Chapter 31
WITH A RUSTED BLADE
CORA
When I wake up, I can’t make sense of my surroundings.
I’m in my bedroom at the manor, and much like the very first time, I have no idea how I got here—or why.
I jolt upright, but my mind continues to lag.
I have blurry memories of being in the Day Realm, of waiting for Elliot and Madam Lyrie.
I remember he’d been late. I remember pacing the opposite side of the street, until finally, I’d walked through the council building’s front doors. Then…
Nothing.
I touch my head. My entire skull is sore and a pulsing headache radiates all the way to my neck. By the thick bandage across my forehead, I must have an open wound.
I flip the blanket off my legs. I’m wearing a simple black frock, no tights. There are bruises on my thighs and another bandage on my calf. Whatever happened in that building, I likely didn’t walk out of it.
“Well, I’ll be damned.”
My bedroom door swings open, crashing against one of the memory shelves.
I startle, gripping my blanket as if it’s a shield.
Amelia leans against the door, surveying me with keen eyes.
Her hair is twisted in a sloppy bun, and she’s wearing casual attire.
I can’t remember the last time I saw her without a full face of makeup and a swanky outfit.
“You’re in my quarters,” I say stupidly. The wards should have made that impossible.
“Your lover let me in,” she says. She taps the doorframe. “Wouldn’t let me into your bedroom though. Apparently only he is worthy of touching you while you’re unconscious.”
He’s alive.
Elliot is alive, and that makes everything else bearable. My aching body. Our failed mission. The likelihood the sun curse will get worse. If we have any chance of protecting the vampires, we’ll need to act fast.
But first…
“Where is he?” I swing my legs off the side of the bed and stand, only to immediately lose my balance. With one hand to my temple, I use the other to keep myself upright.
“You’ve been out for five days,” she says, ignoring my question. “Milas and Beatrice have a bet on whether you’ll die.”
“Milas is going to run out of weapons,” I say. My vision spots, and I slouch back against the bed.
“Beatrice knows better than to bet against you,” she says. Then, “You should lay back down. You’re going to knock another hole in your head.”
I grip the blanket again and close my eyes.
“Five days?”
“Five,” she confirms.
I take a steady breath. The room is spinning, but I’ve already wasted too much time. If the council isn’t already prepped for their ritual, they will be soon. I’m not going to fall asleep and risk losing another week.
“Where is Elliot, Amelia?” I ask. If he lowered the wards on my quarters, he must be in better shape than I am.
“He’s having his first proper meal in days,” she says. “He finally agreed—very reluctantly, might I add—to take a break. Of course you decide to wake up in the brief time he’s gone. I imagine he’ll be sour about that.”
“Amelia—”
“Yeah, yeah. He’s in the courtyard,” she says. “I’ll get him for you.”
“I’m coming with you.”
“Cora, I’m no healer, but your lover is. He insisted you rest—”
“I’ve slept for five days. I’ve rested plenty.” I push back to my feet, taking slow, careful steps as I cross my bedroom. By the time I near Amelia, my head is fuzzy, but I’m confident I won’t pass out. “Let me change, and we’ll go.”
I expect Amelia to fight me on it, but she only sighs, watching in amusement as I dig through my dresser. Above it, a collection of green and blue and orange memories flail in their jars, far fewer in number than they used to be.
My hands shake as I grab the first pair of leggings I find. I clumsily pull them into place and shove into a pair of black shoes. I’m too worried I’ll fall if I try to tie the laces, so I leave them loose.
Once I’m out of the room, Amelia pats my shoulder. She doesn’t hug me, like Grace would, and for that, I’m grateful. I’ve never enjoyed casual affection, and aside from Elliot, I prefer not to be touched. Amelia lets her hand fall, lips tilting.
“Glad you made it,” she says.
“That bad?” I ask. I don’t look at her as I head for the courtyard. I’m dizzy and slow, but Amelia doesn’t complain. She keeps my pathetic pace and takes her time before responding.
“Worse,” she says finally.
I nod. My throat suddenly feels tight, suffocated by too many unasked questions.
I don’t want to ask Amelia what happened—I want to hear it from Elliot.
It’s his mama at the center of this, and it’s clear we never made it back to his home with her.
They would’ve needed me to subdue her, and it’s clear I didn’t.
I slow as we near the final corridor. Through the floor-to-ceiling windows, I can see Elliot at the stone table. He’s faced away, shoulders slumped and food untouched. His head hangs forward, clutched between his hands.
My heart seizes, misses a beat. Somehow, without knowing, I know. And the question I ask is far from the one I expected.
“Is she dead?”
Amelia stands at my side. She’s taller than I am, but not by much. Even as I feel her staring at me, I don’t take my eyes off Elliot.
