Chapter 35 Kinda Killer
Kinda Killer
Desdemona
R
ain falls against my window, the noise incessant as I try to tie my corset. I didn’t expect to manage it alone, but I hoped someone would be here to help. The beautiful bodice—black with gradients of red—slips the second I give up. Of course, Fleur walks in when my chest is completely bare.
I hold up the dress and walk away from the mirror, hoping to feel less like a failure. But failure is the least of what she thinks of me. Murderer is the most.
She grabs her gown. I should just let her leave, but when she tries, I ask, “Can you tie mine?”
Fleur looks me up and down. “You shouldn’t attend the gala.”
Fighting over this is pointless. I know that. Maybe I should leave Visnatus now, before anybody finds out more. Before Hogan finds his truth and gives it to gods know who. I wonder if he’s watching me right now.
But Fleur has to know: “I didn’t mean to hurt her—”
“Mediocrity is no cause for celebration,” she spits.
My hands drop to my sides, clenched into fists.
“Have you ever had someone hold a knife to your throat with the full intention of slitting it?” I say before I can think better.
“Or clot every blood cell in your feet so you couldn’t run?
Or hold a thousand-degree blade to your skin just to watch you squirm?
I know I’ve done terrible things. But I can’t tell you that if any of those things happened to me again, it wouldn’t be my instinct to fight. ”
“I don’t care!” Fleur shouts, breaking the calm composure she must’ve been fighting for. “I don’t forgive you. I don’t see how I could.”
But I don’t think I was ever going for her forgiveness. I think I only wanted her understanding. If I were her, I wouldn’t understand either. I wouldn’t care if the killer only did it to survive. I would want them to be the one to die instead of the person I love.
“I don’t expect you to.”
I see only one course of action—that I probably should have considered sooner.
?
Aralia opens the door to her suite, her mouth agape as she steps back. I fight the urge to roll my eyes, stepping into the room and closing the door behind me.
She yelps.
“Are you serious?” I ask, eyebrows furrowing. “Get a fucking grip. I thought you were brave.”
Aralia takes another deep breath and stands taller. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“You’re acting ridiculous.” I toss the slip with the dress onto her bed.
“You tortured a girl!” Aralia shouts.
“Yeah.”
I don’t know what else to say.
“Yeah?” She stares at me, eyes wide, eyebrows scrunched in fear.
I shouldn’t say this. It shouldn’t matter. But I’ve been walking on eggshells this whole time—and for what? My chest aches with the truth, and I’m tired of pretending.
“Look, this is gonna make no sense… But we were friends. We got ready together for the Collianth ball. You were begging for my forgiveness because Breck and Jermoine tried to kill me, and you did nothing to stop it.”
“Breck and Jermoine have been gone since you got here—”
“Collianth, Aralia. Before. You called me your best friend.” I sit on her bed, a shallow laugh escaping me. “I thought it was bullshit for the longest time, but you ended up fighting for me.
“You told me about your dad.” I lower my voice. “How he died. You told me about Lilac and Calista. I think we both just needed a friend. Gods know I need one right now,” I finish.
Aralia nods, finally speaking. “I haven’t had a friend in so long.”
“You had me.” I choke on my words. “You just forgot.”
Aralia opens and closes her mouth. Her fingers twitch against the fabric of her dress. Then, “But what you did to Belle…”
“It was to get the memories back,” I whisper. “Yours, my mom’s, everyone’s. I was desperate.”
Aralia’s eyebrows fall low on her forehead. “Should that make me feel safe?”
“I’m not here to torture you.” After a beat, I add, “I’ll tie your corset.” I nod toward the green dress hanging over her chair, looking oddly out of place in the messy room. “If you need me to.”
Aralia nods, but it’s slow, like she’s still deciding.
“Yeah,” she says at last.
I smile. Aralia flinches back slightly, then smiles too. The room feels smaller now, quieter. No bustle.
“Are you—” Aralia clears her throat. “Are you wearing your hair down?”
I grab the ends of my hair, rubbing the strands between my fingers. “I didn’t have a plan.”
“I can braid it,” she offers.
“I could braid yours, too.” I keep clutching my hair. “My mom taught me when I was younger.”
“Your mom was an Althenia?”
I nod softly, taking a deep breath. “Yeah.”
“I’ve heard of them,” she says softly. “The fair four... There are hundreds of stories.”
“Oh?” Pressure builds in my nose and behind my eyes. “I’ve never heard them.”
Aralia fiddles with her fingers. “I could tell you.”
I freeze. Do I want to know who my mom was? She hid so much of herself from me. It’s no wonder I’ve done the same. How could she go my entire life without telling me she was once a noble? It seems absurd—but more absurd is that I want to know.
