Chapter 28 The One Who Chases
The One Who Chases
Desdemona
F
leur slams the book shut, and the sound echoes.
“Where did you get this?”
Lucian wasn’t lying when he said this book holds answers to the Soul Ruby. But he was lying about something else—he needs the ruby too.
It’s exactly the betrayal I expected. My chest aches anyway.
I lean against the desk, keeping my tone level. “Will you keep translating?”
“It’s a bunch of hogwash,” Fleur snaps. “Amun didn’t bring Eira back to life—he killed himself.”
That story never sat right with me. The romance of it all—like death is the most poetic thing one could do for love. After a lifetime of hearing that story, I finally have something that agrees with me. Bringing someone back from the dead is certainly more romantic than meeting them there.
I brace myself before I ask, “You’re not going to?”
“I don’t see the good in it.”
I can’t let Fleur back away now.
“I have something you might want,” I say, my heart racing. This is wrong. But what does wrong mean if it gets me what I need?
“Mhm?” Fleur says with a sneer. “And what’s that?”
I will my heart to ease. It’s not something I want to use against her, but desperate times call for desperate measures. Or maybe it’s not that desperate, and I’d always do this.
A deep breath. Then, “I know what happened to Eleanora.”
Fleur’s face crumples like soaked parchment. “What?” she breathes. “What happened to her?”
I look at the book she callously pushed away. “Translate and I’ll answer.”
Fleur scoots away from me, as if that would stop this from unfolding. I’m used to people backing away, thinking it will save them. But an extra foot of space isn’t going to stop me.
She looks at the book, then at me, her eyes glowing green. “Prove it.”
“I was there the night the monsters breached the school.” Fleur gasps and covers her mouth. “I fought a kapha with Leiholan when he lost his leg. I was leaving the infirmary to get him alcohol when it happened.”
Her magic tells her what I say is true.
She asks, “When what happened?”
“You know how to get that answer.” I look at the book. “I don’t mean to be cruel, Fleur.”
“Well you’re really good at it, Desdemona.”
I nod, puckering my lips. “I know.”
Fleur steps back, reminding me of one of Wendy’s dead playthings. “You like it?” Her voice rises a pitch. “I knew you would. It was part of the plan.”
My shoulders drop as I watch her. “What plan?”
“Everybody wants you, but only one can have you. You don’t lack morality, but you’ve lost your compass. Perhaps not destiny, but your presumption about the worlds makes this easier.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Yes, you do,” she says, standing with the book. “You only lie to yourself.” She crouches in front of me, resting a hand on my knee. “You like the power. You enjoy it when people run scared. I don’t blame you. If I had always been the one running, I’d love to be the one who got to chase.”
“I’m sorry,” I spit, shoving Fleur’s hand off me and standing. “What do you know about my running?”
Fleur looks up, her green eyes piercing. It’s like being burned from the inside out—small, smoking holes left in my soul. Headmistress Constance. That’s who her gaze reminds me of—something old and haunted. Something that isn’t Fleur.
Instead of a sigh, a laugh escapes me. I’m tired. I’m sick of this. But clearly, the plot to drive me insane isn’t working. I’m still standing. I’m just fine.
“So I don’t have a conscience?” I ask. “Then how do you expect your plan to work?”
The hallucination shrugs, movements lazy, mocking. “I did not speak of a conscience.”
“Then what did you say?” My eyes widen, flames licking behind my eyelids, the scorch of her words searing through me. I try to shake it away. Fire was never my friend, but it burns through me anyway.
“I said whatever it is you wish to hear,” Not Fleur replies.
“You said”—the curtains behind her begin to burn, and I refrain from flinching—“that I want to scare people. That I want to do to them what was always done to me.” The fire spreads to the floor, catching on my bed. “But what if I only want to hurt you?”
“Please.” Not Fleur smiles. “Be my guest.” She raises her hand with a grace so natural that even Royalty would seem clumsy by comparison.
“I would love for you to see what you can do.” The book appears in her hand, and she gestures to hand it to me.
“Please do be careful of my story. I wouldn’t want you to lose the information you yearn for. ”