Chapter 51
Malak led her back to the same room—the one where she’d been taken before, when Tristan had won her for the night. A part of her, larger than she cared to admit, had hoped he’d be there again, that lazy smile making everything feel a little less dire.
But instead, Lady Calista Thorne sat by the fire, regal in a high-backed armchair. The flames cast a warm glow over her red hair, molten copper in the firelight, while her emerald gaze cut to Malak with such cool, haughty indifference that Elara flinched on instinct.
“Leave us, guard,” Calista ordered, her tone crisp, like she was flicking dirt off her shoe.
Elara caught the way Malak tensed—his shoulders locking, his jaw grinding as if he were biting back a snarl. It was becoming clear he didn’t take well to being dismissed by women—even highborn ones, it seemed.
“Aye, my lady,” he muttered through clenched teeth. Then, with a curt nod, he turned and stalked out, the door slamming behind him.
The room fell into an uncomfortable silence, the crackling of the fire the only sound that remained.
“Sit.”
The command came crisp, and Elara hesitated only a moment before stepping forward.
She could feel every inch of herself—her dirty clothes, her hair an untamed mess—starkly out of place next to Lady Calista’s polished perfection.
It was hard not to feel small under that kind of scrutiny, but she forced herself to keep her chin up as she sank into the armchair.
Calista’s gaze raked over her, the barest twitch of her mouth betraying her distaste before she looked away.
“Tristan tells me you wished to speak with me.”
Elara’s throat tightened. “Yes, I—” She faltered, the words catching. Where do I even begin? She cleared her throat. “I knew you once. Long ago.”
Calista’s eyes flashed. “You did.”
Elara exhaled slowly, her shoulders sagging as the tension ebbed from her body. “Can you tell me about it?”
“So you don’t remember?”
Elara picked at the broken edge of her nail. “I have fragments. A memory of us together. We were talking about Lord Artan’s daughter.”
Calista snorted. “Of all things, that’s what you remember.”
Elara’s gaze narrowed, her heart stumbling over itself. It felt like an insult, though she couldn’t quite put her finger on why.
Calista leaned back in her chair, her gaze never leaving Elara, studying her with a detached kind of curiosity, like she was trying to decide how much of her time this conversation was worth. The firelight flickered, casting shadows across her face, but there was nothing warm about her expression.
“You want to know about the past,” she finally said, her voice smooth, though there was an edge beneath it.
“I was the eldest daughter in a family that only cared about one thing—status.
Everything was about appearances, alliances, and who could get closest to the Lord Sovereign.
I was groomed from the moment I could walk—taught to speak softly, act obediently, and make myself pleasing to powerful men.
I had a younger sister. She was allowed to be free—spirited, wild.
Not that it saved her in the end. But my parents made it clear that my sole purpose was to catch Osin's attention, that my worth was tied to his gaze, his favor. And I believed them. It wasn’t about love or affection.
It was about being indispensable. About power. ”
Her eyes flickered, something darker flashing behind them.
“I was obedient. Played the part they wanted. I thought if I did everything right, maybe I’d earn a place by his side.
Maybe I’d be more than just the pawn they’d shaped me to be.
” Her mouth thinned into a line. “But that’s the thing with power.
It has no loyalty. It takes, consumes, and when it’s through with you, you’re left searching for who you were before it claimed you. ”
Calista leaned forward. “Don’t expect to like what you learn about our past, Hallowed. I stopped caring about pleasing anyone a long time ago.”
Elara stayed silent, bracing herself for what came next.
“Yes, we knew each other.” Calista’s mouth curved, not quite a smile.
“And I hated you. You were different. Didn’t care about the court gossip, barely bothered with your hair.
It made you stand out, made you a target.
And for us girls, you were an easy mark.
We were all jealous, you know? Jealous of your value to Osin.
Jealous of how you didn’t seem to care about anything we thought was important.