“Okay. Yeah,” I say. “While I braid your hair?”
“Sure.”
Sitting behind Aralia, I begin braiding.
She tells me stories of my mom and her sisters, whom I didn’t know existed until Leiholan told me.
They ran around the castle, toying with guards and government officials, getting everything they wanted.
Aralia means it nicely, but all I hear is that my mom never cared enough to tell me about herself.
I grow angry until Aralia meets my eyes in the reflection and says, “I always liked the stories. I felt so trapped in my position. The thought of being rambunctious lightened my heart as a kid.”
Her words echo in my chest. I pucker my lips before saying, “I remember you as rambunctious.”
Aralia looks down, making it hard for me to handle her hair.
“I loved you,” I say. “I didn’t let myself get close to anyone until it was too late and now…” A tear that I wanted to catch slides down my cheek. Then another. “It means a lot to be sitting with you right now.”
Aralia nods as she turns, her hair slipping from my hands, the bottom of the braid unraveling. She hugs me tightly, full of a love I haven’t felt in a long time.
“If you hadn’t come, I would’ve done my own hair and had a servant tie my corset,” Aralia sighs, her head resting against my chest. “So it means a lot to me, too.”
I hug her tighter, nodding.
I finish her hair and she finishes mine. When I pull the dress over my body, Aralia stands, staring, seemingly stunned. “Wow,” she breathes.
Aralia looks just as stunning in a long, elegant dark green dress.
“Can you?” I raise my hand toward the back of the dress.
“Of course.” She walks behind me and pulls the corset just tight enough. I imagine the dress would accentuate the red in my eyes, almost like it’s something to behold, not bash.
Aralia links her arm in mine like it’s the only natural response. When I don’t clasp hers in return, she lowers her arm. “Apologies.”
“No.” I raise my hand. “Let’s go together?”
Aralia smiles, and I smile back when she clasps her arm around mine again.
?
The ballroom looks different.
The glass and silver chandeliers are covered in vines, butterflies, and bugs.
The drapes—normally dark blue—are emerald, covering the tall windows.
The tables along the walls are covered in rocks, mimicking the mines we have in the septic.
Oranges, greens, and yellows sparkle against the black and grays, celebrating the goddess Zola. Today is her day of balance.
I roll my eyes at the decorations.
At the back of the room, an orchestra plays—and even they are dressed in green, like the rest of the room. There’s mint, emerald, sage, or olive. Not a single one in black or red. But every eye—like that first ball—falls on me.
Hogan stands in the back corner of the room, watching me like everyone else. The rest of the faculty is there, but none of them have the same glint of malice in their eyes as Hogan.
I’ll be on my best behavior. I’ll get the Soul Ruby and then I’ll leave. Besides, nothing will happen tonight to tip Hogan off. It’s just a ball.
I turn away and meet a midnight-blue gaze. A boy in black instead of green and a smile instead of a scowl. Dimples instead of dread.
Lucian grounds me all at once. If anything happens with Hogan, this prince will stop him. He’s the one with the real power.
He lied about the Soul Ruby—but I would do it too. Besides, he didn’t get it. His plan failed, and so has mine.
Does that put us on equal footing now?
Lucian raises a glass of red wine, smirking as if he knows what it means to us. To me. Then he gestures around the room, mock bowing, and I realize that every pair of eyes isn’t just on me.
They’re on us.
A crimson ornament rests in his chest pocket, the same color as the red of my gown.
“Something to share?” Aralia whispers.
I take a deep breath, leaning to whisper in her ear, “Just the past. But there’s no future.”
“I also eye-fuck people I have no future with,” she says—exactly as she would’ve before. “Are you going to take the invitation for booze, or should I?”
“Lead the way.”
We walk to the wine table where Lucian stands. Last time we did this, Azaire was here. I understand why Lucian wants him back and believes he can, but it isn’t possible—not without him dying.
Lucian hands me a glass of wine, the crystal chandelier glinting on the silver embroidery of his coat. Aralia smirks.
“I wasn’t sure I’d see you here,” Lucian says, eyes on me.
“Because I tortured a girl?” I ask.
A murmur ripples through the crowd behind him. Maybe I shouldn’t have said that out loud here.
But Lucian’s jaw flexes, like he’s fighting a smirk. “Most people wouldn’t attend a ball after.”
He steps closer—just enough to make my breath hitch, just enough to make his scent wash over me. He’s not horrified.
He’s not even pretending to be.
“So you’re not scared of me now?”
He laughs, a sharp sound. “I was scared of you long before tonight.”
At that, I step closer, dragging my teeth over my bottom lip. “You’re smart to be.”