Chapter 31 #2
He lied to me about Josh. About so many things.
Maybe he convinced himself it was to protect me, but it doesn’t matter.
And I don’t know if I believe he had nothing to do with Van trying to kill me.
Either way, I’ll never trust him again. But that isn’t even the worst part.
It’s that some deeply irrational part of me still wants to trust him and I hate that.
I hate him.
Or, at least, I wish I hated him.
“Where’s Van?” Rowan’s voice cuts through the quiet.
“Who cares?” Lena mutters. “Good riddance.”
Georgina scans the clearing. “He wouldn’t miss the final trial. Not after making it this far.”
I keep my eyes fixed on the stakes, afraid my face might give me away.
“Maybe he finally realized he doesn’t have what it takes,” Silas says flatly.
Georgina gives him a startled look, but Silas gives nothing away. He may have betrayed me in every way that matters, but he’s keeping my secret tonight. I don’t know what to do with that.
As the others fall quiet again, Rowan makes his way toward me. He stops a respectful distance away, shoving his hands into the pockets of his navy blue parka. For once, he doesn’t lead with a grin.
“Can we talk?” he asks.
“No.”
“I owe you an apology,” he says, his voice pitched low so the others can’t hear.
“I thought I just said I didn’t want to—”
“Please, let me say this,” he cuts me off. “You can just listen.”
It’s strange to see him without his usual easy confidence. Rowan always has something clever to say, some charming remark ready before anyone else has even processed the conversation. Tonight, there isn’t a trace of that man.
“I never meant to hurt you.” His blue eyes fill with remorse. “I was wrong to bring you to Veil Night, but I thought I was helping.”
“Then you have a really fucked-up idea of what helping means.”
“Nobody was ever going to tell you about the Veil or what happened to Josh,” he says, and the mention of my brother twists something deep in my chest. “I thought…” He hesitates. “I thought if you saw it for yourself, if you understood what the Veil truly was, it would help you move on.”
I stare at him in disbelief.
“Rowan, you nearly got me executed!”
“That wasn’t going to happen.”
The certainty in his voice startles me, cutting through some of my anger.
“How could you possibly know that?”
“I knew they wouldn’t kill you,” he says. “Silas would never have allowed that.”
I go still. Of all the names he could have said, that one hurts the most.
“Silas doesn’t care about me.”
His eyes don’t leave mine. “Oh, he cares. Deeply. Believe me,” he says reluctantly, as if the admission costs him something dear.
“Josh talked about you for months before you ever set foot in Salem’s Fall.
I watched Silas fall for you through someone else’s stories, Jack.
He was nearly halfway in love before he ever even met you.
” Rowan pauses, his expression conflicted.
“I’ve known Silas my whole life. Trust me when I say he’s never felt this way about anyone. ”
I let out a short, incredulous laugh.
“Oh really? Is that why he forced me into The Rites? A deadly competition that can kill me at any moment?” I ask. “Because he cares so much?”
His expression tightens.
“It won’t kill you.”
“How can you possibly know that?”
The faintest trace of Rowan’s familiar smile appears. Cocky. Confident.
“I just do.”
Lucien Blackhollow steps into the clearing then and all conversation dies without anyone needing to be told. Even the forest seems to quiet, the bare branches motionless against the winter sky as he crosses the frozen ground toward the circle of stakes.
He wears the same ceremonial black robe he wore on Veil Night, the heavy fabric sweeping behind him like a shadow.
Silver embroidery catches the moonlight along the cuffs and collar.
He surveys us one by one, his expression calm, controlled, as if deadly occult games in the middle of the night are a regular occurrence to him.
“Welcome to your fourth and final trial,” he says. “This is the trial of the South. And of fire.” He lets the words settle over us. “Please, come stand opposite your partner.”
For half a second, no one moves. Then Georgina steps forward and takes her place across from Rowan. Her posture is perfect, chin lifted, not a trace of fear visible on her face. Rowan gives her a supportive nod. Lena and Wren step toward one another next. That just leaves Silas and me.
Lucien’s narrowed eyes settle on me in warning, and only then do I walk toward the open space beside Silas, who watches me approach without expression. There is something tense in the way he holds himself, a restraint that tells me something has him worried.
“I won’t partner with you,” I say under my breath, stopping several feet away. “I already told you that.”
“I know.”
His gaze drops for the briefest moment, not to the ground but to the wooden stakes across from us.