Chapter Fifteen #2
“And you refuse to take responsibility for the consequences of your own actions,” Eliot shot back.
Both our strikes were falling fast now; I had the feeling he’d had this one tucked away, ready to hurl, for a while.
“You do not wish me to marry Clio? Fine—neither do I. Leave my friend, and I will wed you instead.”
I stalled. It was the offer I had waited the entirety of the Vainglory to hear, the single concession which he had refused me, even up to the morning of the competition’s final trial. And yet now that it had come…why, upon hearing it, did I feel so unexpectedly torn?
In front of me, Eliot’s expression was hard, but earnest. “Go on, then,” he challenged. “Deny me. I know you wish to do so.” He blinked, his stoic mask wavering for a second. “You would rather stay here, with a man you claim to hate, than fight by the side of one who loves you.”
I flinched. “Eliot, please,” I started. “My engagement…You speak of it as though it is a choice, but all it is—all it has ever been—is a tool. If I were to break off my betrothal and leave here with you today, Bastian would turn on us immediately. He would press your father to forbid you from marrying me, and if those efforts failed, he has already threatened to reveal my true identity and use the resulting scandal as a tool to prod me into the cloisters.” A move which not even Eliot could guard me from, if it were made.
Briefly, I imagined it: my real name coming to light, and then all my crimes, not to mention the wrath of the other witches I’d deceived during the Vainglory…
I swallowed. “My connection to his son is the sole reason he has tolerated my presence for this long,” I continued.
“As for my betrothal, I cannot apologize for it again. Accepting Noé’s offer was the only way I could have survived the end of the Vainglory.
In the time since, I have done everything in my power to assure you that I am yours. Everything, Eliot.”
I hated that my voice broke as I said it. I’d tried to keep my emotions buried, but now they pushed up with a great heave. I could not bear the weight of them all at once.
“Do you think it does not exhaust me?” I heard myself say. My tone was raw, vulnerable. I never spoke to anyone like this. “That it has not pained me to grovel, and beg, and prostrate myself, like my affections—my own human decency—are points I must prove to you?”
“And yet you cling to your strategies rather than accept mine.” Eliot’s response was unforgiving. He remained where he was, resolute. “You trust Noé to protect you over me.”
“I am a strategist.” The rebuttal burst from me without my conscious thought.
“It is not about trust—Noé can protect me, because the highly public nature of our engagement makes it more difficult for his father to kill me while I am under his roof.” I shook my head, irritated at him for making me explain it.
“Stop trying to turn me into a doll for you to spar over. I am a rational creature with my own emotions, my own visions. And if we are to speak of trust, then I wish that you would trust me.”
As soon as I spoke those words, I felt the weight of them. Eliot’s features cleared; with one reply, the window between us closed. I could sense the thunk of it shutting, reverberating through the room.
He sighed. “I…I cannot do this with you any longer.”
My chest froze. I was certain I’d heard him incorrectly. “Excuse me?”
“You claim I can trust you,” Eliot said.
His voice was soft, but his eyes were clear.
It was the confidence in them which shook me most. “Maybe I should. But I cannot continue to fight for someone who does not want to be won.” He met my gaze.
“Clio and I will work with Lucie,” he said.
“You may continue your scheme with Noé. We will see whose plan is the better one.”
“Eliot.” What was he doing? “I…I love you.”
It was difficult to say the words aloud—it always had been. I felt as though I was handing him a weapon to plunge into my side.
Still, Eliot merely shook his head. “I used to believe that,” he replied. “To be frank, I am not sure whether you can love anyone, Lovett. But your actions have made it clear that you certainly do not care for me.”
My heart dropped. Before I could second-guess the decision, I slipped off my engagement ring and held it out to him.
The black agate stone was pupil-dark and bright.
“Take the ring,” I insisted. “Take it. I will—I’ll come up with a reason to leave him, Eliot.
I just need a few days. A new strategy—I—”
My mind was spinning ahead of my body. When Eliot took my hand, though, all my thoughts went quiet. “After you left me,” he said solemnly, “I felt like a severed limb. Some ridge of dead tissue which, once cut away, can never come alive again.”
He shifted. My blood went cold at the feel of his fingers pressing my engagement ring back into my palm.
“What I mean to say is,” he went on, “you will be all right.”
I moved to speak. “I—”
Eliot released my hand, cutting me off. “You may keep this, if you like,” he said as he turned toward the room’s entrance. “Let it be the last gift I ever give you.”
At the sound of the door opening, I closed my eyes. Even so, I could not drown out the plink of his coin, dropping to the floor.