Chapter 49 #4
His smile was bright, his satisfaction savage and bounding. “What delicious retribution.” He laughed darkly as he turned another page. “I warned them it would be their downfall. Love made them lose sight of what really mattered.”
“Or maybe love helped them find it,” I murmured.
His eyes returned to mine and narrowed.
“You loved my mother,” I reminded him, edging closer. “You planned a future with her, too.”
In his harsh expression, Ophiucae’s armor rattled loose, exposing a slivered glimpse of something unsettled beneath—but just as quickly as it was there, it was gone.
“Then she betrayed me,” he spat, resentment simmering like steam. “What good is love without loyalty?”
“She said she found you holding a blade over my heart.”
Again, that troubled look flickered over him.
I stopped in front of him. “Were you going to kill me?”
He held my stare as he answered. “I was going to do whatever it took to get free.”
Something in me shattered. I nodded and looked back at my book, silently trying to fight my burning throat and tightening chest. My footsteps echoed through the room as I resumed my pacing, each footfall carrying us further apart in more than distance.
He watched me for a while, saying nothing, before returning his attention to the book in his lap.
I shifted my path toward his chair, walking so close that my foot brushed Sorrow’s Edge.
Everything in me screamed to seize it right then, but I forced myself to wait, studying his reaction.
He didn’t bat an eye or shift the sword. He didn’t seem to notice me at all.
Plans swirled in my head as I made another loop through the room. I shifted my book into one hand, letting the other dangle at my side. One more pass, and I could grab it, and then . . .
Then what? If he was willing to kill me as a baby for his freedom, he’d do the same now to avoid his death. I would have a second at most to strike, and the blow would have to be lethal. Then I would have to die to seal his fate. Was I ready to give up on him?
Was I ready to give up on myself?
My feet felt made of stone as they carried me toward him, my fingers flexing and curling with my indecision. If I tried and failed, I’d doom Emarion forever. If I didn’t try at all, countless more could die at his hand.
And if I tried and succeeded, I’d never see Luther, or anyone I loved, ever again.
I steeled my jaw. The Crown on my head had to weigh more than the hearts in my chest.
My wrist twisted to prepare to grab the handle. One swift, strong move would do it. Even if he raised his shield, the godstone blade would cut right through it.
I could do this. I could do this.
Ophiucae turned another page, looking utterly oblivious to my intent.
Everyone he cared for betrayed him, my conscience scolded. He’s trusting you to be different.
My stomach roiled.
Gods, I couldn’t do this. How could I do this?
But he was a killer. How could I not?
Closer, I walked.
I softened my footsteps. Held my breath.
I lifted my hand . . .
“I’ll spare your mother, if you wish.”
I froze, my fingers still outstretched. The handle of Sorrow’s Edge was inches away.
He didn’t look up, though he spoke again. “I’ll spare your mate, too. Luther, was it?”
I didn’t dare move. The sound of Luther’s name on his lips turned my blood cold.
He smoothly turned a page. “I can be forgiving, Diem. I’ll spare anyone you want. I could spare the entire continent, if you really insist.”
My hand squeezed into a fist. “You would do that?”
He flipped to the front of his book, one fingertip skating over its list of contents. “You are so willing to die to save others. I wonder, are you willing to live to save them instead?”
His finger stopped on a line of text, and the corner of his lips rose high.
He smoothed the book open to a section topped by a roughly drawn sketch. It was all jagged lines and sharp angles, its shape reflecting neither person nor building nor any man-made thing. My focus moved to the text scrawled above it.
Harnessing the Heartstone.
Hair rose on the back of my neck.
A knock rapped at the door. Ophiucae snapped the book closed and stood. “Our food is here,” he announced, carrying the book—and Sorrow’s Edge—out of my reach.
He opened the door to an exhausted-looking woman holding a silver tray burnt with scorch marks, carrying steaming food and a jug of ale. At Ophiucae’s stare, she cast her eyes down, though her lips tightened to a bitter line.
She hurriedly set the tray down, looking eager to get out of the room as quickly as possible. “Father Vance asked me to tell you his preparations are done. He’s ready when you are.”
He nodded, then turned to me. “I must go. You may stay as long as you like.”
Panic soared as my chance to get Sorrow’s Edge slipped away. “We just got here. Don’t you want to keep reading?”
His hand tapped against the book under his arm. “I got what I came for. The rest are for you.” He chuckled as he turned to leave. “If you really want to help your people, daughter, keep reading the book in your hand. Find out how deadly peace can be.”