Chapter Eighteen Lore #2
I thought about the last text, the phoenix who’d lost its mate.
The story struck a deep chord of sorrow in me.
I couldn’t imagine losing my love and having to go on.
Especially as an immortal. What kind of monster would it take to kill a phoenix, which shouldn’t be able to die?
I wanted to find the lost phoenix and share its burden.
A fissure of sympathy worked its way in for Nyantha, too.
The guilt she must have felt… I couldn’t fathom it.
It didn’t excuse her actions after that, but it certainly gave me a little more understanding of how she might have dived fully into the darkness to avoid feeling those emotions.
As a god, it must have been foreign to experience something so powerful.
“What do you—”
“I knew I couldn’t trust you.”
Sloth and I both jerked our attention to the open door. The marquess stepped fully into the room, and I glanced down, noticing the pistol in his hand.
I tensed.
“Murder and the Marquess,” I said, finally pinpointing the book.
Sloth’s arm tightened around my waist.
The Liber Noctem had gone deep into the archives of my mind for this story. I hadn’t read it in ages. I tried to remember what I’d been feeling when I’d read it, what had been going on in my life that stood out to the dark book.
Then I remembered. And I wished I hadn’t.
The plot slowly came back to me, and as it did, a deep sense of dread settled in. I believed I knew exactly what this test was. Loyalty.
It was the only time in my life when I’d felt betrayed by someone close to me, and the memory of it made me relive that horrible time as if it were happening right now.
“Autumntide, be reasonable,” Sloth drawled, yanking me back to the here and now. I knew he wasn’t as calm as he sounded. He was a coil ready to snap. “It’s not what it seems.”
The marquess’s face turned an angry shade of red as he lifted the gun.
“Oh? So you’re not, in fact, taking liberties with my fiancée? In my personal library? During my betrothal ball like the cad you are?”
“She fell. I was just helping her up.”
It was one of the most insincere-sounding excuses and I wondered if Sloth was trying to get himself shot. I was stuck somewhere between the memories of my past and the scene playing out before me. It was such an odd sense of déjà vu.
“Do not insult my intelligence. Anyone with eyes could see the way you were watching her tonight.”
“You’re overreacting.”
“Like hell I am. Do you actually want her, or are you just interested in taking what’s mine?”
I flinched at that.
When I’d read that line in the original book, I had felt it with my whole soul. I’d been in the marquess’s shoes, and it hadn’t felt good. One of my best friends had kissed the boy I’d been courting at a festival.
We were still in school, in that age between full adulthood and late childhood, and it had felt like the worst sort of pain when they’d come out of the woods, hand in hand, cheeks flushed, lips swollen.
I’d tried to get past it, but our friendship never recovered.
I never spoke to the boy again, but that wasn’t what tore my heart in two.
I missed my friend and our easy laughter and the fun we’d had.
The trust had been broken, though, and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t get back to that time before.
“Put the gun down before you hurt her or yourself.”
My fake fiancé knocked the hammer back on the pistol.
“Darling, get up and leave the room while I restore your honor.”
My heart was beating so fast I thought it might stop. The moment I got up, he was going to shoot the prince. I had to do something…
“My lord, it isn’t what it appears. I really did trip—”
“Don’t. It’s bad enough you’re here, with him. Unchaperoned. I’d thought you were above the common whores he surrounds himself with.”
Sloth made to get up, but I dug my heels in.
The marquess didn’t misread the action for what it was.
As far as he was concerned, I’d protected the enemy.
His arm jerked to the side, and I saw the moment he decided to pull the trigger. He was going to put a bullet in Sloth’s head.
Something violent stirred deep within me.
I didn’t think; I acted. I let the stiletto dagger I still held fly with far more skill and precision than I knew I possessed.
It hit him directly in the eye.
He collapsed before he had time to cry out, the life instantly blinking out of his remaining eye as it stared upward, unseeing.
Dead. The marquess was very much deceased. By my hand.
For a moment, Sloth and I both sat motionless.
I couldn’t believe I’d done that. I’d really killed the marquess.
And I had no idea how I’d managed to throw the dagger with such ruthless skill. I’d never done something like that in my life.
The fact that I was thinking of that after taking a life sent me teetering closer to the edge. This was clearly the start of hysterics.
