37. Ilyra
ILYRA
The dress fits like armor—black silk corseted tight against my ribs, deep crimson threading through the bodice like veins of fire. Azrath's fingers work through my hair with surprising gentleness, weaving the strands into an intricate braid that feels more like a crown than simple styling.
"There." His breath ghosts across my neck as he sweeps the finished braid over my shoulder. The kiss he presses to the curve where my neck meets my collarbone sends heat spiraling down my spine. "Perfect."
I catch my reflection in the distant window of my father's home—no longer the compliant girl who set plates while Vaelra corrected my posture. The woman staring back wears power like jewelry, silver threading through her dark eyes, chin lifted with purpose that won't bend.
I look like his equal.
The thought should terrify me. Instead, it fills my chest with something fierce and unbreakable.
I stride forward, my steps sure as I descend the hill toward the house that should have been my sanctuary. The place where my father worked stone with patient hands, where he taught me that dignity mattered more than comfort. Where someone fed him poison while he slept.
The front door bangs against the wall as I push through it.
"Vaelra!"
My voice echoes through the parlor, sharp enough to cut glass. Footsteps scramble from the kitchen—hurried whispers, the scrape of chairs. They emerge together, Vaelra smoothing her skirts with practiced composure while Mariselle trails behind like a nervous shadow.
Vaelra's gaze sweeps over my dress, my bearing, the way I stand planted in the center of the room without apology. Her mouth tightens almost imperceptibly.
"So. You've returned." She clasps her hands before her, the picture of maternal disappointment. "I suppose you expect congratulations for your... theatrical display today."
"I expect answers."
"About what, exactly? Your reckless contract? Your public humiliation of this family?" Vaelra's voice rises with each word. "Do you have any idea what you've cost us? Bram will never—"
"I know you poisoned my father."
The accusation drops between us. Vaelra goes perfectly still, her face draining of color. Behind her, Mariselle makes a small, choked sound.
"That's..." Vaelra's voice emerges as barely a whisper. "That's impossible. How dare you accuse me of such a thing."
"Impossible?" I step closer, and she actually retreats. "He was healthy until you married him. Until you began fussing over his health, insisting he needed rest, needed medicine."
"He was ill!" The words burst from her with desperate force. "Anyone could see he was failing—the cough, the weakness—"
"The weakness you caused." My voice stays level, controlled. "You needed him gone so you could force the marriage. You needed him silenced so he couldn't protect me."
"No." Vaelra shakes her head frantically. "No, I would never... Edric was good to us, he provided—"
"He stood in your way."
"Stop it!" Mariselle's voice shoots across the room. "Stop saying those things!"
I turn to face her, taking in the wild brightness in her gray eyes, the way her hands shake where they grip her skirts. "Truth tends to upset people who benefit from lies."
"You're the liar!" Mariselle steps forward, her face flushed with fury. "You and your demon tricks, trying to destroy our family because you're jealous—"
"Jealous of what? Of watching my father waste away while you both counted the days until his funeral?"
"You've lost your mind." Vaelra's words are low, her composure finally fracturing. "Completely and utterly lost your mind. This demon has poisoned your thoughts, made you see enemies where there are none—"
"I finally have the clarity to see you for the evil woman you are."
The words hang between us, sharp as broken glass. Vaelra's face goes white, then red, her mouth working soundlessly.
"Evil?" she whispers. "I married your father. I gave him a home, companionship—"
"You gave him death."
"Stop it!" Mariselle's shriek cuts through the air. She's trembling now, her hands clawing at her skirts. "Stop saying those horrible things about Mother! She never—she wouldn't—"
"Wouldn't she?" I turn my full attention to Mariselle, watching her face crumple under the weight of my stare. "Tell me, Mari. When did you first notice Father getting sick?"
"I don't... I can't..." Her voice breaks into fragments.
"Was it after the soup you insisted on bringing him? The tea you prepared so carefully each morning?"
"No!" The word tears from her throat. "You're twisting everything! Mother loved him, she—"
"Mother loved his security. His protection. His house." Each word lands like a blow. "But you... you hated him for loving me."
Mariselle's face goes ashen. Behind her, Vaelra reaches out with one trembling hand.