” She shook her head. “You didn’t play by the rules.
Didn’t need to. And for all of us who had spent our lives bending and twisting just to survive, just to be seen—you were a threat. ”
Elara swallowed, her throat tightening.
“I got close to you because I wanted to mess with you—just like everyone else. We thought you were this privileged, untouchable girl.” Calista’s eyes darkened, a flicker of something—regret, maybe—crossing her face before she continued.
“Lord Artan’s daughter, Malinda, hated you more than most. She couldn’t stand that you had the attention of the Dantan brothers.
She’d been in love with the eldest for years, and you…
” Calista shrugged. “You didn’t even care. That’s what made it worse."
“But the more time I spent around you, the more I saw the cracks. Your life wasn’t what we thought it was. It wasn’t shiny and luxurious. It was cold, distant, and filled with the same kind of loneliness we all pretended not to feel.”
Calista leaned back, her gaze unwavering.
“I know what it’s like to be manipulated by the men in your life.
Groomed to believe it was your place to serve, to please.
To be told over and over again that you were only as valuable as the favor you earned or the silence you kept.
” Her lips curved. “But do you know what’s worse than being shaped by their lies? Believing you deserve it.”
She shook her head. “I stopped hating you after a while—stopped pretending you were anything less than exactly what you are—someone who never fit into the mold they tried to force you into. But by then, it was too late.”
Elara cleared her throat, her heart thudding in her chest. It was a lot—a flood of information she didn’t know how to process. She bit her lip, hesitating before speaking. “The memory I have,” she started slowly, “is of you telling me about the Hunter tripping Malinda."
Calista laughed, but it wasn't warm. Nothing about her was. “Malinda,” she said with a shake of her head, “she cut the ribbons off your cloak just to see you flustered at court. It was all so childish. But that’s what we were—children, vying for scraps of attention. We didn’t understand that it wasn’t your fault.
You didn’t choose any of it. We just hated you for being in the middle of it. ”
“But Ivan...” Calista’s mouth twitched at the memory. “He didn’t like that. After court that day, he waited for Malinda, made sure she went face-first into the mud, ruining that ridiculous new dress of hers. He wasn’t one for forgiveness. Even back then, he was intense.”
Elara’s ears buzzed, her heartbeat pounding wildly in her chest. “So the Hunter and I... we knew each other?”
Calista tilted her head, her green eyes sharp.
“Yes. You knew each other. He was... protective of you. It was obvious to anyone watching. At first, I thought it was out of some twisted sense of duty. You being the Hallowed, his family tied to the sovereign. It made sense, in a way. He was following orders, nothing more.”
Calista’s fingers traced idly along the armrest of her chair. “But then I caught you both one evening, together.”
Elara’s heart stuttered, her brow furrowing. Why hadn’t he told her any of this?
Calista smirked. “He was reading to you. A novel. The kind your teachers never let you near. You were supposed to stick to philosophy, religion, science. But Ivan, he knew you wanted it. Figured it out somehow. I later learned from you how it started—he would climb into an alcove, a rounded window along the path you walked every day from your lessons to prepare for dinner. He’d sit there and read aloud, knowing you’d pass by, and one day you stopped.
You didn’t know it was for you, not at first. You’d just sit in the grass outside the window, listening. ”
Elara’s throat tightened, her heart pounding harder.
“When you told me, you thought he was practicing reading aloud, working through some stutter or nervous habit.” Calista’s mouth twitched.
“You were so naive. I finally had to tell you to stop being such a coward and confront him. And when you did, you were so red you looked like you’d been cooked alive. But you had that book in your hands.”
“And after that, you started trading books. His were always novels, something you weren’t allowed to touch, and yours.
.. well, those boring philosophical texts you loved so much.
But even after you figured him out, I still found you two there—him in that alcove, reading to the empty air.
And you, sitting outside, listening. It was pathetic, but sweet. ”
Elara was stunned. Dumbfounded.
