He lifts his hand, an action that seems to pain him, and motions me forward.
I take a hesitant step toward him, then another.
“Evie,” he repeats.
“What?”
“I wanted it to be you.”
My brows furrow. “You wanted it to be me for what? To save you? If you’re telling me you got wounded on purpose just so I’d have to—”
“No. At the wall.”
“The wall,” I echo.
“When you told me your name. I wanted it to be you. To be my Chosen.”
I clench my teeth, heat rising to my cheeks. “So, what? You killed the Holstrom girls so you could punish me instead?”
He shakes his head. “No. And I didn’t want to punish you. I wanted you.”
I roll my eyes. “You’re clearly drunk on honey pyrus, Your Majesty.”
“Don’t call me that.” His tone deepens, darkens, though his words still sound slurred and strained. “It’s Aspen when we’re alone.”
“Fine,Aspen. I’ll do you a favor and forget this conversation ever happened.”
Aspen goes quiet for a few moments. “I didn’t know you weren’t eldest,” he whispers, “until you arrived at the palace. I wanted to ask you if you’d be with me instead. Remember that night? The dining room?”
Heat rises to my cheeks, recalling the glamour he placed over himself. “How could I forget.”
“I was going to ask you then. But you hated me so much.”
A cold suspicion crawls up my spine. “Did you kill my sister? Did you kill her so you could have me instead?”
“No.” I’m surprised at the certainty in his tone. “She was sweet. Kind. I would never have hurt her.”
I shake my head. “Well, this is all coming a little too late. My sister is dead, perhaps because of you.”
His expression flickers. With pain? Sorrow? “It wasn’t her body.”
Ice chills my blood. “What?”
“The body. On the shore. Not your sister.” His face goes slack as he loses consciousness.
I move closer, putting my hands on each side of his face, lightly slapping his cheek. “What do you mean it wasn’t her body? Wake up! Explain, damn you!”
He remains silent, motionless.
My mind spins with questions, anxiety building and building higher and higher until I think I will explode. Is what he said true? Or was he simply hallucinating and speaking nonsense? Was he playing with me, trying to get into my head?
All I know is I’ll get those answers. I’ll nurse this son-of-a-harpy back to health if it’s the last thing I do. And if I find out he lied…well, that will be the last thinghewill live to do.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Icontinue to monitor Aspen, seeking any sign that he’s returning to consciousness. The evening fades to night, and I alternate between dozing on the couch and checking Aspen for signs of life. I give him honey pyrus on occasion, but only partial doses. This means I have to administer it more often, but it also gives me the hope that I can catch him lucid.
So far, no luck. All he does is mutter and moan, face twisting in agony, each time he wakes. By morning, his skin is burning with fever.
