Chapter 23 #3
The envy fights me, clawing at my insides. Tries to make me want the blade, the blood, the pain itself. Tries to convince me I should covet even this, this ritual, this power, this ability that makes me special.
"Ex anima mea, te solvo." From my soul, I release you.
Blood drips into the small bowl I've placed in the center of the salt circle. More than usual, the envy made me cut deeper, wanting to possess even the act of purging itself.
"Non sum invidia." I am not envy.
The sin writhes in fury at being named.
"Non sum cupiditas." I am not covetousness.
My voice shakes now. The envy is stronger than the others I've purged, Idris's curse woven through Helena's contract, three months of accumulated wanting compressed into a single moment.
"Redi ad originem tuam." Return to your origin.
I pour my blood onto the floor. It hits the salt and herbs and ignites, not with normal fire, but with cold, green light that makes my skin crawl. Wrong. This is wrong. Envy burns cold, not hot. Burns with hunger that can never be satisfied.
"Redi ad dominum tuum." Return to your master.
The envy screams.
It pours out of me like freezing water, sharp and brutal and agonizing. I can feel it tearing its way up my throat, leaving frost in its wake. Everything I want, everything I wish I had, everything I covet, it all comes spilling out in a rush of green-tinged smoke and desperate hunger.
The green light flares bright, consuming the smoke, pulling it back toward,
I watch through half-closed eyes as the envy flows across the room. Toward him. Toward the figure watching from the wall.
It's drawn to its master. To Idris.
The realization hits me like a punch to the gut.
I'm on my knees, hands braced against the dusty floor, still shaking from the purge. Empty. Exhausted.
The salt circle releases me. The candles gutter and die.
And I know, with absolute certainty, that the man standing against that wall isn't Croesus.
I force myself to sit up, still shaking, and look toward the door.
"Croesus" is standing exactly where he was before. Silent. Staring. Watching me with that intense, fascinated attention.
And that's when it hits me.
Croesus has seen me purge sins before. He knows what this looks like. Knows the words I speak. Knows I'm vulnerable during it, that I need support even if I won't ask for it.
But this Croesus has been watching the entire time in complete silence. Not offering help. Not speaking at all. Just...observing. Like he's never witnessed a purge before and wants to memorize every detail.
Real Croesus wouldn't do that. He'd have said something by now, checked on me, asked if I needed anything, made some comment to let me know he was there and paying attention.
He wouldn't just stand there. Silent. Staring with that unblinking, hungry curiosity.
And through the binding, I feel Croesus, the real Croesus, still somewhere else in the house. Patrolling. Watching for Idris.
Not here.
I force my eyes to focus on the figure against the wall. Really look at him.
The way he sits. The tilt of his head. The quality of attention.
"You're not him," I whisper.
The figure smiles. And then he shifts.
The illusion peels away like a mask, and suddenly, it's not Croesus at all.
It's someone else, beautiful in a way that makes my eyes hurt.
Sharp cheekbones, perfect features, with hair that shifts color in the light like oil on water.
Eyes that are impossible to pin down, mirrors reflecting my own face back at me.
Idris. The Angel of Envy.
His lips move, forming words, shaping sounds, but no voice comes out. Instead, his words form directly in my mind, smooth and androgynous, like silk against my thoughts.
Clever girl. You've learned him well enough to know when it's not him. Even when the imitation is perfect. That's fascinating.
"Get out." My voice is steadier than I feel. The envy is still coiling through me, half-purged, and I'm vulnerable. Weak.
He doesn't move from his position against the wall. His lips continue their silent dance, words forming only in my head. Finish your ritual. I promise I won't interfere. I just want to watch.
"Why?"
You're a dying breed. And you're particularly good at it. His eyes, currently mirrors, fix on me with unnerving intensity. Please. Continue. Pretend I'm not here.
I should refuse. Should call for Croesus through the binding, bring him here to deal with this.
And Idris is still watching with that intense fascination, his lips moving in what might be a smile.
Beautiful, his voice whispers in my mind. The way you take it in, make it yours, then cast it out. Like you're wearing someone else's skin for a moment before shedding it. He tilts his head. Does it hurt?
"Yes."
But you do it anyway. Not a question. An observation. You take other people's sins into yourself, suffer for it, purge it, and then do it again. Why?
"Because someone has to."
That's not an answer. He stands, moves closer. Not threatening, just curious. His lips form the words silently as they echo in my head. Why you? Why volunteer for this?
I think about Luna. About keeping her safe. About the contract that chains me here.
"Because I don't have a choice," I say finally.
Everyone has a choice. He crouches in front of me, close enough that I can see the way his features shift subtly. You chose to serve all seven houses. Chose to become a weapon in our eternal war. His expression softens. Why?
"To protect someone I love."
Ah. Understanding flickers across his face. Love. That most dangerous of human emotions. The thing that makes you sign away your freedom, your safety, your life. He reaches out like he might touch my face, then stops. Tell me something. Do you love him yet? Croesus?
