Chapter 30
Killian
Killian ambled through the halls of the house. Elyse had left him to train two hours ago. Killian could hardly blame her—riffling through endless stacks of books was hardly his idea of fun either. At least wielding a sword and practicing spellwork yielded actual progress.
He stomped down the grand staircase and out to the gardens, hoping Elyse was still outside. As he pushed open the double doors, he ignored the nagging feeling that nipped at his chest, telling him something was wrong.
Out in the gardens, there were no signs of Elyse.
The main courtyard was empty aside from the flowers in full bloom.
Killian’s boots tapped along the stone pavers as he crossed the courtyard.
He rounded the shrubbery, his ears alert for signs of grunting or daggers slashing through air, but he heard nothing.
Again, that nagging feeling. Elyse had proven enough times that she could be self-sacrificing—or even vengeful enough to disregard logic.
There was a small chance that she’d gone on some secret, dangerous mission on her own.
Killian tried to remind himself that she was different now, and not as reckless.
He wound his way through the rows of hedges and manicured flowers, trying his best to keep his worry at bay. The gardens felt endless, until he finally reached a break in the hedges that led out into the lawn.
Elyse sat on the grass, a vision of black and silver against the verdant landscape. Her legs were folded in front of her, and her wrists rested upon each knee. She sat tall with her shoulders rolled back and her chest lifted toward the sky.
Killian let out a breath. Why had he been so worried? He nearly laughed at himself for being so neurotic as he approached Elyse slowly. She didn’t stir as he stepped beside her, though he knew she could hear his boots shifting in the grass.
“I wasn’t sure if you’d still be out here,” he said into the breeze. Not an accusation or a grievance, but a coaxing. An invitation to discuss whatever was on her mind.
Elyse still didn’t speak, so Killian dropped to the grass beside her. He sat close enough that their shoulders grazed.
“It’s beautiful,” he said as he gazed down the hill.
The city lay spread out below them. He spotted the library, where they’d traveled to earlier in the week, and the surrounding university halls.
Killian guessed there weren’t many places in the continent where you could peer down on an entire city as he did now, where it was far enough away to see the whole thing, but felt close enough to touch.
“We have nothing.” Elyse’s voice was nearly a whisper, broken and flat. Like a note played on a piano in need of tuning.
Killian looked at her, searching her face. She held no expression, her attention pinned on nothing in particular.
“We have the Blade of Hanael,” Killian corrected gently.
“We have nothing,” she said again, more despondent this time. “The Blade is useless if we can’t get near Lazarus, if we can’t protect ourselves from him.” She turned her face toward him then, despair heavy in her eyes.
“There’s still a week left,” Killian answered.
It felt like an empty gesture though. He’d been having the same thoughts for the past few days.
If they hadn’t found anything helpful yet, what good would one more week do?
Still, he kept his expression strong, pouring encouragement into every word.
“We could find a solution tomorrow, or tonight even.”
Elyse shook her head and faced the city again. Her nostrils flared, like she was fighting back tears.
“Have faith,” he murmured. “Faith and hope are what Lazarus is trying to steal from us. You can’t let him take those, too.”
“You cannot rob me of something I’ve never had.” Elyse spoke the words with so much bitterness, Killian felt his heart shatter. Unable to stop himself, he tucked a strand of that beautiful silvery hair behind her ear.
“Never?” he asked, letting a hint of playfulness into his voice. “I believe it took a great deal of faith to proposition me for a blood oath. And an immense measure of hope to raise me from the dead.”
Elyse shifted. Her jaw ticked slightly as she pondered his suggestion. “I think you’re confusing faith and hope with stupidity,” she said finally.
Killian let out a quiet laugh. He leaned closer, until he could feel the heat of Elyse’s skin pulsing back at him.
“You, my beautiful witch, are many things. Stubborn, hotheaded, and arrogant, to name a few. But you are not stupid.”
Elyse relaxed at his reassurance. She twisted to face him, and their noses nearly brushed. “It’s not arrogance if you have the skill to prove it,” she quipped, one eyebrow raised in challenge.
Killian truly laughed then, and he planted his lips on hers. Elyse leaned into the kiss, and Killian accepted everything she offered him—all the pain and anxiety and doubt, but also the joy and laughter and love.
“Use that confidence,” he whispered against her mouth. “Find a way to defeat him.”
He closed his eyes and pressed his brow to hers. Her skin brushed his as she nodded gently.
If anyone—if any fucking person on the continent—was capable of finding a way to take down Lazarus, it was her. Killian’s brilliant, cunning, ruthless little witch, who had never backed down from anything.
“Mr. Southwick.”
A tentative voice carried from the garden. For a moment, Killian pretended he hadn’t heard it. He stayed with Elyse, sending her all the encouragement through their shared touch that he could.
“Mr. Southwick,” the voice came again, this time with some trepidation.
He opened his eyes to find a servant standing at the hedges. Her hands wrung together as she stared at them with a nervous expression.
“Your mother is here. She—”
Killian was on his feet in an instant, barreling toward the gardens. Elyse, gods bless her, was a half step behind him, urging him onward.
The back door was still open, and Killian crossed the threshold at full speed. He hurried down the corridor to the entrance hall, his footsteps pounding. Or maybe that was the sound of his heart ramming against his ribcage.
His mother stood at the end of the corridor, panting with her hands on her knees. Dah stood beside her with a frown on her face as she patted Mrs. Southwick’s back.
“Mum!” Killian called. “Are you okay?” He grasped her shoulders as he searched her for signs of injury.
Elyse took over for Dah, stroking soothing lines down his mother’s back. Manny and Sera came rushing into the hall as well.
“I’m fine,” Mrs. Southwick insisted, but Killian continued to assess her. His stomach was a torrent of panic. His mother’s face was ashen, her temples streaked with sweat, but that might have been from traveling.
“What’s going on?” he pressed. He needed an explanation, something to calm his nerves.
“The girls—they showed up at the palace,” she said through heavy breaths.
“What girls?” Killian demanded, furrowing his brows.
He looked over his mother’s shoulder to see two young women standing near the door. One with straight brown hair and downcast eyes, the other with freckles and lips that were always smiling. No one was smiling now, though.
“Nina,” he gasped. “Corin.”
Red lined both of their weary eyes. It was Corin who stepped forward. Her knees buckled, and Killian moved toward her, ready to catch her. But Nina was already there, wrapping her hands around Corin’s waist.
“It’s Privya,” she said. The words were so harrowing, spoken with such torment. Killian’s own knees buckled then, threatening to give out altogether.
“Where?” Elyse demanded. She touched Corin’s shoulder, coaxing the answer out of her.
“The clinic,” Corin uttered.
Before Killian could say anything else, Elyse grabbed his wrist, and the world evaded them.