“It worked,” Elyse said. Cold. Distant. A mere statement. Her gaze lingered on Killian, and he had to keep from cringing at it. She looked at him assessingly, and he had the distinct feeling that he was not measuring up.
“The old man can catch you up.” She sounded bored, which couldn’t have been further from how Killian felt. Then she marched to the door. Without a word—no goodbye, no explanation, not even a backwards glance—she crossed the threshold and slammed the door shut behind her.
Killian stared at the door, waiting for her to return. Waiting for something, he didn’t know what. Finally, he shifted toward Mr. Grayson.
The old man’s hands wrung together as he watched Killian, who sat, baffled, on top of the table.
Mr. Grayson sighed as he pulled out the only chair and fell into it. “There is much to explain.”
4
Elyse
Elyse sat alone in the dark in an elegant wingback chair, waiting for her prey. Candlelight trickled in below the door, but it did little to illuminate the bedchamber. Elyse could imagine it, though: the mahogany of the four-poster bed, the silken sheets, the exquisitely carved armoire. Every piece a finely curated display of power and prestige.
She’d headed straight to the mansion after leaving Mr. Grayson’s. The old Elyse would have waited, would have developed a plan, would have wasted precious time. The old her was an idiot, bridled by fear and other useless emotions. Besides, there had been nothing to keep her at Mr. Grayson’s any longer. Killian had been resurrected. Her part in that was over.
She didn’t have any transportation potions, but that was no longer an issue. As she’d stood outside Mr. Grayson’s puny old house, she’d searched deep inside herself. She’d tapped intoher newfound magic, the one that had transported her and her friends away from danger, that had moments later splattered Jaime’s worthless brain into the treetops. It thrummed within her like a second heartbeat. She grasped onto it and rode that wild power all the way back to Sevhella.
From there, it had been easy enough to break through the mansion’s wards and sneak inside. She’d gone straight to the artifacts room. And when the object she sought wasn’t in its appointed place, she’d had to form a new plan. The chatty servants had made that simple for her. By eavesdropping, she’d learned that their master was not home, but he was set to return that evening. That was when Elyse had crept up to the bedchamber and perched herself in the stuffy chair, exercising the little patience she had.
She heard a carriage roll down the street, just as several others had over the last hour. This one, though, halted nearby. The grounds came alive with the sound of servants bustling to greet their employer.
Elyse slid her dagger from its place at her hip. She flipped it end over end between her thumb and finger, like foreplay. The payoff would be hers soon enough.
It was several minutes before two sets of footsteps sounded in the corridor outside the bedroom. One set was the long, sure-footed strides of her target. The other, frantic and shuffling.
“Would you like me to light a fire in your chamber, Master?” crooned a woman’s voice.
“In the middle of summer? Are you daft?”
Elyse had no doubt that the servant was not daft, but that the whims of prissy merchants like him were too pendulous to predict.
“Leave me be for the night,” he snapped, “and for your own sake, let me sleep as late as I require tomorrow.”
The demand was met by a meek “Yes, Master,” along with retreating footsteps.
The bedroom door swung open, and light spilled into the room. But not enough to reveal Elyse seated in the corner.
“Dammit,” the man grumbled as he turned and yanked a taper from its sconce in the hallway. “Bitch can’t even remember to light the candles in the bedroom.”
Elyse smirked to herself. The servant had lit the candles. Elyse had blown them out an hour ago.
No sooner had the man shut the door, his back to Elyse, than she finally spoke.
“Hello, Niall.”
Niall Royce spun, holding the candle at arm’s length as he tried to spot the intruder. His terrified gaze finally settled on Elyse, who met him with a simpering smile as she tapped the edge of her dagger with her fingertip.
She puckered her lips and blew out a breath. With her magic, she carried the breath to the candle’s flame, dousing it. The room slipped into immediate darkness. In a panic, Royce dropped the candle like it was a snake that would bite him. Before it even hit the floor, Elyse sent a stunning spell directly at his chest. It knocked him backward, but Elyse’s magic was already behind him, cushioning his fall to keep his limp bodyfrom making any noise. She lowered him slowly to the floor until he lay on his back, motionless.
Elyse savored the heavy silence, the terror billowing through the room, as she slowly made her way to Royce. “It’s nothing personal,” she drawled as she straddled him. She sank down until her knees rested on either side of his ribs, and pressed the dagger to his chin. “In a few moments, the stunning spell will wear off. I’m going to ask you a question. If you do anything besides answer me, I will cut out your tongue. If you scream, if you kick, if you use any magic, I will slice you into so many pieces that your servants will lose count. Understand?”
He made no response, as he couldn’t. She couldn’t see him very well in the dark, but his fear was palpable. She could taste it.
Elyse recognized that fear. It had been only three days since she’d been stunned by Ymaritis. Instead of a dagger to her chin, though, she’d been plummeting toward the streets of DeVesalis. That was why she was at Royce’s mansion. Ymaritis—and Lazarus—had made a fool of her. They had laughed at her misery, had caused her pain. She would get her revenge. But first, she needed a weapon.
Royce’s lips parted as his autonomy slowly returned. Elyse sneered down at him. “Where is the Blade of Hanael?”