It didn’t matter that he was a character in a book—in this realm, in this reality, he had very much been a living, breathing person. Filled with hopes and dreams, and I’d taken that from him. Without one ounce of remorse.
What kind of monster did that make me?
“It’s okay.” The prince ran a soothing hand down my spine. “He would have shot us. You did the right thing.”
The contact broke me out of my shocked stupor.
I glanced down at my hands, wondering at the lack of trembling.
Then I promptly shot up off Sloth’s lap and vomited onto the expensive woven rug.
And that was how the marquess’s best friend found us. Me, dry heaving onto the rug, and Sloth towering over me.
His gaze dropped to the man bleeding out, his face awash in horror.
“What have you done, Winters?”
I went to open my mouth, to proclaim his innocence. But he stepped in front of me and casually tucked his hands into his pockets.
“He tried to shoot me.” He flicked his attention to the corpse. “He missed.”
Before we could plan an escape, the lord started yelling for help. Within moments staff came running and Sloth was hauled out, shooting one last look at me over his shoulder, before he was gone for good.
I don’t know why he didn’t fight back when he could have easily taken them. And a trickle of fear found its way to my heart.
Maybe the Liber Noctem hadn’t allowed him to. Maybe this was where the story was about to go horribly wrong for us and the real test was about to begin.
“I say, what a tragic turn of events.”
The dowager primly sipped her tea in our parlor.
“Winters was always prone to scandal, but murder?” she tsked. “What will become of his estate? He’s the last of his line. Maybe one of his harlots will rise above her station after all. Wouldn’t that be something? If he left his fortune to that actress?”
“Mother.” I was aghast at my fake parent’s callousness. “Is that all you can think of? The man is set to die.”
I tore my attention from the window to stare at the woman who was my mother in this story. She could not be more different from my real mother if she tried. My mother was kind, empathetic. Someone who always chose to see the good in others and knew flaws were simply places waiting for growth.
This woman was superficial and downright joyful over someone else’s misfortune. It rankled me to my core. And not simply because it felt like the walls of fate were closing in and I could barely draw a deep breath.
They’d been building an execution block all morning and I was scrambling to come up with a way to get us out of this nightmare before it got worse.
The trouble was, I didn’t want to risk shifting stories and leave Sloth behind. And they were guarding him in some dungeon and refusing all visitors.
My fake mother lifted her chin imperiously.
“You’re fortunate that no one is looking too closely at you. And you better hope his death proves to be the biggest scandal of it all. Otherwise, one might question how you were found with the body of your beloved and his estranged best friend. Alone.”
I kept my eye roll internal. “I already told you. I was stealing a few moments of peace in the library. Winters happened upon the open door. And then before he left, Autumntide barged in. He drew a pistol and…”
And then I’d murdered him without a second thought.
The darkness lurking inside me seemed to thrill at the memory; meanwhile the part of me that wasn’t completely deranged fought to keep the few sips of tea I’d had down.
The dowager’s gaze narrowed on me. It was the same story I’d given to the police. It would be difficult to prove otherwise.
Only the prince and I knew the truth now that the marquess was dead.
I faced the window again, mind racing with the same plan I’d been working out all morning. I would have to wait until Sloth was brought out from where they’d been holding him and then make my move.
It wasn’t ideal, but there were no better options I could think of.
I didn’t want to leave him behind. He was a good ally to have. And if I was being completely honest with myself, I might be the one being tested, but I couldn’t imagine going through this nightmare world alone.
A short while later, we got word that the execution was set for noon.
The trial, if they’d even had one, had been some swift meeting that was closed to the public.
Sloth’s fate had been decided in less than an hour. And now, as my pretend mother and brother stood in the growing crowd, getting jostled closer to the looming execution block, my nerves were almost entirely shot.
Pretend Fable gave me a concerned look that I waved away.
The silk gloves I wore were damp with my sweat.
I’d checked and double-checked the phoenix tear and had tucked it inside one of my gloves while dressing.
I wasn’t entirely sure if it needed skin contact to work, and I didn’t want to risk not getting the tight gloves off in time if it did.
I swore I felt the stone humming against my skin, primed and ready.
The crowd seethed with impatience, growing more irate the longer we all waited for the prisoner to be hauled out. I stared at the block.