“Yes.”
I try to swallow, but that knot in my throat is squeezing tighter. It’s hard to breathe, let alone speak. I force the words out. Before I see Elliot, I need to—I have to know.
“Was it me?”
Amelia’s touch ghosts my shoulder.
“No,” she says steadily. “It was him.”
I close my eyes, squeezing so tight my head throbs. It’s not that I wanted it to be me. I just really, really didn’t want it to be him.
“He didn’t say precisely what happened,” she adds. “Only that he killed her. His friend cleaned up the mess. Made it look like a natural death. We’ll see if the council believes it.”
I assume she’s talking about Henry. I have no idea how he’d make a murder look like a natural death, but I don’t doubt he’d try.
“Is he okay?” I ask. It’s an impulsive question, and I’m only asking because I already know the answer. Because I desperately want to be wrong. Before Amelia responds, I lift my hand, waving the question away. “Never mind. I’m…I’ll go see him now.”
“Do you want me to stay?”
I shake my head. My focus is still on Elliot, who has yet to realize we’re watching him. He has the survival instincts of a child. If I didn’t know otherwise, I’d never think him capable of murder.
My stomach twists, acutely aware that I am the common factor in both of Elliot’s kills. He isn’t a killer, but he does it anyway, to protect me. I may not have been the one to kill Madam Lyrie, but I have no doubt I was the cause.
Without looking at Amelia, I suck in a deep breath and enter the courtyard. I’ve made it halfway across the cobblestone before Elliot startles. He turns to look at me, his face quickly flashing through a series of emotions. Surprise. Worry. Annoyance. Back to worry.
“Secora,” he says softly. He sweeps across the courtyard, and before I utter a word, he’s pulled me into a gentle hug. Despite the wound on my head, I rest against his chest, breathing in his warm scent.
He’s the first to pull away, and when I do the same, he’s not looking at me. His eyes are scanning the windows behind me. Without looking, I know Amelia is gone.
“I insisted,” I say before he can ask about it. “Amelia wanted me to rest, but I…I needed to see you.”
“I would have come to you,” he says. His attention is back on me now, his warm fingers brushing over my temples, down my neck. “You should be in bed.”
“I don’t remember what happened,” I say. A sudden, unprecedented thought pierces through my mind. “Did you…did you take them?”
Elliot’s lips twitch at this, turning into a gentle smile.
“No, I’m afraid I don’t share your talents for that,” he says. His fingers return to my head, carefully checking the bandage. “You took quite the hit. What’s the last you remember?”
“Going into the council building,” I say. My hands tremble as I press them against his collar. He’s wearing an unfamiliar black shirt with buttons. It’s not his, I realize. It’s one of the vampires, which means he didn’t have time to pack a bag. He should have before we even left that morning.
“Ahh,” he says. He crouches to inspect the bandage on my calf. “Well, you didn’t miss much then. You broke down Mama’s office door. Made quite the entrance.”
I don’t miss the way his voice cracks when speaking of Madam Lyrie. I need to ask what happened to her, but I don’t. I can’t. My throat is clogged with too much emotion. I may not remember what happened in the council building, but this is all starting to feel eerily familiar.
Me causing issues in Elliot’s life.
Him killing someone to fix them.
“Elliot,” I say. Nothing more comes, just his name, hanging in the cool winter air.
“She gave me no choice,” he says. He tightens the bandage before looking up at me. The sun highlights every single color in his hazel eyes.
“I doubt that,” I whisper. Now it’s my voice cracking, but I can’t help it. I keep talking anyway, fighting the sharp knot in my throat. “It was me, wasn’t it? You killed her because of me.”
“No,” he says vehemently. “She tried to kill you, Secora. That was her choice. That is why I killed her.”
Tears streak down my face, burning hot against the cold wind.
“Elliot—”
“She did not suffer,” he interrupts. His voice is hoarse as he rises back to his feet, cupping my face between his large warm hands. “It was fast. Like a heart attack.”
I swallow. My insides feel raw, as if they’ve been scraped with a rusted blade. I open my mouth to speak, but nothing comes. I only stare at Elliot, eyes burning and lips trembling.
“I had Henry clean it up,” he adds. “Aside from some of the wreckage, it shouldn’t have been difficult. I don’t think it’ll come back to me. If it does…”
I close my eyes. The simple movement makes my head spin, and I stumble over nothing. Elliot steadies me, bringing me closer.
“I love you, Secora,” he whispers against my temple. I’m in his arms before I’ve fully realized what’s happening. He cradles me to his chest and kisses the edge of my bandage. “I love you. Everything will be okay now.”
“I’m sorry,” I choke out. I’m still crying, and I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to stop. “I’m so—”
“Shhh,” he whispers. “I’ve made peace with it.”