"Mari, tell her she's wrong. Tell her—"
"He never looked at me!" The confession explodes from Mariselle like a dam bursting. "Never! Not once! I was prettier, smarter, better in every possible way, but he only ever saw you!"
Silence crashes over the room.
"Mari..." Vaelra's voice emerges as barely a breath.
"It was supposed to be quick." Mariselle's words tumble over each other now, desperate and broken. "Just enough to make him weak, to make him agree to the marriage before... before he could refuse again. But he kept fighting it, kept protecting you, so I had to keep..."
She stops, her gray eyes wide with the horror of her own confession.
"You poisoned him." Vaelra's face has gone completely bloodless. "You poisoned Edric?"
The ringing starts then—a high, thin sound that fills my ears until I can barely hear my own heartbeat. My chest feels hollow, carved out, like someone reached inside and scooped away everything vital.
Warmth presses against my back. Azrath's presence, solid and reassuring, but even that can't stop the fractures spreading through my heart.
My father. My gentle, stubborn, loving father—murdered by a girl who resented his kindness.
Rage. White-hot, consuming, obliterating everything except the need to make her pay. My hands move before thought catches up, fingers closing around Mariselle's throat.
"You killed him." The words tear from my chest, raw and broken. "You murdered my father because he loved me more than you."
Mariselle's eyes widen, her mouth opening in a soundless gasp. Her hands claw at my wrists, but the fury gives me strength I never knew I possessed.
"Ilyra, stop!" Vaelra's voice cuts through the roaring in my ears. "Stop this!"
But I can't. Won't. The image of my father's gentle hands trembling, his kind eyes growing dim while poison coursed through his veins—all because this selfish, bitter girl couldn't bear being second in anyone's affections.
"He protected me from you." My grip tightens. "He saw what you were. What you both were."
Mariselle's struggles grow weaker. Her face shifts from red to purple, those calculating gray eyes bulging with terror and something that might be regret.
"Please..." The word barely escapes her lips.
"Did he beg?" I lean closer, watching the life drain from her features. "When you fed him that poison, drop by drop, day after day—did my father beg you to stop? When you pretended to find him and screamed for help?"
Her body goes limp. The fight leaves her all at once, her arms falling to her sides like broken wings. I hold on for three more heartbeats, feeling the pulse beneath my fingers flutter and fade.
When I finally release her, she crumples to the floor like discarded cloth.
Silence crashes over the room—complete, suffocating silence that presses against my eardrums until they ache. Even the wind outside seems to have stilled, as if the world itself holds its breath.
Vaelra stares at her daughter's body, her face a mask of shock so complete it looks carved from stone. Slowly, she sinks to her knees beside Mariselle, one trembling hand reaching out to touch the still face.
"You drove him to his grave."
Vaelra flinches as if struck. When she looks up at me, her carefully composed facade has shattered completely. Tears stream down her cheeks, cutting tracks through powder and rouge.
"I loved him." The confession sounds torn from her throat. "I truly loved Edric, and I thought... I thought if I could just secure our future, make us safe..." She looks down at Mariselle again, her shoulders shaking.
She rises on unsteady legs, backing toward the door without taking her eyes off Mariselle's body.
"I can't... I can't…" Her voice gains strength as she reaches the threshold. "This house, this family—it's cursed. Poisoned from the roots up."
"Vaelra—"
"No." She raises one hand to stop me. "I'll take nothing. I deserve nothing. Let the stones remember what we've done here."
The front door opens and closes with a soft click. Her footsteps fade down the path, leaving only the sound of my ragged breathing and the terrible, pressing weight of what I've done.
The reality hits all at once—Mariselle's lifeless form sprawled across my father's floor, her neck bearing the marks of my fingers. The rage drains away like water through sand, leaving me hollow and shaking.
My knees buckle.
Strong arms catch me before I hit the floor, pulling me against a chest that smells of shadow and flame. Azrath's hand cradles the back of my head as sobs tear from my throat—ugly, wrenching sounds that echo off the walls.
"I killed her." The words come out broken, barely recognizable. "I killed her, Azrath. I'm a murderer."
"You're justice." His voice rumbles against my ear, steady and sure. "She poisoned an innocent man. She deserved what she received."
I cling to Azrath like he's the only solid thing in a world gone liquid, and let myself break apart in his arms.