The door swept open, the Doorman laughing over her shoulder until she screamed, saying a name and something else over and over again. A tall, lithe body shoved the Doorman out of the way.
“Elysia, what—how?”
Long, thin fingers clutched at her arms. Distantly, she could hear her sister sputtering, and if her eyes had been open, she would have seen horror shaping her already angular face.
But Elysia had made it. Out of the water, through the city, and to this door. Her knees gave out and Beatriz stumbled, trying and failing to catch her sister. Intertwined, they sank down to the ground, Elysia’s weight falling against her big sister’s chest. And for once, Beatriz caught her, protecting her from breaking further.
She could feel Beatriz’s fingers clutching against her hair, but she couldn’t make out her frantic words. They floated away on the salted air like soot. She could feel her body shutting down, all the sounds indistinct and faded. The pain surrounded her now. Whatever had spurred her on from sand to cobbled streets to midcity had given out at the sight of a green door and silver hair.
A woman with black hair and sharp eyes flashed inside her head. She wondered if that terrible woman had survived. If any of them had made it out of the water, through the streets to their own green doors. Green doors, green eyes. Quietly, she thought of the man who had left her to die beneath the sea and if he had ever loved her at all.
Someone was carrying her now, each step jarring and horrible. A sweet, weighted darkness crowded in, though, easing her from her wretched state. But for once, she did not fall through worlds or realms. Tonight, she stayed in her own dream world.
It was an old dream. One she’d had many times of a little girl in a red sash staring up at the gallows. Except this time it wasn’t her sister or her mother staring down at her, it was a long line of rebels, just like her with dead, dead eyes ready to be pecked by crows.
Chapter 23
Topp Blatz stood drippingsand and sea water onto the lush, impractical white carpet. There was a ragged split he could feel in his chest. The longer he stared at her, the wider it grew until there was a cavern within his ribs. Heart in his throat, guilt ran like acid through every part of him.
Nose broken, one eye sealed shut, her face discolored and swollen, he could barely see the woman he had kissed and touched every inch of. With purple and red smudges from face to neck, he was afraid to see what was below the blanket pulled up to her collarbone.
She’d had the chance to leave, to escape—and she had gone back. He was so deeply, irrationally angry with her. If she would have justleft,then she wouldn’t be mangled and a breath away from dying. She had gone back in, and he had left. Guilt racked him. He had left because he knew what her going back in meant—she wasn’t going to get away and he would have to watch the prelude to her death. Watch her be beaten, then corralled with the rest of them to be taken to his father.
And it was his fault. All of it.
He had known that his mission to uncover the truth of their kingdom’s decay would require much of him, but he hadn’texpected this. He had not prepared for the moment that he would walk away from his only friend in this wretched land, knowing it meant her death. That loving him had been her death.
He wasn’t an idiot. He knew she had pursued him thinking he would be her refuge. His crown a shield and barrier from the noose that had stolen so many. Instead, he had become a reaper. Standing by idly, watching and waiting as she died, knowing he couldn’t interfere.
The air danced in response to his thoughts. It shorted out with crackles that spelled out his anger, his hate. Crouching next to the bed, he breathed her in, letting her warm, dark floral scent wash away the pain and guilt eating him into oblivion. His strong, calloused fingers became feathers against her hair. Born and raised in the same fold, she should have known better than to get too close to him. There was no such thing as hiding in the shadows of the Crown. But then, maybe she had known better, considering she never willingly gave him her trust or her secrets.
He’d only wanted to observe, to listen in and find out what the rebels knew. He’d known he would have to give at least a few of them up. Hand their names over to his father as the price for what he learned. Nothing had gone as he’d expected.
He should have realized he was being followed. That his father’s men would be watching, waiting for him to strike without them. That even the mention of a lead was going to send them all running after his heels. They thought him an arrogant man off to prove himself.
But he hadn’t noticed. He’d been caught in the thrall of tracking Elysia across the city and to the sea. Blinded by the idea of finally gaining a solid lead, nothing could have stopped him. Her scent had filled him, becoming his sole and only focus until it was too late, and he was watching her descend intothe sea with the king’s men ready to rush the water once she disappeared.
It was a godsforsaken miracle that in the pitch-black of night, they could not see who had entered those deep waters. He closed his eyes, fingers still in her hair.
She would hate him now.
Her breath made a wheezing sound on an inhale and on her exhale, he let go of the woman he had loved. He would never admit it had been a mistake to leave her there. Because there wasn’t an apology in all the worlds that could ever undo what he had done. Some choices were irredeemable, not even time able to soften the damage or pain. And he was a smart enough man to know this was one of them. But whatever happened next, he would not make the same mistake twice.
Love or hate. He would do what he had to, to keep them both alive.
Elysia woketo the smell of earth and storm lingering, but when she opened her eyes, it was the intense gray eyes of her sister staring into hers.
Beatriz deflated, dropping her head and mumbling, “They kept saying you would wake up, but gods, Elysia.”
She reached out, grabbing Elysia’s hand firmly, no hesitation in her grasp. “All I wanted was some intel on Scarzan. Not for you to kill the man, poison the entire court, and end up like this.” A note of hysteria heightened and sped her usually low, ever unbothered speech.
Beatriz gathered herself, her face growing sharp as a broken bottle. She glared back at the Doorman, who had been hovering a few feet away. The owner of the House Gardenia’s high,rounded cheeks deepened in color at her girlfriend’s unspoken reprimand.
Elysia shifted, attempting to sit up, only for Beatriz to immediately fluff and plump pillows, shoving them behind her until she could sit properly. Elysia’s lips twitched in a little grin. Her sister’s sudden nurturing instincts were like watching a dog walk on its hind legs. She paid for her mirth though, the smallest movement of her mouth causing shooting pain throughout her face.
“Hand me the pain tonic, will you?” Beatriz called back, her eyes sharp with the vigilance of a seasoned war medic instead of the haze Relaclave’s renowned party girl usually wore as a veil over her eyes.
The Doorman selected an opaque brown bottle from a rough-hewn pine nightstand, handing it off silently. Glancing around the room, Elysia felt it was safe to assume she had overtaken a male staff member’s room. Natural pine furniture and a simple dark green blanket on the bed. One neat stack of books and two oil lamps providing a soothing glow. It was the sparsest room she’d seen within the House. Elysia accepted the small brown bottle from her sister, but only held it, rolling it between her hands. She needed her mind clear for at least a bit longer.