Through the binding, I feel Croesus getting closer. He's on the third floor now, searching for this room. He felt my fear, my panic. He's coming.
"I don't know," I say honestly.
You do. You're just afraid to admit it. Idris stands. The binding does that. Ties you together until you can't tell where your feelings end and his begin. Eventually, you'll love him because you'll feel his love for you, and you won't be able to separate them.
"That's not– You don’t know me. Anything about me or how this works."
It's exactly how it works. I've seen it before.
He moves toward the door, pauses with his hand on the frame.
His lips continue their soundless movements.
You and Croesus. This little game you're playing.
Stealing from my House, breaking my contracts, humiliating me on my own territory.
His smile is sharp, dangerous. It's war.
You understand that, right? This is an act of war. And I will respond.
"The treaties?"
Won't save you. He looks back at me, and his eyes are black now, reflecting nothing.
I can't touch you directly. But I can make your life very, very difficult.
I can whisper in the ears of the other Houses.
I can turn them against Croesus. I can make sure everyone knows he's using a sin eater as a weapon, breaking the careful balance we've maintained for centuries.
The door slams open, and Croesus is there, real Croesus, fury rolling off him in waves.
"Idris."
Idris's lips curve into a smile, but the word that forms in my mind is conversational. Croesus. We were just having a conversation. Your sin eater is remarkable, by the way. She saw through my disguise. Most people can't do that.
"Get away from her." Croesus's voice is deadly quiet.
I'm leaving. Idris moves toward the door, stops beside Croesus.
His lips move rapidly, words pouring directly into both our minds now.
But understand this, you walked into my house, stole from me, humiliated me in front of my contracted souls.
I can't let that stand. The next time she enters one of our houses.
His mental voice drops. She might not leave.
Then he's gone, slipping past Croesus and disappearing down the corridor.
Croesus crosses to me immediately, kneeling and checking me over. "Are you hurt? Did he hurt you?"
"I'm fine. He just watched. Talked." I'm still shaking, adrenaline fading. "How did you know?"
"I felt your fear through the binding. Knew something was wrong." His hands cup my face, and through the binding, I feel his rage at Idris, his relief that I'm okay. "I should have stayed with you. Should have known he'd try something."
"You couldn't have known." I lean into his touch, exhausted. "And I'm fine. The purge is done. Helena's free."
"And Idris knows exactly what we did." Croesus helps me to my feet, steadies me when I sway. "We need to leave. Now. Before he decides to make a formal complaint to the rest of the houses."
We gather my ritual supplies, slip back into the corridor. The house feels different now, hostile, watching. I can sense eyes on us, attention focused on the two intruders who dared to steal from the House of Regret.
We descend the stairs, cross toward the door. I hand him the mirror, and we step into the threshold. I look back one last time.
Idris is standing at the top of the grand staircase, no longer hidden, no longer pretending. He's watching us leave with those mirror eyes, and his expression is unreadable.
But his lips form words I can see even across the distance:
This isn't over.
Then we're through the mirror, into the gray nothingness, and the House of Regret disappears behind us.
We emerge in the House of Gold, in Croesus's office. I nearly collapse, the binding pulling at me, welcoming me home, and Croesus catches me.
"You did beautifully," he says, but there's tension in his voice. Anger. "Helena is free. Idris is furious. And I've proven I can strike at him whenever I choose."
"He found me during the purge," I say. "Shapeshifted into you. Got past everything. He wanted me to know he could reach me whenever he wants."
Through the binding, I feel Croesus's fury spike. Cold, calculating anger.
"Let him try," he says softly. "You're mine now. Protected by the binding. If he wants to come for you, he'll have to go through me."
"Is it worth it?" I ask. "Starting a war over one contract? Over humiliating him?"
"Yes." No hesitation. "Because this isn't about one contract.
This is about power. About proving that I can take what I want from the other Houses.
About showing them all that I have something they don't, a sin eater who can break their contracts, steal their souls, unravel everything they've built. "
He pulls me closer, and through the binding, I feel his possessiveness surge.
"You're my weapon, Raven. My perfect weapon. And I will use you to destroy anyone who threatens what's mine."
I should be angry. Should hate being used like this.
But all I can think is that Idris was right.
I'm learning him. Learning to distinguish him from imitations. Learning to feel what he feels through the binding.
And maybe, impossibly, starting to care.
"Get some rest," Croesus says, stepping back. "We’ll need to plan our next move."
I nod, too tired to argue, and head for my room. But I think about the way his jaw is set and how he looked at me when he knew Idris and I had spoken. Jealousy. Need. Desire. More than I can even think about right now. I’m too tired.
But as I walk through the corridors, I can still feel Idris's presence in my mind. Can still see the way he looked at me, curious, amused, dangerous, as well.
Do you love him yet?
I don't know the answer.
But I'm starting to suspect it terrifies me.