They had been close—not like she and Thane, but close enough that Calista’s words twisted something sharp in her chest. Friends, perhaps. Maybe more.
How could he have kept that from her? What was the point of hiding it? He’d had chances—too many to count—and he’d said nothing.
She shook her head, forcing the thoughts aside. She’d deal with him later. Confront him when she could make sense of what it meant.
Still… it was strange.
She leaned forward, teeth catching her lower lip as the next question pressed at her. She hesitated. Was it safe? Could Calista be trusted with it?
“Just ask me.”
Elara flinched, her thoughts crashing to a halt. “What?”
Calista smirked, a knowing look in her eyes as she leaned back in her chair. “I can see the question written all over your face. You were always like that as a child—searching for more, never satisfied. Tristan said you could be trusted, so ask.”
Tristan said I could be trusted? Elara tried to process that, a flicker of something warm and confusing twisting in her chest. She exhaled slowly.
“I need Osin’s dagger.”
Calista went still, the air in the room seeming to freeze with her. Slowly, too slowly, her lips curled into a cruel smile. “And what exactly do you plan to do with that dagger, Hallowed?”
It was a fair question, but Elara didn’t know how to answer without veering too far in either direction—too vague, and Calista would close off; too open, and it could get her into trouble.
But something inside her stirred, a truth she hadn’t quite let herself touch before now. She went out on a limb.
“I’m going to kill him.”
She’d known it, deep down, for longer than she was sure she even realized.
Freeing the Sidhe, getting Thane out of the Void—those had been the plans she’d spoken aloud.
But in the quiet spaces of her thoughts, in the darker corners of her mind, she’d seen herself sliding that blade straight into Osin’s heart.
Calista’s smile didn’t falter. In fact, it grew wider. “I was hoping you’d say that.”
Elara’s pulse quickened. “Can it be done?”
Calista tilted her head. “I don’t know. Maybe. What I do know is that the only time he ever parts with it is when he’s in his chambers. He enchants it, hides it—”
“In a painting.”
Calista’s eyes narrowed, her posture stiffening. “Correct.”
Elara shifted slightly, clarifying, “I’ve seen it. I have a memory.”
The shift in Calista’s expression was immediate. Her face darkened, something fierce and dangerous flickering in her eyes. The sudden rage in her made Elara freeze, her mind scrambling to make sense of the change.
“Many girls do,” Calista said, her voice low and venomous. “Some, fortunately or unfortunately, do not.”
Elara blinked, the meaning of her words sinking in, and her heart stuttered.
Was she saying…
I had a younger sister. She was allowed to be free—spirited, wild. Not that it saved her in the end.
Had. Past tense. Elara’s thoughts churned, the sinking realization pressing down on her like a stone.
This wasn’t just about Calista’s ambition or the hunger for power she’d assumed was driving her.
No, this felt darker. Deeper. Rolfe had mentioned Calista angling for Osin’s attention for months now, playing the game of politics, positioning herself like she wanted to be queen.
But what if that wasn’t it anymore? What if her goal had changed?
“Do you know the spell to get it out of the painting?”
Calista pressed her lips together. “No. He takes that memory from us. Leaves pieces for some, nothing for others. He...” Her voice faltered, and then she stopped, like she physically couldn’t bring herself to go on.
“I’m going to kill him, Calista. He doesn’t get to walk away from this. Everything he’s taken from you, from me, from everyone—I’ll carve it back out of him.”
The words left her lips like a vow, her rage bleeding into the air around her. Anger, hurt, every ache of helplessness—everything that had broken her over and over again—it all merged into a fire so fierce she felt it would tear her apart if she didn’t let it free.
Calista's eyes gleamed, and slowly, she nodded. “I’ll help you,” she said, “But only on one condition.”
Elara held her breath, heart pounding. She could see it in her eyes, knew the answer before she even spoke.
“I get the final blow.”