Eyes round, Celestine watched me bend double and grip my thighs as laughter ripped through me.
I wasn’t sure when the last time was that I gave anything more than a chuckle, only faintly amused. But now, tears gathered at the corners of my eyes and my stomach hurt with the full belly laugh that echoed around the room.
Eventually, it subsided, leaving my cheeks aching. I swiped the tears from my face, chuckling at the mere fact of their existence.
“Are you…? Have you lost your mind?” Celestine kept very still, eyeing me. “I wouldn’t blame you if you had.”
“Not today.” I cleared my throat and pushed the hair back from my face. “But I do need a drink.”
She nodded slowly and went to the decanter on the side table. “Me too.”
We curled up on twin armchairs before the fire and cradled our glasses. Staring into the flames, I drew a long breath and nodded. A sense of calm flooded my veins, as though my outburst had burned a space for it to enter me.
“Let me tell you a tale of two sisters…”
32
We stayed up late, and I told Celestine all about Zinnia and our lifebefore. How we’d been orphans making a meagre living by begging and doing odd jobs for locals. How my accident had forced us out of town, a price upon my head. I kept the details of it vague, just saying that my awakening gift had harmed another girl. Drinking helped cover the bitter guilt that threatened to choke me.
I explained how Zinnia had filed down my teeth to help disguise us, and how, eventually, the Gilded Suns had taken us in. Zinnia, because they saw she was beautiful and had a natural skill for performance. Me, only because we were a package deal. I helped out backstage, but really it was a job anyone could’ve done.
For years, I helped her. I mended her costumes and did her makeup. We worked together on choreography and ideas for how to make her performances bigger, better, more dramatic and seductive. I had an idea of what she did after the shows—the private performances—and as I grew older, so too I grew in understanding.
In all that time, I never used my gift. Not after the accident. I kept my finger from pointing at anyone in case I unleashed another curse.
But it was a bubbling cauldron inside me, with a lid fixed on too tightly.
Then, the night she died, I pointed at the man I found standing over her, and I let it all go. So much magic, so much hurt and hate, it had fired into him, strong enough to affect even a fae.
But it had given me no relief.
And not only had I lost my sister, but my reason to be with the Gilded Suns. Without Zinnia, they had no use for me.
I begged the owner to give me a month. A month, and I’d take her place in the show or they could leave me in the next town.
So I threw myself into learning to do what I’d always watched her do. I used her cosmetics to shine my hair and make myself pretty. I wore her costumes. I took the first letters of her name and named myself Zita.
So easily I stepped into her place in the world once it was left empty.
And so easily, the audience lapped me up. None of them realised I wasn’t the woman from the posters—so many had been printed, we had to keep using the same design for several months after she’d gone.
After a while, I think the rest of the troupe forgot that I wasn’t her. Like maybe I could undo it and we could all pretend I’d been the one to die that night.
Eric most of all.
He’d always watched Zinnia from the wings, lips parted, attention rapt, and I’d always watched him.
